UNDERSTANDING GRIEF
• It’s a natural reaction to loss
• It can be harder than you expected
Throughout the first year after my mom died, my grief was compounded by other negative feelings I put on myself, including shame and embarrassment. It was just my mom that died...It's not like I lost my husband or child. People lose a parent all the time. It's the natural order of things... Yes, I do believe an "out of order" death or the sudden death of a spouse would be particularly brutal, but that doesn't mean I needed to minimize the impact my mom's death had on me. I've learned that comparing losses and grief is unnecessary and it's counter-productive. It doesn't help anybody. Allowing yourself to accept and honor whatever feelings come up is one of the biggest gifts you can give yourself when grieving. It's not always pretty. It might feel embarrassing or unwarranted, but it's your truth, your experience, and you have the right to feel it. Don't apologize or make excuses.
• It can last longer than you expected
For a person in acute grief, either numb or really suffering, the biggest question seems to be, how long will this last? As if knowing exactly where the finish line is will help you get through the rough times. There are no timelines. Conventional wisdom puts a lot of emphasis on the first year: “Just get through the first year and you’ll be fine.” The uninitiated assume you’ll shed some tears, go to the memorial service and then life will resume as normal. In my experience, while I desperately wanted my life to return to normal, it was an elusive target. The first year does indeed hold significant milestones — all the firsts without your loved one – the holidays, birthdays, family events and then the dreaded one year anniversary of the death. During that year, there are peaks and valleys, periods of time where life feels normal, and then phases where the pain and suffering feel like they could overshadow everything.
One of the many myths about grief is that a year is all you need for recovery. A good friend whose mom died told me she and her family were blindsided by how tough the second year was. I guess she’d hoped the cliche would prove true and she’d be “over it” after a year’s time. With the first anniversary of her mom’s death, she found herself asking, “now what?” She said the shock had finally worn off and she realized she was settling in for the long haul, still trying to adapt to her new normal. We know you never really “get over” a loss. You hopefully learn to accept it and incorporate it into your life moving forward. I agree with my friend that the second year presents some challenges. Mostly, others are stunned that you might still periodically be mourning something that happened so long ago. For me, those tough moments definitely became more sporadic, but they were still there, either on special occasions or just random events that would trigger a memory or longing.
• It’s not just emotional
In addition to the emotional component, I was surprised by the physical manifestations of grief -- a tightness and heaviness in my chest (it felt like i couldn't take a deep breath for almost nine months), low grade fatigue, fuzzy brain.
So, what helps?
• Time. Have patience and trust. It will get better.
• A support network. Find a friend, if you're lucky, enlist the help of a grief veteran
• Self-care
Grief can be exhausting and it requires mental and physical stamina. You’re emotionally drained, worn out and fragile. Exercise is important for both mind and body, whether it’s a yoga class, a hike or a more demanding workout. Even when it’s hard to find the motivation, just getting outside for a walk can be so helpful. Getting enough sleep is crucial. Some people suffer from insomnia, so take naps if needed. Massage, hot baths, a trip to the spa – whatever you can do for yourself that is comforting. This is the time to make sure you take care of yourself.
• Books and other resources
I have always been the person that felt comforted by knowledge, or at least felt better trying to learn as much as I could about something so it was no longer the unknown. I approached my mom’s death and the following grief with a similar strategy. As the numbness began to wear off, I often found myself at the library desperately looking for anything that would make it easier, or at least, not as mysterious to me. Where was the manual? The How To guide? I felt adrift and looking for answers. In addition to books on loss, grief and healing, I read about death and the afterlife, mindfulness, transformation, spiritual enlightenment. These are some of the books I found helpful.
• Professional help
Not everyone will seek the help of a professional, but I met with a grief counselor several times and found it reassuring and productive. I also had several sessions with a psychic/intuitive (Julianna Kallas). For me, seeking counsel from a variety of sources not only helped educate me about grief, but also allowed me to work through it toward healing.
• A quiet place for reflection/ a place you can be sad
• Rituals and traditions
Rituals can be an important part of the healing process, whether done alone or with others. Through memorial tributes, you honor your loved one and keep the memories alive.
The most universally accepted ritual following a death is the funeral or memorial service, which provides friends and family the opportunity to come together in remembrance and celebration of the person who has died. For the immediate family, all of the planning and logistical coordination can either provide a distraction or be an overwhelming burden. “I just want to get through the service” is something I’ve heard many times. There is a sense of finality, not surprisingly, but please don't use the term closure. I think people feel it will be comforting, but at least for me, it wasn't. I didn't want closure. Often the family is still numb and even incapable of taking it all in. I’ve recommended to friends that they have the service videotaped because there seems to be a special kind of amnesia that happens in grief.
In the year that followed my mom’s death, I found myself gravitating toward rituals. This may have been because rituals were especially important to her, or because on some level I sensed how healing they could be. Native and indigenous people incorporate ritual and ceremony into their daily lives, but it’s not as common in our society today. I put a memorial plaque in my garden and created a mini shrine there with various objects that were significant to my mom or me (a Tibetan prayer flag, a crystal, a rock with the word Trust carved into it). When I spent time in the garden, it was comforting. On hikes, I would find myself creating rock piles, or circles of pinecones or other objects. I planted a memorial tree. I made donations in her memory. And most significant, I scattered her ashes. Not just once. I’ve heard stories about ashes remaining in a closet somewhere, brought home from the mortuary and just put away. That didn’t feel right to me. I used what I guess you could call a diversification strategy. Mainly because I wanted a part of my mom with me in important places. So some of her ashes went into the memorial garden, some into my backyard in Tahoe, some at the base of a favorite tree in Paige Meadows. We had a short and bittersweet ceremony at the top of Mt Kilimanjaro, and I knew that leaving some of her ashes at the summit meant so much to all of us. And, finally, when Steve and I visited Peru, I scattered some ashes at the magical Winay Wayna (“forever young” in Quecha, the native Peruvian language) and also at Machu Picchu. To some people this probably seems like overkill, but my mom was a traveler and adventurer and a lover of nature, and in my heart I knew she would be happy in all of those places.