Many years ago, Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross proposed 5 stages of death and dying: anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance. While others have since used, abused, criticized, and added to her stages, the fact remains that she was the pioneer in helping us understand that momentous life events do not elicit simple, straightforward responses. She was unrelentingly willing to stay present to hundreds of people as they died, and by doing so, she paved an indisputably important path. Her work gave voice to the complexity of human responses in the face of death and dying. People finally had language to express the myriad of emotions both they and their loved ones were experiencing as death became forcefully part of life.
Kubler-Ross understood that the stages she outlined were not meant to imply a linear pathway. She realized that individuals moved into and out of, and into again, the various stages in her schema. What she was able to demonstrate and document was that each stage, when encountered, brought with it a different range of emotions, and demanded different responses from the individuals in those stages. A person who is dealing with denial will feel, think, and act differently from one who is dealing with anger or bargaining. Through her work she taught us that there was important emotional, psychological, and spiritual work to be done in different ways, in different stages.
The stages of death and dying remain a place to begin when trying to understand what we are talking about when we speak of the work of grief. From the time of diagnosis, or the time of trauma from sudden death, we will face a wild ride on an emotional roller-coaster. Denial, anger, and bargaining all consume us in equal parts, as we feel ourselves spinning out of control. The fact is, we are out of control. The death, present or impending, is beyond our control and so are our responses.
Likewise, there are predictable stages of grief, with attendant emotional, psychological, and spiritual work to be done during each stage. Like the stages of death and dying, they do not happen in a linear way, and they do not come with a road map or GPS. Rather than envisioning a straight path through grief, it is probably more helpful to picture a spiral, a path that continually doubles back on itself as we revisit the stages over time.
While time does not heal grief, it does lend perspective, and the perspective means that we are different when we revisit stages of grief we have previously passed through.
As a simple outline, which I will enlarge upon in time, the stages of grief are stages of integration: of the facts; of a new reality; of the deceased in our living; of others. In the case of multiple bereavement grief, which occurs when we have lost two or more significant people within two years, there is an added, prolonged time of grieving that I call entombment. In the unique situations where death has been by suicide, or where we are outside the grieving community for whatever reason, there are additional challenges inherent in the grieving process. All of these I will write about over the course of the next few months.
Thursday 30 June 2011
Monday 27 June 2011
A Thousand Goodbyes
When we have the work of saying goodbye to our beloved before he or she dies, we will experience both the crisis and the gift of that extended time. The gift, obviously, is that the beloved is still present, still in the world. The crisis is that so much of the person, and so much of our relationship with the person, has already died. Even before that last breath is taken, so much has been taken from us.
Among the first things to die are the dreams, the hopes, the plans we shared for the future. Even when we still dare to hope for a miracle, eventually we face the shock of realizing that we will not make that trip, we will not share those hoped for moments, we will not have one more ... Our dreams come crashing down on us like an immense weight, suffocating the life out of us. We have begun to grieve.
The next to die are those aspects of the relationship that gave it such richness; intimacy, both emotional and sexual; equality, of energy and enthusiasm; shared day to day experiences; simple phone calls at the end of the day. We grieve to find ourselves increasingly alone.
If the one dying is a friend, there may be a total loss of relationship, even long before death. The one who is dying will have an ever-diminishing circle of caring. They may not be able or willing to see people beyond their immediate care-givers. They may "go home to die," in a variety of ways that excludes us. For any number of reasons, we may not be recognized as part of the inner circle. We experience being utterly bereft and helpless to change that deep lonliness, long before death has occured. We have begun to grieve.
If our beloved has an illness that affects their minds and memories, we lose our relationship in bits and pieces. Shared memories are lost. Names from the present are lost. Names from the past are lost. Our names are lost. A terrible grieving begins. How can a mother forget her child? How can a father not recognize his own son? How can a partner of 30 years not know my name? "Come BACK!" we scream, into the ears of a seemingly deaf universe. We grieve through a thousand goodbyes.
Among the first things to die are the dreams, the hopes, the plans we shared for the future. Even when we still dare to hope for a miracle, eventually we face the shock of realizing that we will not make that trip, we will not share those hoped for moments, we will not have one more ... Our dreams come crashing down on us like an immense weight, suffocating the life out of us. We have begun to grieve.
The next to die are those aspects of the relationship that gave it such richness; intimacy, both emotional and sexual; equality, of energy and enthusiasm; shared day to day experiences; simple phone calls at the end of the day. We grieve to find ourselves increasingly alone.
If the one dying is a friend, there may be a total loss of relationship, even long before death. The one who is dying will have an ever-diminishing circle of caring. They may not be able or willing to see people beyond their immediate care-givers. They may "go home to die," in a variety of ways that excludes us. For any number of reasons, we may not be recognized as part of the inner circle. We experience being utterly bereft and helpless to change that deep lonliness, long before death has occured. We have begun to grieve.
If our beloved has an illness that affects their minds and memories, we lose our relationship in bits and pieces. Shared memories are lost. Names from the present are lost. Names from the past are lost. Our names are lost. A terrible grieving begins. How can a mother forget her child? How can a father not recognize his own son? How can a partner of 30 years not know my name? "Come BACK!" we scream, into the ears of a seemingly deaf universe. We grieve through a thousand goodbyes.
Friday 24 June 2011
The work of grief
The old adage says, "Time heals all wounds." Nothing could be further from the truth. There are still huge holes in my being where people I loved belong. Bearing the pain of their loss becomes less oppressive, but only over a long period of time. Making the pain more manageable (note I do not say, "making the pain go away"), involves being willing to engage it, rather than avoid it. All of us find it easier to numb the pain - with drugs, alcohol, busy-ness, or other consuming passions. And, of course, life does go on, with its demands and responsibilities. We do, to some degree, have to move past the initial, immobilizing pain of our bereavement.
The essential thing to know, however, is that our grief is not so easily dismissed. In the first few months of bereavement we will be forced by our own consciousness into a gradual awareness of the fact that our beloved is dead. Our culture would have us do away even with the word "dead," in favour of "passed on", or some other euphemism. Yet our minds slowly, reluctantly, stubbornly force us to realize that our world has fundamentally changed. In the midst of our attempts to numb the pain, we hear a song, we catch a scent, we revisit a well-loved cafe, and suddenly we find ourselves overwhelmed by grief. Perhaps the hardest moments are the milliseconds when our hearts stop because we have seen our beloved in a crowd, or in a passing car. We know he or she is dead, but our mind is still yearning in such a profound way, that we think we actually see, just for a second, the one we love so much.
In our death-denying, grief-denying world we may be tempted to think that we must be going crazy. Yet, what is actually happening is that we are being brought face to face with the reality of deep grief. It is at this point that we can begin to engage our grief, to welcome it, to allow it the space, time, attention it deserves. It is at this point that we can begin to do the work necessary to make our pain an integral part of our lives. The pain and loss are ours, anyway. Far better to engage it and be transformed by it, than to numb it.
The essential thing to know, however, is that our grief is not so easily dismissed. In the first few months of bereavement we will be forced by our own consciousness into a gradual awareness of the fact that our beloved is dead. Our culture would have us do away even with the word "dead," in favour of "passed on", or some other euphemism. Yet our minds slowly, reluctantly, stubbornly force us to realize that our world has fundamentally changed. In the midst of our attempts to numb the pain, we hear a song, we catch a scent, we revisit a well-loved cafe, and suddenly we find ourselves overwhelmed by grief. Perhaps the hardest moments are the milliseconds when our hearts stop because we have seen our beloved in a crowd, or in a passing car. We know he or she is dead, but our mind is still yearning in such a profound way, that we think we actually see, just for a second, the one we love so much.
In our death-denying, grief-denying world we may be tempted to think that we must be going crazy. Yet, what is actually happening is that we are being brought face to face with the reality of deep grief. It is at this point that we can begin to engage our grief, to welcome it, to allow it the space, time, attention it deserves. It is at this point that we can begin to do the work necessary to make our pain an integral part of our lives. The pain and loss are ours, anyway. Far better to engage it and be transformed by it, than to numb it.
Wednesday 22 June 2011
Why am I still crying?
Thankyou, Norm, for commenting on the link, "Give Grief A Chance." I sometimes think that those of us who know what the real work of grief is like should send bereavement cards on the six-month anniversary of someone's loss. We need a tangible way of telling people that it is essential to keep telling the stories and talking about the loss, naming the beloved aloud, even years after the death.
When I say that the deep work of grief begins after the six-month mark, it's because until then we are essentially unaware of how permanent the loss is. We may have extreme feelings of emptiness, anger, abandonement, and overwhelming saddness in the wake of the death. Yet, even as we are consumed by our emotions, our intellect has retreated into numbness. We know that our beloved has died, but there is something in the mind that continues to hope, continues to "disbelieve", continues to convince us that this cannot be real, that somehow, some day, we will wake up from the nightmare.
It is during the first year following the death that our minds are confronted by the real extent of our loss. It's the birthdays not celebrated, the celebrations not shared, the accomplishments never seen. These are the things that make the loss sink in with a fresh fierceness of grief. We find we must begin all over again to acknowledge the death, grieve the loss, and figure out who we are without our beloved. Thus begins the real work of grief.
When I say that the deep work of grief begins after the six-month mark, it's because until then we are essentially unaware of how permanent the loss is. We may have extreme feelings of emptiness, anger, abandonement, and overwhelming saddness in the wake of the death. Yet, even as we are consumed by our emotions, our intellect has retreated into numbness. We know that our beloved has died, but there is something in the mind that continues to hope, continues to "disbelieve", continues to convince us that this cannot be real, that somehow, some day, we will wake up from the nightmare.
It is during the first year following the death that our minds are confronted by the real extent of our loss. It's the birthdays not celebrated, the celebrations not shared, the accomplishments never seen. These are the things that make the loss sink in with a fresh fierceness of grief. We find we must begin all over again to acknowledge the death, grieve the loss, and figure out who we are without our beloved. Thus begins the real work of grief.
Monday 20 June 2011
Give grief a chance - The United Church Observer
Give grief a chance - The United Church Observer
I would recommend this article to anyone wrestling with issues around grief and funerals. I have been to some horrific funerals, used to lambaste the congregation with threats of eternal damnation. I have also been to funerals in which lives were celebrated and losses grieved, all at the same time. It seems to me that our society is always ready to deny us the space and time to grieve. If we give away our one permitted arena, the funeral, we risk losing even that small opportunity.
That being said, however, as agonizing as those first few days following a death may be, our deep grief does not usually begin until about six months after the funeral. It takes that long for us to fully realize that our loved one is gone. Until then, each time we walk through the door, or hear the phone ring, we still have that moment of thinking, "Oh, that's probably..." And then our hearts die a little more, as the hole inside us gets bigger. When we finally realize that our loved one is gone, the work of deep grief begins.
I would recommend this article to anyone wrestling with issues around grief and funerals. I have been to some horrific funerals, used to lambaste the congregation with threats of eternal damnation. I have also been to funerals in which lives were celebrated and losses grieved, all at the same time. It seems to me that our society is always ready to deny us the space and time to grieve. If we give away our one permitted arena, the funeral, we risk losing even that small opportunity.
That being said, however, as agonizing as those first few days following a death may be, our deep grief does not usually begin until about six months after the funeral. It takes that long for us to fully realize that our loved one is gone. Until then, each time we walk through the door, or hear the phone ring, we still have that moment of thinking, "Oh, that's probably..." And then our hearts die a little more, as the hole inside us gets bigger. When we finally realize that our loved one is gone, the work of deep grief begins.
Sunday 19 June 2011
A Mother's Grief
On Friday, June 17, Betty Fox died, and Canada lost a most amazing role model. It is true that no parent should ever have to bury a child. Yet, having lived with her son through his courageous and traumatic battles with cancer, his cross-Canada run, and through his final struggles and death at the age of 22, Betty found the strength and courage to turn her grief into a catalyst for a life of humanitarian service. Just 3 months after Terry's death, Betty organized the first Terry Fox Run at more than 760 sites across Canada. Her great courage and relentless energy will be greatly missed. For a photo tribute, go to http://www.thestar.com/ and scroll down to the slide show. Rest in peace, Betty.
Saturday 18 June 2011
Grief at work
In the staff room the other day, I mentioned starting this blog. Immediately, every person at the table started talking about grief, and about how agonizing it is, and how little we know about it. Only one person knew that the grieving process takes a minimum of 2 years, just to "get through." Everyone agreed that you never "get over" the loss of someone deeply loved; the pain just gets less invasive and more bearable.
What struck me, yet again, is how little we share with each other what is actually going on in our lives. When did, "Fine, thanks." become the only appropriate answer to, "How are you?" I think there is a belief in all of us that we couldn't possible cope with each others' grief, let alone stay present to our own and be honest about it. We believe that we would be overwhelmed by the weight of it all, that we would somehow drown in the sadness. I am beginning to suspect, however, that we refuse to stay open to our pain and the pain of others at a terrible price; the price of our mind, body, spirit wholeness. We numb ourselves, hide ourselves, protect ourselves with food, alcohol, pills, work, sex, and a host of other escapes. Then we wonder why we have no energy, carry so much weight, use so many OTC drugs, and why the checkout person at the liquor store knows us by sight. I believe our route to healing many of these things lies directly through the grief we are trying to hide from. To paraphrase Ghandi, the only way through is through. I suspect that this journey I am on now is one of creating my own road- map through to my deepest self. Too bad we have no GPS for the life of the soul.
What struck me, yet again, is how little we share with each other what is actually going on in our lives. When did, "Fine, thanks." become the only appropriate answer to, "How are you?" I think there is a belief in all of us that we couldn't possible cope with each others' grief, let alone stay present to our own and be honest about it. We believe that we would be overwhelmed by the weight of it all, that we would somehow drown in the sadness. I am beginning to suspect, however, that we refuse to stay open to our pain and the pain of others at a terrible price; the price of our mind, body, spirit wholeness. We numb ourselves, hide ourselves, protect ourselves with food, alcohol, pills, work, sex, and a host of other escapes. Then we wonder why we have no energy, carry so much weight, use so many OTC drugs, and why the checkout person at the liquor store knows us by sight. I believe our route to healing many of these things lies directly through the grief we are trying to hide from. To paraphrase Ghandi, the only way through is through. I suspect that this journey I am on now is one of creating my own road- map through to my deepest self. Too bad we have no GPS for the life of the soul.
Wednesday 15 June 2011
In the tomb
Sometimes grief feels like entombment, as if we have entered a cave, and someone has rolled a big rock over the opening. There is nothing but darkness in our hearts, minds, spirits. There is a sense that we can't move, can't get enough air, can't see a way forward. And, the truth is, we can't. We must enter into this time of darkness. We must rest there, if rest is the right word. We must let ourselves simply stop. The trouble is, the world wants us to keep moving, expects us to keep moving, demands that we keep moving. Others are uncomfortable with us stopping in our grief. We must give ourselves permission.
Tuesday 14 June 2011
Going Crazy
My memories of my grief when my partner Joan died in 1986 are as clear today as if they happened yesterday. I recall being in Shoppers' Drug Mart a day or two after her death, and suddenly standing still, unable to move, unable to breathe. Most of all, I was unable to make any sense out of anything I could see. What were all these people doing? What was all this stuff on the shelves? Why was buying and selling going on when Joan was dead? How could life just go on, as if nothing had happened?
I think I stood there frozen for a matter of seconds, although it felt like forever. I wanted to scream, or throw things, or ... instead I put down the things in my hand and left the store. Everything in my world had changed. Nothing in the outside world had changed. Reconciling that seemed impossible.
I think I stood there frozen for a matter of seconds, although it felt like forever. I wanted to scream, or throw things, or ... instead I put down the things in my hand and left the store. Everything in my world had changed. Nothing in the outside world had changed. Reconciling that seemed impossible.
Monday 13 June 2011
Let's talk!
I have spent many years grieving, studying grief, and teaching about grief. Now I want to talk - especially to talk to others who are grieving or wondering what grief is all about. I will post some of my thoughts on this page from time to time, but I want to hear from you, too.
To get started, I believe that every death is a sudden death. Even when we have days, weeks, or months to prepare for the death of a loved one, that final breath comes as a shock. Deaths that occur quickly and unexpectedly carry their own unique burden of grief, but the finality is the same. There is no more room for negotiating any aspect of the relationship with the deceased. Everything we had with them has died with that final breath.
To get started, I believe that every death is a sudden death. Even when we have days, weeks, or months to prepare for the death of a loved one, that final breath comes as a shock. Deaths that occur quickly and unexpectedly carry their own unique burden of grief, but the finality is the same. There is no more room for negotiating any aspect of the relationship with the deceased. Everything we had with them has died with that final breath.
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