Sweetwater Center for the Arts displays children's expressions of grief

Sept. 07--SEWICKLEY -- "Come and see! Come see what I made at the Caring Place."

It's that sort of Saturday evening at Sweetwater Center for the Arts in Sewickley, an opening reception for young and very young artists who insist that you see "my artwork" among the 100 pieces on display.

So many drawings and paintings are as vivid as the pinks and oranges in the flowered sundresses the little girls wear. Glitter rules on the canvas, as do names drawn in big, plump letters and photos of smiling faces laced with stickers and beads.

Suns shine. Rainbows reach across the skies. Butterflies light on hearts and flowers and above stick figures of people the artists love and miss.

The brightness belies the darkness that has broken each child's heart.

This night, the younger kids smile, run up the stairs to the gallery, then down to the community room where older guests gather, and back up the stairs again to pose for photos with their artwork or to talk. Then it's back down for more cookies.

As for the grownups, they peruse the bountiful table of appetizers and chat. Mostly, they look long at the drawings, paintings and sculptures, listen and watch the children's faces as they explain what their artwork is and how they feel about the death of someone they dearly love.

"A Journey through Grief: Artwork by the Children of the Highmark Caring Place" boldly and delicately expresses how Highmark's Caring Place, A Center for Grieving Children, Adolescents and their Families, helps children and their families find hope and the strength to heal.

It is the first time in the Caring Place's 18-year history that the children's artwork is on public display.

"A Journey Through Grief" continues through Sept. 18 at the Sweetwater Center for the Arts, 200 Broad St. in Sewickley. Gallery hours are 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekdays. Admission is free.

He was. She was. They were.

When someone you love dies, you want to tell people who they were so they'll know why you miss them, as these area children and their parents did.

Josh Ilk rocked. He was Daniel LaVallee's big brother. He wore his blond hair long, played guitar in a band and introduced his young half brother to Journey's best music. Back in the early '90s when Josh was in college and Daniel wasn't quite 6, they had fun. That great day Josh was on Rollerblades. Daniel was riding his bike, the one with the siren, the kind the guys on the TV show "CHiPs" had on their motorcycles. Those are the first rolling images Daniel remembers. It was pure and simple joy.

Corrina Layne, their 20-year-old cool sister, polished Angelina and Elise Propst's fingernails perfectly and decorated their cell phone cases with trinkets galore. When Corrina moved to an apartment in Baden, she left her hermit crab at their mom's home in Economy. Corrina warned that Mr. Crabs was noisy at night. Her mom wasn't convinced. Laura Propst is now. In the dark, Mr. Crabs clinks his shell against the aquarium glass, and Laura's certain it sings.

Chiropractor Mark Cyanovich, a Hopewell Township native, was a silly daddy who teased his 6-year-old twin daughters, "Mia Sangria" and "Marlo Merlot." His baby dolls aren't babies anymore. Mia and Marlo play soccer on a travel team, and the 9-year old Robinson Township residents recently earned black belts in Taikwando-ATA, proud mother Joy Capozzi Cyanovich said. Sometimes the soccer mom is frustrated, and sometimes she surprises herself after a tournament when she's lugging two sets of soccer equipment to the car without help. That's OK.

Blane McCoy wanted to know what his dad, Shawn McCoy, liked. His dad was always a hands-on man. Shawn loved to draw. He played the violin in school and became a carpenter because he worked with wood well, Michelle Narry told their son. And there's no doubt the tall 12-year-old towhead looks like his dad. Same eyes, same smile, same perfect teeth. Just look at the photo Blane placed on the quilt piece he made in honor of his dad at the Caring Place.

The worst happened

Josh Ilk, 21, died in an accidental fall on June 13, 1994. While running home on a dimly lit pathway in Frick Park, he tripped, falling into a ravine and striking his temple. His stepfather, Charles LaVallee, found his body three or four days later.

Corrina Layne, 20, died on Aug. 14, 2013. She'd had gall bladder surgery and was recovering at her mother's home in Economy when she collapsed. Her medical history was riddled with complications: a pituitary gland tumor, brain surgery, diabetes and hormonal issues, Laura Propst said.

Mark Cyanovich, 51, died on Aug. 12, 2012. The chiropractor had spent the afternoon doing yard work at his parents' house in Hopewell Township and then suffered a massive heart attack in his car on his way home to Robinson Township. His wife and 6-year-old twin daughters had just returned from school shopping. Her husband had no history of heart problems, Joy Capozzi Cyanovich said.

Shawn McCoy, 26, died unexpectedly on Oct. 13, 2006, a Friday. Although their relationship had ended two years earlier, Michelle Narry of Industry was shaken and didn't know how to tell their 3-year-old son, Blane, that his daddy had died.

A child's grief

Twenty-one years ago, his brother Josh's death punched 6-year-old Daniel LaVallee in the gut. Then grief grabbed Daniel's devastated family in a vise. Twenty-one years later, the 27-year old Cranberry Township resident's got grief figured out, as best anyone can.

The short, simple definition: Grief's complicated and unsettling. It's an imposed journey that exempts no one of any age.

Daniel's 6-year-old mind understood what dead meant, that Josh was gone, forever. But he didn't know what to do or whom to talk to about how lost and alone he felt.

"I didn't want to burden my mother because she was in such sadness," he said.

When he returned to school that fall, he said an exceptional guidance counselor helped him. They talked. At ages 7 and 8, Daniel said he began to withdraw. He was angry because his family was so sad. He withdrew more.

"I didn't know what it was," he remembered. "I knew that every day was sad and that he (Josh) wasn't going to be in my life."

The sad days became years.

In 1996, a grieving Charles LaVallee, then executive director of the Highmark Caring Foundation, recognized his son's struggles and wanted to find a way to help him and other children know they weren't alone in their grief.

The Caring Place

LaVallee wasn't alone in his quest. He told close friend Fred Rogers, honorary chairman of the Caring Foundation, that grief programs were available for widows and widowers, but locally no programs were in place for children. That void existed because some adults didn't know that children grieve, or that they grieve differently than adults do, he said.

He believed that there had to be a way to fill grieving children's needs. He reached out to church leaders of various denominations, who then approached grieving families. Soon Daniel and his dad were seated with other children and their parents in a small peer-support group for grieving children at the former Riezenstein Middle School in Pittsburgh's East Liberty neighborhood. The children and adults met in separate groups.

"That was when I first started to feel a little better because I was around other kids who had lost a loved one," Daniel said.

That group was the cornerstone of a center for grieving children, a program created and supported in 1996 by the Highmark Caring Foundation. Churches, community organizations and schools identified the children and supported the center financially, LaVallee said.

In 1997, the doors of the Highmark Caring Place opened in what had been the first floor of the Joseph Horne's department store in downtown Pittsburgh. The ambience -- soft lights, huge aquarium and preserved butterflies resting on a cluster of color -- welcomed those who stepped inside. In time, memory quilts -- a collage of blocks created by children to honor their loved ones -- graced the walls.

When the region lost 140,000 manufacturing jobs in the steel industry's collapse, Highmark's Caring Program for Children provided health insurance for uninsured children from low-income families and became a model for Pennsylvania's Children's Health Insurance Program, LaVallee said.

The Caring Place became a reality because Highmark's senior leadership at the time placed their trust and money in the program, LaVallee said.

"It would be have been easy to say, 'They're just grieving kids.'"

"If you look at tragedy, there can be good that comes out of it," LaVallee said at the reception, "Who would have ever dreamt of four Caring Places, tens of thousands of kids, a family-centered base model?"

---

"I am here for you. You are here for me. We are here for each other." Words spoken at the opening and closing of each meeting at the Caring Place sites.

---

"Mom, we're not the only ones this happens to. This happens to other people, not just us." Angelina Propst, then 6, wanted to comfort her mother the day after her oldest sister's death two years ago.

She succinctly captured what the Caring Place wants grieving children and families to know: that they are not alone, that other people share their sorrow, that the center can be a lifeline.

A month later, Angelina, her sister, Elise, then 8, and their mother began attending a fall session at the Caring Place in the Warrendale area. The sisters wanted to go.

Immediately, the Propsts found out what other children and families learn: That by circumstance, by the grace of God, by beliefs held dear or by fate, the "other people" in the session become "us." For 90 shared minutes, "all of us" can listen or allow our hearts to talk.

Propst is still amazed by Angelina's insight and pleased that the girls, who had watched their sister's medical struggles, were able to talk about Corrina and her death.

"I was kind of happy (for her) because she was feeling better," Angelina said at the Sweetwater exhibit.

"She was free of all her aches and pains," her mother explained.

The sisters lavished memory boxes that they made with the trinkets Corrina had enjoyed gluing on their cell phones. Each has several pieces in the exhibit, including a drawing of a quiet Mr. Crab, the nemesis hermit crab that Corrina gladly bestowed upon them. She would have liked that.

A year ago, Blane McCoy resisted. He didn't want to go to the Caring Place in Warrendale. His mother, Michelle Narry, insisted. Blane, then 11, rarely mentioned his father, but for years at bedtime, he cried.

When his mom asked, Blane told her he missed his dad. Private counseling didn't help. Someone suggested the Caring Place. The program immediately felt right for mother and son, Narry said.

Blane couldn't talk about his dad. At the orientation, he struggled to say he was there "because my dad died." But he did manage to say the words out loud.

Now, he talks about his dad and has photos of his dad, a photo of Jesus, and his dad's earring tucked in a memory box he made at the Caring Place.

"He's actually proud when he looks at the quilt and the other things he made," Narry said.

The memory quilt is on display at the exhibit. A photo of a smiling Sean McCoy is centered on the square Blane made. Not far from the quilt is a canvas scene Blane made. A sun shines above mountains on a beach with an umbrella, and a roller coaster. A small plane flies. Across the middle Blane printed the words, "Dad, I wish you were here."

On the drive home after the final fall meeting, Blane began crying in the car. He told his mom that he was sad because he wouldn't see a friend he met there anymore. They were the same age. His buddy has lost his dad, too.

At 54, Joy Catozzi Cyanovich knows she will never remarry.

"You can't replace perfect," the Robinson Township resident said.

Three years ago, a massive heart attack killed her husband, Mark Cyanovich, destroyed their picture-perfect lifestyle and stole their 6-year-old twin daughters' childhood innocence.

The college friends wed in 2003. Both were 42. Neither had been married before.

"I was so blessed, even if it was only for a short time," Cyanovich said. "I do feel like the girls got robbed."

The Caring Place, she said, has immensely helped her keep the promise she made to Mia and Marlo when she told them their daddy was an angel.

They immediately asked, "Mommy, are we going to be OK?"

As well as can be, Cyanovich said. "I think that they were young enough that it (his death) was still a shock, but their brains weren't wired," Cyanovich said. "They'd have a moment of sadness or tears and minutes later ask, "What's for dinner, Mom?'"

"I called it short waves (of grief)," she said. "I'd get big waves."

Cyanovich owns an insurance business in Pittsburgh, so financially, the family's lifestyle hasn't changed. The girls' calendars are chock-full of activities that include continuing sessions at the Caring Place in Warrendale. They attended their first session about six weeks after their father's death.

After the first meeting, Marlo told her mom that every child in her age group, except one, had lost their dad, that they weren't the only ones this happened to.

"That's what sold me completely. They finally had a place where they weren't different. It gave them hope that they could go forward and survive," Cyanovich said. By appearances, it seems they have. Though they balked at wearing dresses to the exhibit's reception, Mia and Marlo gleefully made their way about the gallery and weren't shy about explaining what they had made in honor of their father.

Mia drew stacks of columns, some tall, some short, in lots of colors, dark and light with hearts and dollar signs in her "Confusion: I Don't Know How to Feel." They're not the same, Mia said, because she has lots of different feelings on different days. A small box is packed with postcards Mia wants people to take. "How do you feel today?" is the printed question. Twenty-eight emoticons express 28 facial expressions from happy and frustrated to cranky and silly and sad

Across the gallery, Marlo explained that her "Invisible String" painting was her way of staying connected with her dad. You know, the string can jump to Daddy in heaven, she said. She included the sun and moon. "I always make the sun bigger because when Daddy's around, it always makes the light in the dark," Marlo added.

Beneath the artwork is a small box filled with short strings of yarn in lots of colors.

Just so you know, Marlo said, the strings are for anyone to have so they are always connected to their loved one.

The journey continues

Charles LaVallee is standing in Sweetwater's community room among the Caring Place staff, volunteers, supporters and families. His joy is obvious. He's probably as proud as the children who are showing their artwork.

LaVallee, now chief executive officer at Variety, the Children's Charity, said he is most of proud of the Caring Place staff and volunteers who have welcomed thousands of grieving children into the Caring Place sites in downtown Pittsburgh, Erie, Harrisburg and Warrendale. Between 150 and 200 volunteers give their time at each of the four sites, said Krista Ball, program manager of the Warrendale site. And some of those volunteers were children who came to the Caring Place. Daniel LaVallee, the proud father notes, is among them.

In Warrendale, Daniel LaValle, a UPMC Health Plan director of health policy, spends his time with groups of 6-year-old children, the same age he was when his brother died.

"I tell them to just take it each day. To live in this moment," he said. ""You don't have to say anything. Just feel the moment of being with others."

He doesn't tell the kids that it will get better. He doesn't make promises. He doesn't say "I know what you're going through." Everyone's grief journey is different.

"I can say that I am here for you," Daniel said. "For whatever you need."

___

(c)2015 the Beaver County Times (Beaver, Pa.)

Visit the Beaver County Times (Beaver, Pa.) at www.timesonline.com

Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.