Articles Worth Reading

[kayc]

I feel angry when I think about how everything went in the beginning following the loss of my husband.  Friends couldn't get gone fast enough!  People split by the droves!  I DID reach out, it sure didn't do any good!  To hear about what THEY "went through" annoys the hell out of me...who went through more than I did?!  I'm glad this doesn't happen to everyone, but it happens to too many of us.  I can't imagine disappearing on a good friend that suffered such a loss and making them go through it alone.  It sure weeds out your Christmas card list!

I do want to add that if you find yourself experiencing this, rest assured you will make new friends and it helps to find ones that have been through it and understand.

[enna]

An article so worth reading. I love the title: The Sacredness of Beginnings. 

http://gretchenschmelzer.com/blog-1/2015/9/2/the-sacredness-of-beginnings  

[MartyT]

A terrific article, Anne, and so important to remember as we find our way in this journey ~ thank you! I've added it to the list of related articles at the base of Transitions after Loss: Tips for Navigating the Neutral Zone  ♥

[MartyT]

Conceptualizing Progress in Grief by Eleanor Haley, via What's Your Grief?

We often use the simile that grief is like a journey and while grief is a little bit like a journey, it’s not the perfect comparison.  The word ‘journey’ is not quite right because (1) I think it makes grief sound way more exciting than it is and (2) journeys are usually direct and typically have an endpoint.

Grieving is anything but direct and, contrary to what many people believe, it doesn’t follow a specific path or end after an arbitrary amount of time. Grief happens in fits and starts; it’s full of ups and downs; and it requires you to try and try again. Some days, when you’re well rested and confident, you feel as though you have a handle on things and you say to yourself…

“I can do this. I am capable and in control.” 

Other days, when you are weary and tired of the fight, you stumble backward, you stand still, or you manage to move just a few feet in the right direction.  When this happens you say to yourself…

“I’m lost. I don’t know how to find my way. I’m not making much progress. I feel broken. I’ll never be whole again.”

When something evolves as clumsily and slowly as grief, it can be really hard to visualize progress.  On a day-to-day basis you don’t feel any different, “better”, or “normal” and this perceived lack of improvement can feel very frustrating and defeating. But could it be that you aren’t giving yourself enough credit for the strides you’ve made?  Read on here

[MartyT]

This is a truly powerful article: Despair, by bereaved mom Bethany Hutson. An excerpt:

How do you fight against despair?  I use truth to fight against despair.  Okay, I usually have a meltdown, get really angry about the cruelty of my circumstances, and then use truth to fight against it.  It’s hard, okay? And I fully believe in embracing everything as you feel it, as long as you don’t choose to live permanently in those feelings.  Feel the emotions as they come.  Don’t hide from them.  Accept them, embrace them, and then choose to take one step forward.

Use truth to disarm the lies that despair tries so desperately to convince us of.

I think perhaps the biggest lie of despair, is that despair is our new reality, and there is no way to escape.  If we believe there is no way out, we will stop searching.  We will stop fighting.  This is the biggest disservice we could ever do to ourselves under despairing circumstances.

Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.  Don’t tell me I don’t know the feelings of despair.  Don’t tell me I don’t understand how hard it is to fight despair.

I know despair.  I know the gut-wrenching, knife-stabbing, my heart has been ripped out, chewed up, spit on the ground and then stomped on, how am I ever going to find a way to stand up, how is it possible to hurt this much, will this pain ever go away, utter agony of despair.  And I know that I choose joy, and joy will win, no matter how big of a battering ram despair brings in in the fight to knock down the walls of my heart.

Our circumstances will shape us, and we can choose to let them shape us into something beautiful, or something that is utterly broken.  We fight despair with choices.  

Read the entire article here.

[enna]

Embracing Life After Loss by Mara Karpel

“Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountaintop, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.” ~ Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

My family and I are arriving at the one-year anniversary of my dear father’s death. The colors are gradually returning to my world. The grass, flowers, sky, and sunsets have been moving from sepia tints to muted tones, although still somewhat anemic versions of their true hues. This past year has been different from any other time in my life. The first few months after Dad’s death were especially rough. We were close and losing him left a deep hole. Gradually, that hole has been filling with joyful memories of times with him, noticing messages from Dad floating on a breeze, remembering words of encouragement to me, “Just let your imagination run wild,” and seeing him in my own behaviors. Yet, there’s still an underlying sadness that lingers among the nooks and crannies of my life. My passionate pursuits bring me a milder state of enjoyment and my laughter feels shallower than it used to. Perhaps, I, too, am still a somewhat anemic version of my true self.   Read more here

[enna]

This is such a powerful article.

https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/05/14/oliver-jeffers-the-heart-and-the-bottle/  

[kayc]

You're right, Anne!  I think everyone on this site should read this!

[enna]

 

How to support someone who is grieving.

http://emilyrlong.com/how-to-support-someone-who-is-grieving/ 

[enna]

Grief Is Not a Carrot

 

Grief is not a carrot

you eat.

It’s not a cuddly koala

you hug.

 

It’s a desolate wilderness

of thistles and shadows,

memories that burn in bonfires

to ash.

                                   

It’s the wolf that stands

on your throat,

stares into your eyes

as it devours your heart.

 

You wait in darkness,

abandoned,

until a wren sings

 

in the stillness of dawn.

 

Posted by Mark Liebenow

       

 

 

 

 

 

 

[enna]

This made me smile on the first day of FALL.  I guess it's never too soon to be thinking about winter.

 

http://www.whatsyourgrief.com/64-tips-for-grieving-through-the-winter-blues/ 

 

[Clematis]

The first day of fall!!! How did that happen? It's funny, my dad died in the winter and everything seemed so cold - the whole world was cold and that was just how it was. Then it seemed unnatural when things warmed up, although I certainly enjoyed the flowers of spring and summer. Now it's getting cool again. For some dumb reason I had this idea that I would feel better when it cooled off, like it would be turning back time to when he was last alive. How dumb is that? Now it just seems like a bad thing.

 

[kayc]

I don't want to think about winter...shoveling snow, hauling wood, slippery, shorter daylight.  I want to enjoy Fall, it's only just begun.

[enna]

The Death You Die When Someone You Love Dies by John Pavlovitz

http://johnpavlovitz.com/2015/02/17/the-death-you-die-when-they-do-another-lesson-in-the-grief-valley/  

[MartyT]

Oh Anne, I really do like this one! Thank you for finding it and sharing it with all of us!  ♥

[Clematis]

On 9/10/2016 at 9:08 PM, enna said:

This is such a powerful article.

https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/05/14/oliver-jeffers-the-heart-and-the-bottle/  

I love this and went down to the children's section of the local library to check it out. It's a beautiful little book!

[Clematis]

9 hours ago, enna said:

The Death You Die When Someone You Love Dies by John Pavlovitz

http://johnpavlovitz.com/2015/02/17/the-death-you-die-when-they-do-another-lesson-in-the-grief-valley/  

Anne, I really liked this one, too. It's so true. He wrote, "As much as I miss my dad (and I do miss him terribly) I miss the me that he knew, too. I grieve the loss of our shared story." 

My dad told me that at the time he and my mother were having babies, he had hoped that one of us would have "intellectual curiosity" - a relentless drive to know more and more - to deeply investigate things and not accept easy answers. And he got what he wanted in me. A daughter who only wanted a Swiss Army knife for her sixteenth birthday and was working as a mechanic - on bicycles - three years later, while going to college. I never realized how much we were alike until my mother died; it was like a veil was lifted and we really saw each other.

He said guys used toast him if he missed not having any sons and he said he always responded, "never for a moment!" I loved being the daughter he was so proud of. I loved that he worked so hard to take care of his family and that he was fiercely protective of me. I was so happy to be able to reciprocate for him late in his life. I felt like his pet Rottweiler, protecting him from harm when he became fragile and vulnerable. I loved being the daughter he hoped he would have. But I don't have that anymore... instead I feel like I am mostly annoying people just by being who I am. 

[iPraiseHim]

10 hours ago, Clematis said:

Anne, I really liked this one, too. It's so true. He wrote, "As much as I miss my dad (and I do miss him terribly) I miss the me that he knew, too. I grieve the loss of our shared story." 

My dad told me that at the time he and my mother were having babies, he had hoped that one of us would have "intellectual curiosity" - a relentless drive to know more and more - to deeply investigate things and not accept easy answers. And he got what he wanted in me. A daughter who only wanted a Swiss Army knife for her sixteenth birthday and was working as a mechanic - on bicycles - three years later, while going to college. I never realized how much we were alike until my mother died; it was like a veil was lifted and we really saw each other.

He said guys used toast him if he missed not having any sons and he said he always responded, "never for a moment!" I loved being the daughter he was so proud of. I loved that he worked so hard to take care of his family and that he was fiercely protective of me. I was so happy to be able to reciprocate for him late in his life. I felt like his pet Rottweiler, protecting him from harm when he became fragile and vulnerable. I loved being the daughter he hoped he would have. But I don't have that anymore... instead I feel like I am mostly annoying people just by being who I am. 

Laura, as I read your posts, I see a different perspective.  I see and hear that you had an opportunity to reconnect and share time with your father in a special way. Your father was always proud of you and humbled that you chose to come alongside and gently help him later in life. I sense you still have that but now it is on a different realm. True you don't have his physically presence but you do have his emotional, intellectual, and sensual presence that you share with us and remind yourself. I don't sense you are annoying anyone with your sense of truth and value.  If someone else has a problem... it is their problem.

 

I sense this with my father. He is a fiercely independent, self-made man.  In this last year, I see his personality, subtly changing as he is coming to grips with his own aging and loss of strength, memory, etc... Although our family dynamics are different, I am adjusting my comfort level and risk of exposure to come alongside and befriend him.  In the past my Dad, NEVER asked for help.  Now he humbly does so I try to accommodate as much as I am able. Your living example is a reminder to me what love, sharing, and sacrifice is.  You have wonderful memories of many good times with your father that are special to you.  - Shalom, George

[enna]

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Grief Is Wild

It’s the Wilderness. Or maybe it’s just Chaos.

We like the idea of the wilderness because it’s unknown, and because what we know isn’t enough to calm our monkey minds. We need to believe there is more.

Grief is a wild place. Uncontrolled. Fearsome. Deadly.

Or it seems to be such. We like the unfathomable. We like having mystery around that we will never understand, as long as it’s friendly. Some of us also like to take risks and be where we can die if we make a mistake, either from wild animals with larger teeth, or from losing our balance and tumbling off the side of a mountain. We like being surrounded by something larger than ourselves, something wonderful and grand because grief has compressed our world small.

Grief is a beast.

If we understood grief, if we thought that we knew what was going on, we might conclude that life has ended with the death of our loved one. Life is over. Turn out the lights. Say good night.

But life doesn’t end. It’s not as destroyed as it feels. It goes on despite our wishes.

And the wilderness is not a void. It’s alive. It’s where it wants to be, in that it is being what it is. It makes no pretense of being anything other than what it is. At times it is raw and uncomfortable, and we can like it or not. It doesn’t care. The wilderness is also continually changing, adjusting to new situations. Chunks of the mountain fall off. Forests burn down to the ground. Lakes fill in and become meadows. There is sorrow because of what is gone, but there’s also joy for the new life being born. The wilderness is, and is becoming more its self.

When grief started, I thought I was hiking through a dark forest with a set timeline for when I would arrive at my destination. That didn’t happen. Now I just hike and interact with the landscape as it goes by, and I try to help others I meet along the way who are walking a similar path. The sharp pains of grief have ended, and I’m learning to live with the rest.

Grief isn’t a well-marked trail. It’s a mystery.

As we go higher up on the mountain, the vistas grow broader. Every day I want to sit and discern where I am. I want to do what I feel like doing, not how others expect me to act. I want to adjust to the changes. In grief we are sometimes raw and chaotic. Other people need to see this part of us, too, not just our happy side.

We are called to be who we are, with all of our strengths, dreams, and broken places.

Even if we don’t live in nature’s wilderness, there is a wilderness that exists within us, waiting to be explored. Parts of our wilderness are scary. Yet if we hold on, the trail will lead to places in our lives where we will be amazed by grace, and moved by the mercy and compassion of others.

Posted by Mark Liebenow  

[enna]

http://www.opentohope.com/deep-calls-deep-grievers-understand/

[enna]

http://photogrief.com/the-empty-chair/  

 

[enna]

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Hug the Grieving

 

Grief and the Body

 

Grief assaults us physically as much as it implodes our hearts and minds.

 

Grief hits with the force of a dump truck, leaving us battered and achy for months. Every morning when we wake up and remember that our loved one is dead, the truck runs over us again.

 

When grief hit, I felt removed from my body. Detached. My senses went numb, and my body shut down. Louise Gluck refers to her experience with grief as being transfigured, feeling that she existed more as spirit than in her body.

 

Then Gluck pairs grief with sex.

 

I hadn’t thought of this. In a poem, Gluck compares the physical impact of losing someone close with her first sexual experience with a lover.

 

Our first encounter with both is so powerful, so overwhelming, so eye-popping that we are sure people can tell what has happened just by looking at us. We feel radically different. So we stand before a mirror, or by a calm lake, to see if we can detect any signs of the change in our reflection. Yet, as overwhelming as the experience is, and as transforming as it feels, we see little difference on the surface of our skin.

 

We don’t physically change overnight because death has yanked away someone we loved. We change as we come to understand how much has happened as we physically move through grief’s landscape. We change in “waves of transformation,” as Elizabeth Gilbert puts it.

 

In time, the direct physical effects of grief fade, and our senses return. We feel pleasures again. We can taste food, smell the pine trees, and sexual feelings rise. Some widowers begin dating right away just for the comfort (or diversion) of sex, but this is a temporary escape. For a long time it seems that part of us is missing, an arm or a leg.

 

CS Lewis said it feels like we will always walk with a limp.

 

Although the world looks different to us because of grief, we don’t look different to others. A number of grief friends have commented that people thought they were doing okay because they were smiling again, while inside they were still being torn apart by anger, despair, and sorrow.

 

If you look closely, you can see grief in our eyes.

 

A year after my wife died, I visited my friend Judy. Her husband passed away three years before and we both ended up widowed in our forties. She was getting remarried and I could see the excitement in her eyes, but there was also lingering sadness. Throughout that afternoon she shared her insights about grief, trying to help, but all I needed to see were her eyes. They told me what I needed to know — that I could survive, that I could love someone else, and that I would always grieve Evelyn.

 

One change that is physically obvious to others is that my emotions are closer to the surface and I express more of them — I celebrate when happy, despair when grief returns, and yell when I’m angry instead of clamming up and muttering around the house. In the past I wouldn’t have done this. I also tear up quite often, when before I rarely used to cry. With my outpouring of emotions, I was surprised that my friends still liked me. One said that he felt I was now a whole person.

 

 If you are sharing your grief, I will hug you to bridge the gap so that you don’t feel alone in your sorrow. Too many people have kept their distance as if you had leprosy, and I want you to know that your grief does not scare me. I may touch you on the arm or hand, but cautiously because I don’t want to stray too far into your personal space and make you defensive. We each have different comfort zones.

 

The physicality of others saved me from giving in to grief.

 

People came to my empty house to see how I was doing. Even women I barely knew hugged me. Their physical presence kept me connected to humanity. At a time when I felt cold and isolated by grief, people brought physical warmth and acceptance. They helped move grief out of my head and into my body where emotions could be expressed.

 

Grief is so incomprehensible that it ties our minds into tight Gordian knots and we no longer know how to proceed. But our body knows what we need.We need to be touched.

 

Hug those who are grieving. Put a hand on their shoulder. Cry with them.

At a time when thoughts don’t make sense when words are just words, often we just need to be held.

 

Posted by Mark Liebenow at 6:51 AM 

[enna]

Another good question/answer interview with Elaine Mansfield and Widows and Widowers. 

http://www.widawid.co.uk/elaine-mansfield-interview/  

[enna]

Here's another good article from WYG on the topic of posttraumatic growth after loss. 

http://www.whatsyourgrief.com/posttraumatic-growth-after-loss/

[enna]

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Chrysalis of Grief

 

 

I want my wife’s death to never have happened. Since this can’t be undone, I want grief to be over and never return. This is taking some time.

 

I want to write about the happy side of life without always seeing the shadows. I want friends who have lost children, parents or siblings to laugh again without tears reminding them how deliriously delightful their lives once were, even if this isn’t completely true. There was enough joy to hold the darkness at bay.

 

There is a passage about Zorba being impatient to see the emergence of a butterfly. He warms the cocoon with his breath to hurry the process along, and the butterfly emerges, but it’s too soon in its formation and it dies. Zorba wanted to see its beauty now. He wanted to celebrate life now, not put it off. He goes through life like this, wanting to drink wine if it’s around, and love the women who want to be loved.

 

Grief has shortened my focus.

 

This fits me now because I know too clearly that people I love can die suddenly. Out of the blue. Today is the only time I’m sure I have. I want to go places and be with friends. I’ve got the traveling pants and the antsy shoes. Yet death has taken away my imagined future, and most of the time I don’t know which direction to head.

 

There is a natural evolution to the life of living things.

 

When my yearning meets what is being offered, I want to jump at the opportunity, even if I don’t feel ready. Even if I’d like to take time and think it over. Even if it scares the bejabbers out of me. Zorba would say ‘Take the risk,’ knowing that, sometimes, by rushing, the butterfly dies. There is a time to wait, and there is a time when we need to take the leap.

 

Maslow said that either we step forward into growth, or we step back into safety. For those who grieve, so much has been lost that we fear taking any risk and losing what little we have left. Most of the time we choose to step to the side and let the world pass by. There are times when we do need to hunker down and wait for the snowstorm to end before we can see where on the mountain we stand.

 

Friends are waiting for those who grieve to come out of their cocoons and be happy again, to play and laugh and dance.

 

I want this, too, but wanting doesn’t make it real. It takes time for life to transform from what it was to what it will be. I need to be patient and deal with the changes, as well as myself, with kindness. I need to be patient with you when you are grieving and let you decide what you are ready to share.

 

Grief is a chrysalis. So is love. But sometimes the process of emerging seems to move way too slow.

 

Posted by Mark Liebenow at 6:25 AM