Grief

It was just before spring when their grandfather died. He was 79, a sweet and quiet man who had battled diabetes and whose heart finally gave out one morning at home. Our children had adored him. So now, in addition to my husband's loss, we faced the agonizing task of delivering the news to our 8-year-old daughter and 10-year-old son. It was a moment that many in my generation are beginning to confront.

It was another war under another name against another dictator 13 months ago when Pfc. Roy Dennis Brown Jr. of Buena Park was killed in action. But his mother says the pain and loss will always be the same. "I really feel sorry for the women going through this now," said Julie Otto, whose 19-year-old son was the only soldier from Orange County to die in combat during the U.S. attack on Panama in December, 1989. "I know this is a tough time for them. It's really hard to explain."

It's been nearly seven months since 9-year-old Autumn Wallace was murdered, and most of those who were close to her have buried their pain and moved on with their lives. But not her mother, Linda Wallace. Although she has returned to work and usually tells people she's fine when they ask, her grief is still intense. She still needs to talk about Autumn, to share the good memories that she hopes will someday stop her from dwelling on her daughter's violent death.

For more photos from the service, visit latimes.com/pope.

Re, "He Really Took a Bite Out of Crime" (The Times, Jan. 18). A nice story about a beautiful dog. His name should be Greif, not Grief. It is a popular dog name in Germany for centuries. BERND MULLER AHRENS Pasadena

When Ed died, his lifelong friend and caregiver joined a hospital-organized bereavement group, in search of sympathy and understanding for the grief she felt over his loss. She did not tell the other members of the group that Ed was a cat. After a few meetings, she realized it was not going to work out. There was so much about Ed she wanted to share.

The workshop was called "Dealing With Loss." My husband had died a couple of months before, and I was eager to find some way to ease the weight that seemed to fill my chest, a weight so constant, so heavy, that I believed it to be palpable. I presumed that everyone in the group would be grieving. To my surprise, only two others of those gathered in the semi-circle had come to talk of death. "I've recently retired," an elderly man sitting next to me said.

As a teen-ager, Steven Shuchter had become aware of the months, if not years, of grief and adjustment that follow the death of a spouse, having observed his mother's reactions after his father died. Later, after beginning his own practice as a psychiatrist, Shuchter supplemented his personal experience with those of many patients who encountered both emotional and physical problems learning to cope with being alone after years of togetherness with their husband or wife.

A COUPLE of years ago, my sister, who adored my husband yet understood that he'd never recover from his illness, said to me, "If you took a lover I wouldn't hold it against you. I probably wouldn't want to meet him, and if you tell anyone I said this, I'll deny it." Where was this lover supposed to materialize? At the local coffee shop?