The 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.

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.

Not Everyone Falls Apart

Last month Zoomer 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. Zoomer 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.
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.

What 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.
     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.

Intentional Goodbyes

On 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.
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.
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.

Why 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.

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.

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.

Grief and Therapy

I 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.”

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.

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.

Can You Die of a Broken Heart?

            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.      

     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.

     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.

     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.