tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9646240309832239432024-02-20T17:21:50.508-08:00speaking of griefA forum for learning about grief, and sharing our experiences and wisdom.susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-9460945468614661412014-02-23T17:55:00.000-08:002014-02-23T17:55:24.975-08:00Living Day to DayThis week I lost another friend, very suddenly and very unexpectedly. She collapsed and died within a matter of hours. She was a vital member of our church, and as we gathered together today, many tears were shed as we were confronted by her absence. The blessing was that we were not alone in our grief. We will gather to celebrate her life together. We will share memories together. We will tell stories to each other. We will laugh and cry and hug, and doing so, we will pass on the love she gave so generously to all of us.<br />
Yet all of us must also go on with our daily lives, carrying our grief with us. Each of us carries different levels of grief, bringing to this bereavement the losses of our life-times. The first thing I did on the day following my friend's death was put on my grief symbol. I have a necklace that I wear when I need to remind myself that I am grieving. Having a tangible symbol enables me to be more gentle with myself when I find myself unusually exhausted or irritable or down. Holding on to that symbol helps me take a deep breath from time to time and give myself permission to grieve. No one else can give me that permission. I have to consciously give it to myself. While my colleagues may express condolences when they initially hear of my friend's death, they have no reason to remember that I am grieving day after day. <br />
So, for the immediate future, I will do my best to remember that I am grieving. I will try to get more sleep. I will be more cautious when driving. I will take extra care of my health. I will wear my grief symbol. I will live gently, day by day.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-14298860880590454232013-02-12T12:52:00.002-08:002013-02-12T12:52:07.941-08:00AnniversariesYesterday, or today, depending on whom you ask, was the first anniversary of my mother's death. It has been a tough year, with two significant losses coming so close together. I think I underestimated the impact of those two deaths, even though I am supposed to know so much about grief. The holes people leave in our hearts are as deep as the love we shared, and, yes, I know how corny that sounds. Truth sometimes sounds corny, I guess. <br />
I still feel angry that I didn't get to say goodbye to my mom. I expected to at least be able to see and touch her body, but the family had her body cremated before I got out west. I have been surprised to find how deeply this has affected me. I am working on designing a goodbye ritual. Better late than never. <div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-14492954019757414112012-06-20T10:20:00.000-07:002012-06-20T10:20:00.237-07:00Death after Death A year ago I decided that it was time to do something with all the writing and research I did for my doctoral thesis on grieving multiple deaths. Since then, as if on cue, I have experienced multiple bereavements and find myself dealing with the complexities of multiple bereavement grief. All I can say for sure is that I am grateful to have walked this path before. I know what to expect, and knowing allows me to be more gentle with myself than I might otherwise be. I can let go of my self-judgement when I find myself grieving. I can be more patient with myself when I need more sleep or more headache meds. I can give myself some understanding when I'm impatient and irritable. I can recognize the difference between grief and despair. <br />
I say, "I can," in all of those sentences, which is not the same as saying, "I do." I can't always follow my own wisdom. I don't always take my own advice. My current job situation does not allow me to get extra sleep, which is one of the things I know to be important. And when I find myself short-tempered and angry it doesn't always occur to me to relate it to the deaths that I am grieving. <br />
The biggest difference on this particular journey of multiple bereavement grief from the one that I walked during the 80's and 90's, is that I now talk about grief and grieving out loud. I don't keep secrets. I share what I know. I hand out business cards with this blog site on them. I connect with other grievers. This time, I know how important it is to have companions on the journey.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-7261855154944755182012-06-18T10:05:00.000-07:002012-06-18T10:05:19.904-07:00A Picture is Worth a Thousand TearsLast week, in the middle of my school day, I was doing some research on a computer in our library. All of a sudden, I found myself looking at a picture of an aortic aneurysm (my mother died as the result of surgery to correct an aortic aneurysm), and without warning I burst into tears. It was like I was seeing my mother's heart, and her very large aneurysm. My stomach lurched, my breath stopped, and I was plunged into a state of deep shock and grief. I have not been able to shake the memory of that picture. You can never un-see something. I wonder if my mother saw a picture of her aneurysm before she agreed to surgery. I'm lucky - I can still ask my father.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-24634123066169193502012-06-12T12:16:00.000-07:002012-06-12T12:16:06.735-07:00The Death of a ParentIt's been 4 months since my mother died. I've survived Mother's Day, my parent's anniversary, and each of all the other days in between. I have been surprised by how different this grief is from the others I have gone through in the past. As I said in my last post, it feels as if this death is more disorienting than others. I suddenly find myself hoping my grandsons will call me Granny, which is what our children called my mom. I find myself planning my retirement years with more intensity than I plan tomorrow. I want to stay young for the pre-teen I still have at home, but I feel older than I've ever felt before. <br />
I also find that I'm grieving a loss of my own history. There are fewer and fewer people I can call to find out the real family history - that history that lurks just out of sight, because of all the secrets that all families have. The history that could help me understand some of my present. <br />
And I'm grieving the loss of the little, seemingly trivial things. I find myself wondering who my mother's favourite Blue Jay would be this year. When I watch a game, I feel the weight of knowing that my Dad is watching alone. Most things are like that - tinged with sadness.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-67084054044290959122012-04-23T17:36:00.000-07:002012-04-23T17:36:23.451-07:00Feeling My Age<div>
There's nothing like the death of a parent to make you stunningly aware of your own mortality. Other deaths have moved me to examine my life in light of the fact that it will one day end, but the death of my mother has done this in a more significant way. Not only will my life end, as hers has, but I am now the "next in line," as it were. I am now the grandmother, the matriarch of our family. I can now see that my life will have pretty much the same perameters as hers had. My grief at the loss of my mother is laced with sadness about my own future. Some days I can get past this and choose to continue having dreams, making plans, and investing in my future. Some days I just need to sit with my sadness over the fact that 20, or even 30 years seems a very short time to have left.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-67068089115569452892012-03-31T09:31:00.002-07:002012-04-09T12:58:13.149-07:00When You Can't Go Back<div>Recently, while watching TV, I heard a woman say, "If you can't go back, you'd best go forward." Such simple, truthful, advice. I cling to that advice every day. In my deep grief and sadness about my own mortality, I find strength in that saying. I can't go back. My mother is dead. I must go forward. I have children and grandchildren, a wife, friends, relatives, all of whom deserve my investment in our shared future. I need to take the days as they come and just keep going forward in the simple ways that I am able. Perhaps just sweeping a floor or making a phone call will be enough to tell someone else I love them. One day at a time, always going forward. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-77842483758354937762012-03-31T09:21:00.002-07:002012-04-19T16:48:50.761-07:00Every Little Thing<div>For my father, having just lost his wife of 59 years, grief is in the details. Every action, every breath of every day is filled with the loss, from the moment he wakes until he returns to sleep. Every chore he has to take on, every lonely lunch without his cribbage partner, every unshared TV show underlines the devastation he is forced to live with. </div><br />
<br /><div>I have lost two life partners, but no one with whom I have spent so many years. When your beloved spouse dies it's as if the entire fabric of life has been shredded. To say you feel "torn apart" is an apt metaphor. And, there really is no one who can possibly share that grief you have to bear. There are others who may understand some of what you're going through, because they've been there, too. But, ultimately, all grief is excruciatingly lonely. No one else had the same relationship with the deceased as you did. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-89564673519120796052012-03-31T09:09:00.002-07:002012-04-20T15:04:23.253-07:00Why Am I So Sad Today?<div>We expect to feel deep sadness and grief at the time that our loved one dies, yet often we do not. As I've outlined before, there is so much to do, so many details to look after, that we can rely on our natural state of shock to get us through without many tears. We may be aware that we are feeling sad, but the sadness then is nothing compared to the sadness that is to come. </div><br />
<br /><div>I am now five weeks past my mother's death. On Thursday morning, just before my students showed up for class, I felt the waves of grief hit me head on. I was biting back tears, forcing myself to find the strength to go forward with my day. I was afraid someone on staff would notice and reach out to console me. I say afraid, because if anyone had tried to be kind to me at that moment my walls of self-protection would have crumbled and I would have become an emotional heap. </div><br />
<br /><div>Knowing that this unexpected flood of grief, seemingly coming from nowhere, was, in fact, predictably on time, did help. It allowed me to fully acknowledge the parts of my being that were screaming for release and attention, while assuring those parts that I would find time for them on the weekend. Now it is the weekend, and I can find the safe places to go deeply into my grief. Now I am surrounded by those who love me most, and I can let myself experience the deep vulnerability of loss. </div><br />
<br /><div>In years past, when I have felt this need to grieve, to let some of the pain come to the surface, I have watched a sad movie or listened to sad music. Acknowledging the grief and letting it come out robs it of some of its power to derail me in unexpected moments.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-76826992606897490382012-03-31T08:55:00.003-07:002012-04-02T13:32:45.651-07:00Our immune systems and grief<div>Everyone in my family has been very sick lately. While I haven't experienced the level of illness most of them have gone through, I feel as though I have been fighting various things off ever since my mother died. I never feel fully well, and I have an almost continuous migraine. </div><br />
<br /><div>When we are in deep grief, our immune system is very compromised by the stress we are carrying. Not only does grief leave us feeling chronically exhausted, it raises our levels of stress hormone which knocks our immune systems for a loop. We need to make sure that we get as much sleep as possible, wash our hands constantly, drink lots of water and keep moving. Common sense, but hard to remember when you feel listless and detached. Going back to work has helped, but by the weekend I find myself beyond tired. That's when I have to be especially careful not to let the germs get the upper hand. Take care of yourself in whatever ways you need. That is not selfishness. It's protecting yourself so that there will be more of yourself to work, play, love with in the days ahead.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-37362640307698910502012-03-31T08:12:00.002-07:002012-03-31T08:26:15.235-07:00Grieving NowI have been away from this blog for a few months. I lost a chosen family member in November, and in February my mother died of a massive stroke. So, in the midst of writing about grief, I am enduring multiple bereavement grief once again. My mother's death was unexpected, although when someone of 81 elects to have surgery, you know there is always the chance they won't make it. The surgery was quite successful, but Mom had a stroke within hours that destroyed significant portions of her brain. She remained on a feeding tube for a week, and then my family made the decision to remove the tube and stop the IV. My youngest sister was lying on the bed with Mom, holding her, when she passed away.<br />Knowing as much about grief and grieving as I do has helped me and my loved ones. Many of my relatives have not had to go through such a significant loss before. It has helped my father, especially, to be told that everything he is thinking and feeling is normal.<br />For myself, I have lived through the numbness of the early days. I gave the eulogy at Mom's funeral. I spent a week with relatives and friends whose presence was a deep blessing. We played games, ate food that had been dropped off by loving neighbours, and took comfort in knowing that we loved and were loved by each other. It seemed like "time out of time," as everything was odd: we weren't at work; we were with people we hadn't seen in many years; we were aware of why we were together, but the real grief had not started. Tears were shed, but it always felt like Mom would walk into the room any minute and invite someone to play Scrabble or Cribbage.<br />As our brains go into shock we are allowed the blessing of being able to do and be many things that surprise us. Early grief is not often the deep, raw, ravaging experience we may expect.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-30079562441201980912012-03-08T17:00:00.002-08:002012-03-08T17:09:14.627-08:00Why Don't I Feel More?The days after the death of a loved one are hectic and full of people. There are plans to be made, meals to be coordinated, appointments with funeral homes and/or religious leaders. In those early days we don't have time to feel our loss in any significant way. It's almost as if our minds and hearts <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">seize on the details in order to cope with the larger reality. It is normal to wonder why we don't feel the sadness we expected to feel, or that we think others expect us to be feeling. That sadness may take a long time to surface. We can, however, trust that the grief will come - at what ever time our hearts and minds are ready to process it.</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-28125346480301342772011-11-30T14:33:00.000-08:002011-12-13T15:13:01.119-08:00The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?For the first ten Christmases (and Easters, and Thanksgivings) of my daughter's life, she has been safe and loved within our extended, chosen family. This will be the first celebration of her life when that circle of love will be diminished by one. Our beloved Jutta will not be with us. She is dying and is not likely to be alive. At Thanksgiving we all said our goodbyes. We held each other. We cried. We said, "I love you." My daughter was part of all of that. But she has never lost a family member to death.<br /><br />This Christmas will be different. There will be one less place setting at the table. There will be one less present for us under the tree. There will be things spoken and things left unsaid. There will be one less source of love in the room.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-28314078411155385102011-11-09T14:02:00.000-08:002011-11-09T14:26:46.375-08:00Not Everyone Falls ApartLast month <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Zoomer</span> magazine published an article challenging the idea that all people fall apart following a bereavement. They admit that their subjects were self-selected and a rather small sample, which may have biased the results of the study. I would have to agree with both statements: not everyone does fall apart, and that their choice of subjects did bias the outcome of the study. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Zoomer</span> magazine is one that is aimed at an aging populace, and those who have reached a mature age have probably experienced sufficient bereavement that they do not fall apart when faced with yet another. Sometimes, as we have discussed earlier, the death of a spouse has been long and difficult, making the death almost a relief. Life can now be resumed without the constraints of caring for the dying. Much of the burden of grief has already been released through the thousand goodbyes as the relationship slips away piece by piece. Often there has already been time to adjust to new roles and to find help with unfamiliar tasks. Thus, it may appear that some people do not grieve as deeply (read here "as well") as we might like.<br />For those of us who have lived through many bereavements, death becomes a natural end to life. We may no longer fall apart for long periods of time, but we do grieve. The sadness we feel may not devastate us or cause us to lose time at work. But, I would suggest, it is foolish to think that we are not grieving. When we lose our temper over relatively minor events, or rush into questionable relationships or committments, when we change jobs or pack up and move, we may in fact be responding to unresolved grief. I would caution those of us who do not fall apart to be especially gentle with ourselves, and to put off major decisions for at least 6 months, if possible.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-65423935381251680442011-10-14T10:11:00.000-07:002012-06-18T10:07:17.130-07:00What is Multiple-Bereavement Grief? Studies have shown that it takes up to two years to move through all the work of grief following a single bereavement. So, what happens when those two years are interrupted by another death, or perhaps more? It's not so much that the load of grief increases, but rather that the work of grief gets postponed. Our hearts and minds can only deal with so much grief at one time. There is a natural "off" switch that kicks in when we are faced with multiple losses, and we may feel as if we are numb rather than overwhelmed.<br />
I have found that multiple-bereavement grief is very complex, but that it follows a path that is similar for different grievers. The book I am working on is about this unique path of grief. I will explore some of my findings in this blog at a later date. What I want to share right now is that the awareness of the importance of saying intentional goodbyes is one of the gifts that arises from experiencing multiple bereavements. When you have lost many friends or family members to death, death becomes a more normal part of living. It is no longer something to fear or avoid, but can be faced and addressed with those who are dying and with other supportive people.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-77115665472329036172011-10-12T14:41:00.000-07:002011-10-12T14:52:25.808-07:00Intentional GoodbyesOn Thanksgiving weekend I had the blessing of being able to say goodbye to someone I love very much. She has been an important part of all of my family celebrations, every year since before my daughter was born. My daughter has never known a Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving without Jutta. But Jutta is dying of lung cancer. We all know that this will be her last gathering with us, her chosen family. <br />Saying goodbye to one I love who is dying may seem like an odd thing to list as one of my Thanksgiving blessings, but that is truly how I feel. At least we got to say how much we love each other one last time. We got to ask and answer some important questions. I was able to convey to her how integral a part of our future celebrations she will be: not just by her absence, but much more in all the memories and love that have been shared over the years. We got to hold each other, to walk together, to snuggle on the couch. We were able to be open-hearted when it mattered most.<br />I am so grateful that my friend did not die suddenly while alone in her home. I am grateful that she is surrounded by loved ones as she makes this final journey. I am sad. She is ready to go. I am ready to let her go. I cannot ask for more.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-87739481482438585422011-09-26T15:37:00.000-07:002011-09-26T15:38:48.795-07:00Why Her? Why Him? Why not Me?Sometimes we would give anything, even our own lives, to stop the dying of our beloved. Death never makes sense in the moment, even the death of the elderly. The death of a child or of a relatively young adult is especially unbearable. At these times we can be crushed by the feeling that “it should have been me.” Death brings us face to face with our own mortality, and raises deep questions about the meaning of life, our life.<br /><br />When the anguish of early grief is past, a type of survivor guilt may possess us. We can’t understand why we are still alive while our loved one is gone. Trying to make sense of our life without our beloved is one of the toughest aspects of grief work. Sometimes, without our beloved it is difficult even to find meaning in our own existence. The work we have to do does not come easily or quickly. It takes months, even years, to find our way to affirming our own lives as significant and worthy. We have to live into our new realities and new names: widow, widower, child-less mother/father, orphan.<br /><br />Survivor guilt is especially significant for those who have survived a trauma in which others have died. This is complicated grief, and may result in Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Those suffering from this type of grief are strongly advised to seek professional help. Please know that you are not alone. There are others who can walk this road with you. If you are unable to seek help on your own, speak to someone who can direct you: your physician, your faith leader, a close friend.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-62459740324179108332011-09-19T16:24:00.001-07:002011-09-19T16:31:30.931-07:00Grief and TherapyI hope, by now, it is evident that I have a deep respect for therapists and for the therapeutic process. I have benefited many times throughout my life by spending time with wonderful, competent therapists. Yet, as I do more work in the area of grief and grieving, I become more convinced daily that a great deal of time and money is being spent on therapy when what is actually needed is simply somewhere to grieve. So many of us carry so much grief: we’ve lost lovers, friends, jobs, homes, pets. We’ve lost our youth, our energy, our faith. Add to that a significant death and we have a perfect storm of grief; with no where to express it, and no one to witness it. With no one to guide us, or help us feel like what we’re going through is normal. In this day and age it is easier to assume that we are losing our minds and that we need a therapist in order to “sort everything out.”<br /><br />If this weren’t such a tragedy it would be amusing. Here we are, in North America, able to benefit from the insights of psychology and psychiatry, able to spout clichés about healing our inner child and getting free of co-dependency, yet unable to grasp the simple truth that grieving is a necessary part of living. We continually deny the depth of change and transformation that comes with death and loss. We don’t even have words to describe who we are without our sister, without our child, without our in-laws. It’s as if some types of grief can be recognized and affirmed, because they bestow names: widow, widower, orphan.<br /><br />I wish that all of us who are carrying grief could simply be purple for a day, so that our grief could be witnessed and affirmed. I know that we like to have our protective walls up sometimes, especially at work. But, I think if we could meet our fellow travelers, the pathway of grief would not be so desolate. At the very least, we could be sharing our experience, strength and hope, as other self-help groups advocate. It seems to me that our grieving selves need to see the light of day if true healing is to happen. That light may be found in a therapist's office, but it might also be found in the eyes of a friend.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-47447622251884255612011-09-19T14:51:00.000-07:002011-09-19T14:51:41.687-07:00Can You Die of a Broken Heart?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 36pt;">
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We probably know, or have heard of, spouses who die within a year of one another. We sometimes say, “He died of a broken heart.” What we mean is, people love one another so much that they literally die without each other. Or perhaps we mean that the weight of grief is too much for the surviving spouse to bear. Possibly, the work of grief is just too hard, and death is the way out. I do believe that people can die of a broken heart. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This begs the question, “Can someone die because of the hurt I have caused them?” When we have been the ones to inflict hurt on the dying person, we may find ourselves struggling with very difficult and conflicting feelings. I have known ex-spouses who endure overwhelming feelings of guilt if they were the ones who left the relationship. This is exacerbated when they left to follow an affair that began while they were still in relationship with the dying one. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, when we are in this situation, we don’t have access to the person who is dying. There is no chance to say goodbye, let alone to try to ask forgiveness for our behaviour in the past. Even when we do have access, when someone is dying is hardly the right time to say we are sorry. The one who is dying does not likely have the energy to make us feel better. Nor should this time in his or her life, be about us. The time for confessions, amends, and forgiveness is past. If we didn’t take it when our ex-partners were living, we cannot justify taking it now. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guilt that haunts us in these circumstances is ours, alone. It will complicate our grief work, and may linger much longer than the emotional pain of knowing that our former love has died. If we allow our pain to direct us to deepen our self-examination, and use the new insights we gain to avoid repeating painful patterns with others, this aspect of grief can be a gift. Again, this may be a situation in which therapy is called for.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-43524706242118041812011-09-18T17:34:00.000-07:002011-09-18T17:40:59.140-07:00I Feel Cheated.Often when someone we love dies we have unfinished business with him or her. There are things we’ve never said, secrets we’ve never revealed, confessions we have not made or received. When the person is gone forever we suddenly realize how hopeless our situation is: we can never rectify or have rectified the wrongs that stood between us. The time for making amends, on both sides, is utterly gone. We cannot get even the hope, the possibility, of healing or forgiveness back.<br /><br />When the dying person has hurt us, our need for them to confess their knowledge of what they did, even just in secret to us alone, may overwhelm us as we see them moving away from us. The death of an abuser will naturally trigger deep angers and fears. We may feel that we want to strike out, to wound, to exact revenge or justice, as if dying was not good enough. Indeed, dying is not good enough to heal the wounds the dying one has inflicted. But our release from the anger and hurt we carry will rarely come from the other, the one who caused the pain. Our release, our healing must come from within. Hearing the words, “I’m sorry,” before it’s too late, may help, but in the long run we must do the hard work of giving life to ourselves from the inside out. A wise therapist is called for to help with this process.<br /><br />When the abuser is a parent or spouse, our feelings as they die are further complicated by the fact that we have also loved him or her. We may feel guilty for having loved this person, or guilty for wanting him or her to love us differently than they have. We may feel guilty for the times when we wished he or she would die, as if our wishing it were somehow powerful enough to make it happen. We may have feelings of guilt about our own worth, tormenting ourselves with all of the, “If only I had” s.<br />Again, work with a competent therapist is called for in order to sort through these conflicting and self-deprecating feelings.<br /><br />In the absence of a therapist there are some things that may help. Finding a room where we can scream, punch pillows, or kick boxes can give us some of the physical release we need. Confronting our dying one by “talking to” an empty chair may also help us find relief. Writing letters, throwing stones into water, jumping on a trampoline, or just stomping lets some of our pent up anger find a place outside of our bodies. Letting the anger out is an essential part of the work of grief.<br />I will deal with the guilt that comes from feeling that <strong>we</strong> have somehow abused the dying one in my next posting.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-7451711534359022332011-09-12T14:48:00.000-07:002011-09-12T15:39:25.586-07:00Grief Surfaces In Little ThingsThe other day I was speaking to a friend whose mother died this past summer. I was reminded again of how often our sadness finds us at unexpected moments, and often in the most ordinary of circumstances. When someone we have loved for many years dies, our minds have to grasp the reality on many different levels. The most obvious level is the cold hard facts of death: the last breath has been drawn, the last words spoken or left unsaid, the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">beloved's</span> body has been taken from us. The physical aspects of death are difficult enough to comprehend. Yet even when we have coped with those stark realities, our brains are slow to grasp the full meaning of our loved one's eternal absence. Our minds still get caught in the, "Oh, I must talk to ... about that." We see a good movie or read a great book, and suddenly realize that we can't share our find with the one we loved. We begin to realize that pieces of our own history have died with our loved one. There is no longer one who can remember certain events with us, or tell us of our family history, or sing the family songs with us.<br />It is natural for our sadness to deepen over the first few months of bereavement, not lessen. Our initial searing pain gives way to a much deeper understanding of just how much we have lost, just which aspects of our lives will never be the same again. At the precise time when others are expecting us to be "getting over it," we are, in fact, just getting into it. It usually takes 6 months for us to fully grasp how life has changed, and to grieve all of the losses incurred with the death of our beloved.<br />My friend is no longer a mother's daughter. She can no longer call up for a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">recipe</span> or share some news about her own daughters. She is on the journey of bereavement, and the waves of sadness will continue to arrive unexpectedly, for quite some time.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-78303403049766429062011-08-26T13:20:00.000-07:002011-08-26T13:36:37.968-07:00Public Outpouring of GriefJack Layton, the leader of our country's opposition party, died on Monday. Since then, he has been given the honour of a state funeral, complete with lying in state in the House of Commons in Ottawa, and in the rotunda of the Toronto City Hall. Thousands of members of the public have lined up for hours for their chance to file past his coffin and write in his memory book.
<br />What can it mean that so many people are expressing deep grief during these visits? Some, of course, are there to express respect, but many are finding themselves overwhelmed by grief. Can such a mass of people all be grieving at once? Watching the TV coverage, the answer has to be, "Yes."
<br />In this public outpouring of admiration and grief, we can witness again how important it is to allow people to grieve individually and collectively. So often, we find ourselves in shock and disbelief when a loved one dies, and we don't always feel the deep grief at the time of the funeral. Public memorial services, whether for virtual strangers, or those designed by hospitals or funeral homes to mourn people who have died in a given year, give a social sanction to our need to mourn. Those times allow us to be in touch with our loss of hope, our fear for the future, our need to reconnect with the one(s) who has died.
<br />This past week has been a living testimonial to the importance of allowing people to grieve. Grief is a universal and powerful emotion. It can bind strangers and separate loved ones. It can paralyze us, and motivate us. It can reinforce our beliefs, or tear those beliefs to shreds. Grief is the heartbeat of compassion.
<br />Rest in peace, Jack, and may your family find the peace that passes all understanding.
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-59572587892843171642011-08-23T14:29:00.001-07:002011-08-23T14:38:03.874-07:00I thought this was all over.As I was working on my book today, I was recounting the funeral of my spiritual soul mate, Sylvia. I found that I had to take time out from the writing to sob, and sob, and sob. I felt like her death had happened yesterday. Or, perhaps, I found the freedom to feel all the grief I had needed to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">suppress</span> in order to get through that funeral. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that such deep mourning indicates to me that I still have emotional and spiritual work to do that is somehow connected to Sylvia's death. Her death left me devoid of a spiritual companion at that time. Her death, and my grief led to the demise of my congregation and the loss of my ministry. So much is tangled up with the death of a beloved. I am still trying to figure out just exactly who I am in ministry without her. I am so thankful for Katherine, the love of my life, and our beautiful daughter, Anna. Sylvia never got to know Katherine well, or to see Anna. My life has gone on, and is a constant source of wonder to me. Yet, there still linger the shadows of grief and the work of learning to live fully in the world without the ones I've lost.
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-18847118942239685302011-08-11T13:03:00.000-07:002011-08-11T13:33:22.865-07:00Guilt and GriefWhen we've been waiting a while for death to come to a loved one, there can be a sense of relief when he or she actually dies. Our lives will no longer be ruled by hospital visits or home care burdens. We will no longer have to watch our beloved wasting away or listen to moans of pain. The death really is "for the best." Yet, we feel guilty for those thoughts, and if anyone dares to voice them, we feel a spurt of anger. The emotions of grief are so confusing.
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<br />We may feel, rightly or wrongly, that we are somehow responsible for the death. This type of guilt is especially present when death comes through accident or suicide. Surely there must have been something I could have/should have done to prevent this horror. Many of the grievers in these situations will be blaming themselves or each other. I strongly urge professional help for those suffering this type of bereavement guilt.
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<br />There is also survivor guilt - why am I alive when my beloved is dead? Again, this will be extreme if we have survived an accident in which another died. But in its lesser form, it is usually present as a normal part of grief. Death is no respecter of persons. It may feel to us as though the best, the brightest, the smartest, the most... has been taken away, while we are left to carry on. We may feel frightened and unequal to the tasks ahead. Why couldn't we have died instead? What is so special about us that we are alive when our loved one is dead?
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<br />Finally, there may be guilt involved in grief due to an unresolved aspect of our relationship with the deceased. We find ourselves endlessly wrestling with questions: why didn't I..? why did I...? what if I had...? When death happens there are always many things left unsaid, many acts left undone. We always have regrets. Now we will have to work out our own solutions without the one who has died.
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<br />Feelings of guilt are a normal part of grief. In most cases we manage to let go of the guilt, as we realize it has no point. If guilt becomes paralyzing during the grieving period, we probably need professional help. Talking things out in a safe environment can help us resolve issues even without our loved one's presence.
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964624030983223943.post-25576292559963386992011-08-04T08:17:00.000-07:002011-08-04T09:16:42.323-07:00When You're not Supposed to GrieveSometimes we are forced to grieve alone, in silence, because no one knows the depth of our connection to the one who has died. Sometimes no one knows that we even exist. Sometimes we are known, but not recognized as part of the group of legitimate grievers. Perhaps we were a secret lover, an ex-partner, a divorced spouse. Perhaps we find ourselves excluded by homophobic families or churches when our lovers or friends die. Perhaps our loved one has "gone home to die," and we are left without an outlet for our grief. Or, maybe, we simply feel that no one knew how close we really were.<br />No matter what the circumstances that cause this, we are dealing with exclusion as grievers. Our grieving is compounded by a deep sense of isolation. We may even be forced to hide our grief entirely, crying only when we are sure of being alone. It is extremely difficult to do the work of grief in a conscious way when we can't even acknowledge that we are grieving. It becomes essential that we understand our own grief, and take special care to make spaces for it. Grief symbols and private rituals will help, and joining a bereavement group may lessen the intensity of our feelings of isolation. As with any grieving, it is important to be able to tell our stories over and over again. Finding a friend, pastor, counsellor or group is even more important when dealing with disenfranchised grief.<br />I want to say a word to those of us who are in ministry. When we conduct the funerals of our congregants, we are often disenfranchised grievers. We are there to facilitate the grieving of our people, but we are expected to be calm, composed and comforted by our faith. Our reality may be quite different. We, too, may have lost a loved one, a friend, a significant member of our circle of support. We may also have walked with this person through the dying process. The death may have been completely unexpected, or especially traumatic. We carry all of our knowledge of the person, the family and the situation into the worship service. We probably also know of other difficult situations being lived by other members of the grieving congregation. As pastors, we have to try to hold all of this grief inside, while staying emotionally open and present. This adds up to a heavy burden. And the load gets heavier with every funeral.<br />I strongly encourage my clergy friends to find a holy companion. Find someone who can listen to your grief stories. Find someone who will affirm your right to grieve. Give yourself permission to take regular time in your week to sit with those who have gone before, and to feel whatever you need to feel. Refusing to understand our own grief will ultimately lead to burn-out or compassion fatigue, neither of which will serve us or anyone else.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Please send comments to speakingofgrief@gmail.com. The comment tool is not working.</div>susan.mabeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11584750691554355526noreply@blogger.com1