Thoughtful Sunday - Some Thoughts on Grief

"A rough path is sometimes worth the treading if, in so doing, we can tread down the brambles in the path of others."
E M Blaiklock "The Bible and I"

"Our tragedy is not that we suffer but that we waste
suffering."
Unknown - Quoted by Mary Craig in "Blessings"

"I suppose what really settled (the matter) in my mind emotionally and spiritually was when I finally stopped asking 'Why?' and started asking 'For what purpose?'."
Michael Graves "Family Magazine"

"Life is eternal and love is immortal and death is only an horizon, and an horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight."
Bishop of Brent

Thoughts on Grief and Loss at a Poignant* Time

My article “When my child has died, please…” still excites the occasional comment and I did once promise to put some more of my writings on grief on line. Here are some rambling thoughts written late at night on 23rd February 1991 – four years after our son, David, died.

* Poignant is defined in the dictionary as 'moving, touching, painfully sharp' - how appropriate a word it is....

I took Bryony and Helen to see 'Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat' at the Empire. Thoroughly enjoyed it but, even more, much more, simply delighted in being in their company, being their father, and sharing experiences with them.  Hearing them singing the songs in the car on the way back was just so wonderful.

The time of year and being half-way through reading John Tittensor's "Year One - a record" have made me aware of how important it is to enjoy each moment with Richard, Helen and Bryony. Guilt and regret are so much a part of grieving that I've learned how important it is to minimise them in normal daily life.

In a way it seems unbalanced and illogical that a life which lasted three months (ten if you count the time of expectancy) should continue to have such impact 48 months after it is 'over’. How much more illogical it is going to seem after 60, 120, I80... but I have no doubt the emotions will remain.

At first one of the objectives in grieving is to put as much time as possible between "then" and "now". Time is seen (in self-defence) as a healer. And, of course, it is not. To heal is to restore, to cure, to make sound and whole. What time does is reduce the pain, the immediacy, the rawness, the bleeding. But once the scar is formed - as perhaps it is now after four years - time has no more effect. Nothing can take the scar away. The tissue damage remains and a thoughtless action can jar it painfully or it may be knocked by someone else brushing against you. Even, unconsciously, one may pick at it occasionally. Plastic surgery might hide it from view or you may pick your clothes so that only those who swim with you see the white and gleaming patch of difference. But it remains, ever vulnerable.

In a way that all makes it worse- On going to bed at 12.10 am on 21st February I said to Jo "That’s another year survived," For most people the year begins on 1st January. Some few respond to March 21st and the Spring awakening. Commercially it is often 1st April that heralds each new dawn.  For the bereaved parent the new year begins on the day after the anniversary of their child's death. Another year is over and there is a chance of renewing myself and facing the world more positively again after the bad spell which may span any part of the November to February dark, dank, dismal winter of the soul.

Now snowdrops are open, today was mild, Easter, Spring, sunshine and butterflies seem much closer. But the scar is there and who knows how it may next be knocked, or when?

One of the things one begins to wonder after four years is whether occasional bouts of rage or depression are a normal part of life's everyday stresses or a residual effect of bereavement. And, if the latter, is it that one bereavement or a combination of all life's losses simply compounded by your child's death.

I still find it difficult to accept the loss of things and search endlessly for a missing Star Wars figure of Richard’s (which disappeared before Christmas and must be around somewhere) or Jo's pendant (which simply cannot be here since we would have found it when moving from the flat). I have perhaps always searched more than most people. I remember a penknife which disappeared in a camping field in Llangollen when I was in my teens. It took me a long time to come to terms with its loss - I even went back to the field months later and searched for it.

And yet, in complete contrast, when the Ford Cortina was stolen on Sunday I made comparatively little effort to find it despite knowing its battery would not have allowed it to travel far. The Police found it on Monday night in the road opposite. Had they not done so I doubt if I would have made more than a few cursory searches. In a way that too is the result of David's death. It helped me put life into perspective. The importance of all material things has been lessened. The illness of a friend's father means much more now than it did - the breaking of a favourite plate means so much less….

Gone but not forgotten

Brother-who-blogs did a blog posting recently about not sweating the small stuff. It reminded me that forty years ago I used to pass a church in Leeds that had a notice outside which it changed on a regular basis (not something that was as common then as it is now). It wasn’t the ‘Jesus loves you’ type of notice it was a small comment relevant to daily life. One of the best and longest lasting in my mind was “What did you worry about this time last week, last month, last year?”

I wonder if the vicar – probably now passed on – ever realised how effective his notices were. It would have been nice to have told him. Presumably if what he believed in generally was correct then he’s up there somewhere and perhaps reading this as I think of him!

As for his notice, I think it could also be adapted for those who are grieving. It could have read – “How different was your grief this time last week, last month, last year?” Depending upon whose death or what loss causes our grief it can last for years but it can be important to recognise that it changes as time goes on. Apart from generally being less harsh and crippling as the days and weeks and months go by, it also can change from a sadness at the loss to a recognition that the time one had the proximity of the person is something to be celebrated and thankful for.

When my son died I was, naturally, shattered, but at no stage did Jo or I ever want to take his picture down and pretend he hadn’t been in our lives. It seems to me that way lies the route to the psychoanalyst and years and years of hiding from grief only to have it hit you at some stage in your life when you least expect it. As it was we celebrated his life, put even more photos up, talked about him endlessly and even though we both rarely mention him to each other nowadays I doubt there’s a day goes by without something brings him to mind.

When Daughter-who-takes-photos got married to Son-in-law-and-friend-who-loves-otters recently the ceremony was tremendously moving. There was so much emotion in the air – so much happiness, so much love, so much friendliness and so much genuineness (I can’t think of a better word for the spirit in which the marriage was entered into). It’s not often I get moved to tears but that event did so. I had tears in my eyes and on occasion had to look down (which looks in some of the photos as though I wasn’t interested in the ceremony!) and then I saw this on the back of the programme.

How wonderful of them to think of Martin, Yolande and David as sharing in their ceremony.

A friend has recently lost her father and while one can do nothing to help with the rawness of the grief one can hope that it is not too long before it gives way to a remembrance of all the good times they shared.