When I was middle aged, there was nothing that scared me more than death. Now that I am (fairly) old, there is nothing that I fear more than grief. It is not that I am not afraid of dying, but I have experienced profound grief, and my preference is to have no part in it again. And yet I know all too well that I do not have the power to keep those I love from dying.
In my last blog post—"Facing Death”--- I described my first reason for writing my book on Dying, Loss and Grief: to share my wife, Pauline’s journal entries as she was dying as a mirror that can help each of us reflect on the psychological and spiritual aspects of our own dying.
In this post I explain my second and third reasons for writing this book, which are tied together.
Reason two is to try to give a feel for just how difficult and challenging grief can be. I do this by sharing my journal entries the year after Pauline died. As I write in the last chapter:
No matter how you cut it, death is not a problem to
be solved. It stares you in the face and refuses to move.
It separates you from those you love and need and never
gives them back. (253)
There are many experiences in life that you cannot really understand unless you have been through them yourself. One of those is severe grief. I found it to be so much more difficult than I could ever have imagined. In my book I share my raw and unvarnished journal entries in the attempt to help others to better understand the pain of grief, and so that others who are going through severe grief realize that their struggle is not unique. In a culture that expects us to move beyond our deepest losses in just a few weeks, or even days, we desperately need that word of grace and unconditional love.
And we need to know that some of our obsessions are normal. For months I could not go to sleep until I walked around my house and kissed each of Pauline’s pictures. I slept on her side of the bed so I would not wake up and look over and see her gone. I kept going to her grave long after many people thought I should “get on with my life.” I experienced depression, not being able to eat, having difficulty concentrating, lacking the desire to get out of bed and take on the day. In social situations I never knew what might lead me to tears.
As a result of these experiences, in two of the parishes I served--with the support of local funeral homes--I helped establish a Widow/Widowers Program so that those who had lost life partners could come together, share “their obsessions,” and realize that such actions are a normal part of the grieving process. Widows and widowers who had been bereaved for some time led small groups of those newly bereaved where they could share their deepest thoughts, feelings and experiences. The love, support, and solidarity that came through those programs, and the eventual healing, amazed and moved me week after week.
This brings me to the third reason for writing this book: to help those who have not experienced severe grief, but are trying to support someone who is, by giving a glimpse into just how difficult grief can be and by providing insights and suggestions for how best to support those who are grieving.
As just one example, I describe what I call violation, which is so common in grieving, which I explain as:
Exposing something so precious and personal to you
and having it rejected by others. Long after others have
heard enough, you still need to talk and share. When that
sharing is rejected—through words or even just a look—
the pain is excruciating. That is why so many who grieve
go behind closed doors with their pain long before the
necessary healing has taken place. (216)
As family, friends, teachers, clergy, we do not have to have “answers” for those who grieve. What is needed is the commitment simply to be present with those in grief, and a willingness to sit and “really” listen. Such a loving and caring presence is the greatest gift we can give those who grieve.
My book is available at Amazon.com in Paperback or Kindle editions (including Kindle Unlimited.
