THOUGHTS ON GRIEVING FOR A BELOVED
This is a companion piece
to the recently posted “Thoughts
on Temporal Love: The Life Force”, for Love and Grief are
but two sides of the same coin.
A Thousand Winds
Do
not stand at my grave and weep.
I am
not there. I do not sleep.
I am
a thousand winds that blow.
I am
the diamond glints on snow.
I am
the sun on ripened grain.
I am
the gentle autumn rain.
When
you awake in the morning’s hush
I am
the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in
circled flight.
I am
the soft stars that shine at night.
Do
not stand at my grave and cry;
I am
not there. I did not die.
(Mary
Elizabeth Frye)
In a marriage there’s a husband, a wife, and
everything that exists in between: Emotions felt towards one another, how
they relate to one another, unresolved issues, how their lives intertwine,
their children, how they help define each other, how they help support one
another, dependency, history, perceived future, needs, intimacy,
routine, ritual, sex, love … And
then, when one’s spouse dies, one can’t simply subtract them out of the
equation – the whole system is thrown off.
Some
view grief as the experience of a brain reorganizing itself in the absence of a
previously permanent neurological representation, and the reverberations of
that absence are felt physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. In
hindsight, I see grieving as simply the result of having loved someone … and
grieving begins when that someone is (or soon will be) gone from one’s own
earthly life. I think that to avoid grieving, one would have to avoid loving,
since to love someone is to be grieving someday for them. Wherever there is love, there is grief. A life without the
love-grief coin is unthinkable, for grief is the heart’s longing for that which it yearns, and the
mind’s attachment to what had been. For
me, grief was when my head collided with my heart: Intellectually I knew that
my Marnie was dead, yet my heart didn’t know what to do since its attachment
for her endured.
Even 20 months
after her death, there are times when I am profoundly sad. The greater the
intensity and complexity of the relationship with the beloved, the more intense
the later grief is. Many widowers (and widows) experience "obsessional recall" – a psychological phenomenon wherein one
recurrently rehashes the past and sometimes spirals into vortexes of withering
grief, guilt and anger. Thankfully,
my own waves of sadness now usually wash over and aren’t chronic, for stress associated with spousal bereavement can suppress
ones immune system, rendering one more susceptible to disease and subsequent
mortality.
The
secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, not to
worry about the future, nor to anticipate troubles, but to live the present
moment wisely and earnestly. (Gautama
Buddha)
Grieving
has movement so that we get used to being washed over by feelings and then
moving on until the next wave hits. Yet not letting ourselves go through this
process after a loss will make the feeling harden and become depression, which
in essence is frozen grief.
For
me, certain times of day, some places and some music affect most – for instance,
some early mornings are very difficult, and on my solitary walks I sometimes
weep and question as to how I can go through another day without her.
There are no eternities
other than grief while it lasts, no certainties other than that grief must
come, no escape other than from life itself and what it asks us to endure. … If
you are fond of a specific cup, remind yourself that it is only a cup. Then, if
it breaks, you will not be disturbed. If you kiss your child, or your
wife, say that you kiss what is human, and prepare to bear the grief that is
the cost of loving, should you lose them. (A.C. Grayling - The Good Book: A
Humanist Bible)
It seems that grief
exaggerates all emotions. Part of the ‘grief work’ entails simply living
through those attachment-related emotions and exhausting them, as otherwise
they will always be there within. Only by drinking in all that pain to its
absolute dregs can one truly survive. Hence part of the process of mourning
simply entails wearing out the grief just as one would wear out an old pair of
shoes or overalls. Eventually things begin to ease on realization that for a
couple of hours one feels normal. And that feeling may extend to a couple of
days and one figures “Gee, I’m getting well”. But then, wham, you're back in
it. Yet gradually the pain wears off, so long as one doesn’t hold themselves to
the past through self-pity. “Poor me. I'm alone. I've
lost my wife”. It is my aspiration to pass through the worst of the mourning
and not emerge just comfortable with life as before, but rather to come out
better than I went in, enriched and a better person because of having lived
through all that angst and having rebuilt my life.
I have found that – after accepting the reality of Marnie’s death – my main problem has been that of
redefining my Self without her. The loss of self-identity is something that I didn’t anticipate,
and for which wasn’t prepared. I didn’t realize that I’d be mourning the loss
of that Self that I’d been when with her. The confident sharing of all that life had to offer was gone, and along the way
the person that I’d been when she’d been with me, also disappeared. Whilst
together, a couple work things out and live in accordance with their symbiosis
– decisions as to what to do, where to go, who to be around – are made bearing
in mind each other. After the other is physically gone, it takes a real
transition for the survivor to know what he actually wants to do as an
individual sans his partner, since
formerly his wants had been for the two
of them. Even for one who deeply recognizes the reality of impermanence,
the survivor – for what seems like an eternity – is just too sad and lonely and
empty to think of himself as a unitary self without the mate. It's like my world slowed down, while everything around me
continued at its faster pace … and here I am, alone with my sadness. Coming to terms with
accepting the future lonely path is a very difficult part of the
grieving>healing process.
Grief forces us to do things which are out of character
and one must learn to accept and forgive ones grief-influenced behaviors no
matter how crazy, strange or out of character. One must trust that – although
one will never quite be the same – one will eventually feel normal again.
Sorrow makes us all children again - destroys all
differences of intellect. The wisest know nothing. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
I have tried, but as yet just can’t think of leaving my
Marnie behind and being happy without her – my Spirit has been so intertwined
with hers – I need her enduring connection to help me envision and embark on
any new life. She had been so integral to my sense of Self,
and without her I have no meaningful locus of identity. In a sense my life as I
knew it ceased when she died … and I can’t see how I’ll rise from the ashes and
live in a meaningful way, without an ongoing emotional connection – albeit
different – with her.
It has seemed an insurmountable task to think of
leaving my mate behind, and moving out into life again – for of what would that
new life comprise, since former interests and attractions had been ours. Thus, who am I now? What do I
want? Where can I find the psychic energy and will to reach out, whilst still
not feeling unitary? Attempts to fill the void through being with some other
may be a pleasant diversion from grieving, but the benefits gained from being
with another only last so long, and then one keenly realizes just how little
had been acquired in the face of what had been lost. Even the joy of intimacy
with another – while naturally beautiful in the moment – is followed by a
profound sadness that the lost beloved is not present to share in the beauty of
intimacy afterglow, nor to share the beauty of a sunset nor
that of just being together. Another, wanting a partner whole for herself, may
suggest counseling to help one in dealing with grief, but the goal of such
counseling would be to detach from the earlier long-standing bond, yet that may not really be wanted.
In my own case, the root problem has been to make sense
of a world in which my Marnie is no longer physically a part. I simply
don’t want to be ‘released’ or freed from the bond with my beloved, I want to
reintegrate her somehow into my future.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you
shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. (Kahlil Gibran)
The thought of opening to loving another again carries
the risk of more loss and grief, which is difficult to engage after having been
wounded and traumatized. A widower may be leery of going through love-grief
again, and studies indicate that – if widowers do remarry – they choose mates
who are younger, active, attractive, and healthy, to try to ensure that another
wife would not die before themselves. Also, the rapidity with which many
widowers begin looking for a new mate speaks to the driving force of loneliness. No other social or familial
association could appease this drive nor fill the need for a mate. It is, in fact, the male
tendency to confide solely in his mate that may plunge him into profound
solitude following her death. Widows, on the other hand, seem more
psychologically fitted in finding emotional support. For some widowers, early dating and
remarriage seems to be an extreme form of taking time off from grieving, and
getting re-involved in practical activities that help return life to some sense
of normal routine. Whether or not widowers eventually remarry, however, is not necessarily an
indicator of how well they coped with the death of their former spouse. Again,
studies have indicated that – while some of those who remarry report lower
stress levels and greater life satisfaction – nearly half of these remarriages
dissolve, especially if they occur quickly after the prior loss. Widowers who
choose to not remarry often find themselves quite capable of maintaining
meaningful relationships and in time adapting successfully to their new life.
Sometimes
I’ve felt guilty for internally crying out to her and asking her advice and
support, in that it may disturb her peace. For I have health and all necessary
material and supportive resources, and should be able to manage. But I was
there with her during her dying time – perhaps now I am only concerned with
myself … and the thought of her Spirit continuing to abide with me in life and
even later helping me in my own future dying time, comforts. I even wonder if
this stage that I’m now in, is a form of death of that which I’d formerly
thought was me, and concurrently the birth-pains of my new Self.
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they
are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.
(Charles Dickens)
The
realm of the heart-mind is so strange. There are many folios of photographs
from our past together – homes, family, travels – yet I have found that I’ve
had a real aversion to looking at the old photos since her death. Perhaps a key
comes from studies in memory formation: for when one decides to call up a
memory, what one actually does, is sculpt images via
proteins for viewing in the Theatre of our Minds. Each time our mind makes a
memory image, it is based on our former memory recall, and so over time our
memories become gradually ‘adjusted’ to soften aspects that are otherwise too
difficult and painful to endure. Thus in time we tend to remember our departed
beloved in soft hues, and can step aside from the sharpness of the loss of the
other and as well the loss of our own time across life. However, this is not
the case when looking at photographs. There, the loss of the beloved and our personal time are starkly in our
face, and one can get lost in the time-passages for an extended time in looking
at a photograph, remembering not only what is in the image, but associations as
to the context of our life at the time of the photo capture. No
‘adjustment’ nor softening as in normal memory processes – all too
palpably one is faced with the magnitude of the loss of the younger beloved and
the inexorable passage of time itself. Perhaps our ancestors had it easier in
the days before photography – what was in the survivor’s memories would
gradually soften and the pain of loss therefore ease.
[The
antidote? If one keeps in mind the process of
natural memory formation, one can prepare oneself before handling the photos,
say by Buddhist detachment techniques, and the result is less painful.]
Thus far I have found that ‘keeping busy’ through
involvement in social distractions is just running away from the grief work,
and eventually that grief work has to be done so that one can discover meaning
for the Self in life again. Distractions become a threat to successful recovery
if one deliberately and prematurely throws oneself into work, family and social
activities so as to avoid acknowledging and dealing with the complicated
emotions of grief. Eventually one realizes that time alone doesn’t heal wounds,
it’s what one does over time that repairs ones broken life.
The death of a beloved is
an amputation. (C.
S. Lewis – A Grief Observed)
Grieving the loss of ones mate is ‘work’, and time and
intentional mindfulness is needed for grief to be understood and processed. I
now see that I don’t need to put my loved one behind me and reinvest my energy
in a new life in order to be healthy and well-adjusted. What I do need is a new
existential paradigm, rooted in the realization of a healthy grief not
requiring detachment from my Marnie, but rather creation of a new relationship
with her within my emotional core. Since she died, I’ve slowly found ways to
adjust and redefine my relationship with her, so as to allow for our ongoing
bond to endure in different ways and to varying degrees, throughout the rest of
my life. This ongoing relationship is through dreams and internal reverie and
dialogue, and by viewing myself as the
survivor-in-life continuance of the relationship with her-whose-body-died.
Often I’ve been able to derive insights from my ongoing internal ‘dialogues’
with her in walking our old trails, asking for and listening for the advice she
would have given me had she been there, so that I can live my life in an
appropriate way.
There
have been times when I thought “I cannot cope without her”. However, there is really
no choice, and one has to cope with the situation not only for personal sanity
but for the sake of family and to be true to the memory of the beloved.
Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children
and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves
on the tree of life. (Albert
Einstein)
Further, I find others’ suggestions that I look for
‘closure’ to be unhelpful. Bank accounts are closed, windows are closed,
but the love one carries for those closest to us never ‘closes’. Perhaps there
is really no grief end-point, just as in earlier marriage there’d been no
‘destination’, but rather the process is that of an ongoing Journey of
ever-deeper realizations and insights.
We try to live our lives by our rational senses, yet
perhaps there is more going on than we can make sense of. I vividly recall the
night of June 22nd, 2013 when our family attended her bedside at
Hospice Simcoe, with me holding my Marnie’s hand and
‘talking’ her into leaving her wrecked body and going ahead to rest and await
me. That I’d again find her, for true love never dies. All too soon her
tortured breathing ceased, and at that moment of her death, a surge of energy
passed from Marnie’s hand through mine and then
flooded my body. For weeks afterward I’d thought the surge was her Spirit
passing on through myself into Eternity. But then – around the home and during
my walks – it seemed that she was still present with me, and in her own way
protecting and guiding me and helping me carry on. And certainly, in my mind’s
eye I often conferred with her, and then gradually good things happened.
Commingled
Spirits? Perhaps. Recently I came across the following
piece entitled “Promissory
Note” by Pulitzer Prize winning poet Galway Kinnell
(1927-2014)
If I die before you
which is all but certain
then in the moment
before you will see me
become someone dead,
in a transformation
as quick as a shooting star’s
I will cross over into you
and ask you to carry
not only your own memories
but mine too until you
too lie down and erase us
both together into oblivion.
Yes, I do feel that my Marnie is close
by … perhaps her Spirit resides invisibly in my heart and mind, and will there
continue to be with me until my own death.
Grieving lasts a lifetime and though
literally physically painful at first, eventually grief finds a place in one’s
life as did love previously. It is said
that the final stage in the grieving process is to affect an emotional withdrawal
from the beloved so that – if desired – this emotional energy can be reinvested
in another. Perhaps in time that may happen, and perhaps I may become attached again to another,
for a man and woman in life can help, comfort and support each other. Probably
a new mate would also have her feelings of connection with her own former mate
who has passed on. Whatever transpires, I’ll never feel I that must put my
beloved behind me so as to qualify for another’s company, nor will I expect
another to do so for me. Someday I hope to be able to think of my Marnie without
pain. Yet there will always be a sense of sadness when I think of her whom I
loved and lost … but in time it will surely be a different kind of sadness,
devoid of the withering quality once present.
Melancholy is at the
bottom of everything, just as at the end of all rivers is the sea. Can it be
otherwise in a world where nothing lasts, where all that we have loved or shall love must die? Is death, then, the secret of life? The
gloom of an eternal mourning enwraps, more or less closely, every serious and thoughtful
soul, as night enwraps the universe. (Henri-Frédéric Amiel - Amiel’s Journal)
Posted March 1st,
2015