Lightening the loss

So close were Jan Valenti and her mother that after Josie LoBiondo died of cancer at age 73, her daughter always wore something of hers — a piece of jewelry or clothing.

"We were extremely close. We did everything together," Valenti said. "She was my mentor — my best friend. She validated me. She just had a way of making everything beautiful."

Four years after her mother passed, Valenti still could not shake the grief that had consumed her.

So last Christmas, Valenti knelt by a manger in the home she shares with husband Anthony on the 2700 block of Dudley Street, not far from where LoBiondo lived. Valenti told God she didn’t want anything for Christmas except a "good, real sign" from her mother.

"I wanted something to blow me away that would let me know my mother was still around — something to get me through," she said.

Friends and family gathered at the couple’s home on Christmas Day, and while the hostess was in her kitchen cooking, some guests commented that they had heard soft strains of music in the parlor. With no radio or television on, nobody could figure out the origin of the sweet sounds — not even the Valentis.

Later that night, when the celebrating was over and everybody had gone home, Valenti heard the music again.

After looking around, she discovered the music was coming from inside a wooden chest that had belonged to her mother. Inside the chest was a musical book that plays Angels We Have Heard On High.

Valenti had bought the book for herself the Christmas after her mother had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 1998.

"I had it in my hands and I was like, ‘Oh, Mommy — I got my sign.’ I was just rejoicing. I just said, ‘Thank you.’ I felt like I was elevated 2 feet off the floor," she said.

It was after that "mystical" experience that Valenti felt she started to heal, her veil of darkness slowly lifting.

This past summer, Valenti finally found the strength to do something she had wanted to do after her mother died. In July, she formed a bereavement support group called "The Comforter" to help others get through the grieving process.

Originally she wanted to dedicate her group to motherless daughters, but in the end she realized it would be best to include others in mourning as well.

"I felt like if I’m feeling this way, I’m not the only person who lost a loved one that is so dear. There must be other people that need to reach out in a way that family and friends don’t understand," she said.

Valenti decided to form the group because after her mother died, she had no place to turn for help, she said.

She found there were support groups for just about every situation imaginable, but none were an exact fit. St. Agnes Medical Center, Broad and McKean streets, is one of the only area hospitals that offers a bereavement support group, but Valenti wanted something different.

"I would never go to a hospital. I would never want to return to the scene of the crime," she said, adding that her mother died in a hospital.

Food being a common denominator and form of comfort in everyone’s life, Valenti decided to center her support group around that.

The Comforter meets once a month at Royal Villa, 17th and Jackson streets. Participants sit in a private room, and each pays for his or her dinner.

Although she is not a mental-health professional, Valenti draws on her own experience of loss and has read countless books about the subject. She also consults regularly with a cousin who is a psychologist and brings those findings to the meetings.

"I might say one thing that will help them get through the week," Valenti said.

There is no set format, and the participants can choose whether or not to discuss their individual experiences.

The group has about 10 members so far, many of whom agree that Valenti is filling a much-needed void.

A 42-year-old woman named Jenna who lost her 40-year-old husband to colon cancer this year said she finds comfort in The Comforter.

"This group is a lifesaver because it makes me feel less isolated and emotionally supported," she said.

After last month’s meeting, Jenna told Valenti that the gathering made her happy — and that was very rewarding for the group’s founder.

"That’s what this is, people trying to help each other," Valenti said. "We’re not alone. This is what we’re supposed to do — reach out to each other. That’s what God wants us to do."

Valenti hopes her bereavement group will grow beyond its current core.

In time she hopes to have enough members to be able to group them by specific loss — widows, widowers, motherless children.

The group serves two functions, according to its founder: "to nourish and to express ourselves."

Often, friends and family members don’t quite know how to act around someone who has lost a loved one, Valenti noted.

After her mother died, the people in Valenti’s circle didn’t reach out to her like she had hoped because, in her opinion, they either had their own problems or just didn’t know how to deal with her overwhelming loss.

"I’m sorry" and "at least she’s not suffering anymore" were about the only words of comfort friends and strangers could offer the distraught daughter.

The Comforter is a gathering place where those who have lost a loved one can come and know they are not alone, Valenti said.

"We’ve all come to realize that you never get over it," she said. "You just get around it."

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The next meeting of The Comforter will be held Dec. 1, 6:30 p.m. at Royal Villa, 17th and Jackson streets. For more information, call 215-462-4488 after 5 p.m.