DEALING WITH LOST LOVED ONES—Thousand Oaks residents, from left, Samantha Aiken and her mother, Sharon Aiken, and Ruby and Aseem Vyas talk about family members who died in last year’s Metrolink crash and how a special support group has helped them. Hospice of the Conejo offers a grief support group for those who lost family members in the train wreck. WENDY PIERRO/Acorn Newspapers For loved ones of victims of last year’s Metrolink train collision, a weekly Saturday morning support group has become a second family.

Thousand Oaks resident Sharon Aiken, who lost her husband, Christopher, 38, in the crash, has been coming to the group since it began eight months ago.

For her and the others in who come, the meeting is a place where they feel understood and accepted and where they don’t have to put on a smile.

“I’ve got great family, I’ve got great friends, I’ve got a lot of love in my life but nobody except the people that are here in this room truly understands what we go through,” Aiken said.

HELPING OTHERS DEAL WITH GRIEF AND STRESS—Beth Haynes, PhD, left, representing Hospice of the Conejo, and volunteer Whitney Dunbar talk about the group support meetings they lead. Hospice of the Conejo offers a special grief support group for the families that lost loved ones in last year’s Metrolink train accident. WENDY PIERRO/Acorn Newspapers “It’s just a place where we’ve been allowed to just let all the walls down and truly say how you feel and not be judged.”

Since the end of March, Hospice of the Conejo has been offering the free support group for those affected by the Sept. 12, 2008, crash in Chatsworth that killed 25 and injured 135 more.

While Hospice of the Conejo is known primarily for its end-oflife care, executive director Maria Prescott said more people actually take advantage of the nonprofit’s bereavement services.

Whitney Dunbar, a trainee with Hospice and a doctoral student in clinical psychology at Antioch University Santa Barbara, said the group formed in response to the needs of the community. She said Hospice recognized that about six months after the accident, the families of the victims would be “coming out of their fog” and need support.

Though it’s been more than a year since the accident, those affected by the crash are still reeling. Dunbar said many thought the oneyear anniversary would somehow mark a change in their grief. When that didn’t happen, disappointment set in, she said.

So the group continues to meet every Saturday at 10 a.m. at the Simi Valley Senior Center. Dunbar said the courage displayed as the group members discuss and work through their feelings is “breathtaking.”

On average, about 12 people attend each meeting, for which no specific format is set. As Aiken said, “It just happens,” with no pressure and no expectations.

Group facilitator Dr. Beth Haynes, a licensed psychologist, said the group doesn’t have an organized structure because of the unpredictable nature of grief.

“I think with grief, it’s a roller coaster ride,” she said. “You have to be very flexible with the group because you don’t know—from minute to minute, actually—where you’re going to be emotionally.”

A couple of crash survivors attend the meetings. Simi resident Bea Watts, 43, was sitting in the second train car and suffered severe internal injuries. Nearly 15 months later, she’s still dealing with the physical and psychological effects of that day, with certain noises or images triggering memories of the crash and her hospitalization.

Trying to heal her physical wounds distracted her from the emotional scars for months, but once those surfaced she knew she had to reach out for help.

Though the accident turned her life upside down, Watts finds healing in sharing with and consoling others.

“Just feeling the connection to them and feeling like, yeah, I guess life does go on, but it’s kind of like I need some help getting on with life,” she said. “I always leave there feeling good, feeling like I got something out of it.”

Even though each person is in a different stage of the grieving process, Haynes said, they see themselves in each other, and that gives them a sense of normalcy and hope.

“It helps to hear what other people have done to get through the minute by minute . . . and to see where somebody is. Maybe you’re not there yet, but it kind of gives you hope that maybe you can get there,” said Aiken, whose 16-yearold daughter Samantha also came to the meeting.

Simi resident Laura Gerritsen, 38, said knowing she’s not alone is comforting. Gerristen’s life partner, LAPD officer Spree DeSha, died in the crash.

“It’s nice to have a room full of people who can say I know what you’re feeling, I know what you’re going through,” said Gerritsen, her Jack Russell terrier and therapy dog Scout sitting in her lap. “We’re all in the same situation.”

Ruby Vyas, whose 20-year-old son Atul died in the crash, agreed, saying she felt like she was going crazy until she came to the group.

“This keeps me going, that I’ll see my second family on Saturday, people who really understand me and don’t judge me and accept my tears and my frustrations,” said Vyas, who’s only missed one meeting since joining the group in May.

Vyas’ other son, Aseem, also attends the group. The 23-year-old was overseas in London when the crash occurred, and he wasn’t told that his younger brother had died until he arrived home two days later. The news came as a shock; he said he always thought Atul was “invincible.”

Aiken said that’s the hardest thing to swallow about the loss of their loved ones: They were in the happiest times of their lives when they died.

Haynes, who also leads a pregnancy and infant loss group, said every kind of loss is unique. But the sudden and tragic way in which the people in the Metrolink support group lost their loved ones—which is so different from a typical hospice case—makes it fitting to have a group just for them, she said.

Despite enduring unimaginable loss, the group members—who’ve become close friends outside of the weekly meetings—said the support group has helped them immensely in coping with their grief. But they still say there really is no acceptance, no closure—just learning to live with the pain.

Still, they are thankful for the unconditional love they receive from the group.“I think the love and support you feel in this group, I feel like it’s given me oxygen,” Ruby Vyas said, “that I can truly breathe.”