I would rather spend one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone
Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings (2001)
Monthly Archives: February 2010
Questions unanswered
At Mottsu’s funeral the same things were whispered and shared by those of us there:
Why? (I didn’t know anything was wrong)
Why didn’t he tell me? (I could have done something)
If only I’d known. (I could have done something)
What happened? (I don’t know)
Why?
Alexander McQueen, designer, is dead at 40
I am saddened to hear that Alexander McQueen has apparently died by suicide. He is mourned by family, friends, and throughout the fashion industry.
I measure every grief
“I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes–
I wonder if It weighs like Mine–
Or has an Easier size “
Emily Dickson: I Measure Every Grief
Tragic things befall other people from time to time. Mercifully, and distressingly, adversity is democratic. Accounts of another’s misfortune, inevitably start “This /is not as bad/is nothing like/doesn’t compare/ to what you experienced/went through but…” and distress is shared.
I’m always taken aback by the opening, hedging, preliminary statement. It comes before someone’s story of pain or loss. Surprised by the opening line, I tend gape, always unsure of how to respond. In this situation my intention is to empathise, so my gold fish impersonation is a poor start.
It is uncomfortable to think that I have been through is regarded as worse than the experiences of others. It is a painful thought that loss might be calibrated or measured to determine who is more injured. We don’t grieve bigger, harder or stronger because of the circumstances, do we?
I don’t know that afflictions can be sized. I don’t believe you can estimate the weight of another’s grief. There is no easier size, for each of us it is unbearable.
Immeasurable
…and nonetheless I admit; I too tend to measure every grief.
Like a big hole
Summer holidays are receding and the remaining days of the season are few enough to count on our fingers and toes.
Bea is back, and as we did last year, we’re running together. The Tan track, almost 4 kms around, and a choice of coffee vendors after the finish line. Walking, running, just enough exertion before the pleasure of recovery.
We occasionally pass others on the track, more often they pass us. This morning I caught a sentence as we overtook a slower party ” …asked if I had an analogy for my depression. I said I did. It is like a big hole. My depression is a big hole that….”
Her voice didn’t trail off. I moved ahead of hearing, out running the tale.
I heard her, believed her, not that it occurred to me to do other than believe her.
I trust her audience nodded with understanding, even if not familiar with the cavernous type of hole being described.
Resolution check-in
Checking in, a month into my New Year’s resolution to be a little kinder. So far so good, if a little conscious of trying. Efforts are concentrated on the other by:
– Not correcting something in order to align it with my reality
– Paying attention during interactions even brief ones
– Showing interest and making eye contact – focus
– Listening and agreeing
I’ve had some encouraging feedback, attitude noticed and acknowledged. At times I’m biting my tongue, holding back contradiction and criticism, effort undetected I hope.
Plenty of work to do to be more real, more genuine, as I start to appreciate just how critical I am by nature, picky, picky, picky sometimes, and plain smug and superior other times.
Boy, my little voice is on to me today – I’ll try to calm it for next month. More to do…
*I couldn’t care less
I could always care more, but I can’t care any less – that is I couldn’t care less about people traversing emotional peaks and valleys. I do care.
I was talking with James recently when he dropped his voice to confide that a counsellor he’d been seeing, since a friend’s suicide, asked if he had been angry yet. “Angry?” James said, “I haven’t been angry”. Maybe it wasn’t what he meant but I understood James to be asking if there was something wrong.
Anger, the accepted second stage.
Was the counsellor suggesting that without it he might not be healing? The only thing wrong with James was the growing suspicion that there might be something wrong with his grief. There was nothing wrong, or even complicated with James grieving process. As far as I could tell he had good grief, and a healthy capacity for resilience. I think it is more that grief is not understood and (angry or not) we don’t get to share it enough by talking about the experience.
In unrelated circumstances James and I both discovered that: “Many mourners experience grief as a kind of isolation—one that is exacerbated by the fact that one’s peers, neighbors, and co-workers may not really want to know how you are. We’ve adopted a sort of “ask, don’t tell” policy. The question “How are you?” is an expression of concern, but mourners quickly figure out that it shouldn’t be mistaken for an actual inquiry.” Good Grief: Is there a better way to be bereaved? Meghan O’Rourke: The New Yorker, February 2010
I don’t think it is that friends and colleagues couldn’t care less, they just don’t know what to say, or how to care more.
*Thanks Kate, who turned around the phrase ‘I couldn’t care less’ to explain why one cares so much.
Finding a better way to grieve
I have railed against the Stages of Grief, and thank my dear friend Charlotte for sharing a recent article; a meaningful analysis of the work of Dr Kubler-Ross and others on bereavement.
“Though Kübler-Ross captured the range of emotions that mourners experience, new research suggests that grief and mourning don’t follow a checklist; they’re complicated and untidy processes, less like a progression of stages and more like an 
process—sometimes one that never fully ends.” Good Grief: Is there a better way to be bereaved? Meghan O’Rourke: The New Yorker, February 2010
For me the discussion in the article normalises an intense experience that brought out a personal, if at times crazed, response. When it comes to healing, we have an internal medicine cabinet stocked full of emotions to draw on. As you might expect when self-prescribing some responses might be considered less healthy choices. Be reassured, there is no right answer.
O’Rourke quotes Gorer who has noted a silencing of the mourner: “Today it would seem to be believed, quite sincerely, that sensible, rational men and women can keep their mourning under complete control by strength of will and character, so that it need be given no public expression, and indulged, if at all, in private, as furtively as . . . masturbation.”
Soused in grief I was bereft, bewildered and at times punchy. There were times I felt so disapproved of, I might as well have been masturbating in public. The ‘tuts’ and ‘tsks’ were palpable. It is good to recognise that the process is only as predictable as it is unpredictable, and not expect too much of others, or yourself.
To recap and align my own experience with the well known Stages of Grieving, looks a bit like this:
Stage 1
Dr. Kubler-Ross: Denial and Isolation: “This is not happening to me.”
Me: Realisation and weeping; “This is happening to me”
Stage 2
Dr. Kubler-Ross: Anger and Resentment: “Why me?”
Me: Guilt and self recrimination: “I did it”
Stage 3
Dr. Kubler-Ross: Bargaining: “Yes me, but. . .”
Me: Running away “Get me out of here”
Stage 4
Dr. Kubler-Ross: Depression: “Yes, me.”
Me: Depression: “Not me”
Stage 5
Dr. Kubler-Ross: Acceptance
Me: Emptiness
When dealing with loss, trust your own compass and make your own path through, grief is good. Complicated, untidy, ongoing, and good.
To my loved friends who stuck with me a warm and heartfelt thanks, it has been some trek. Namaste.
Found
The missing Melbourne business man has been found murdered. A sad story.
The family of the man are reported as looking drained, dazed and devastated.
I am chastened and reminded that not every loved and missing man is a suicide. Whatever the circumstances, each is a tragic loss for their families.
E arisposeno tutti: E vvero, e vvero.
And all the people said it’s true it’s trueGiuseppe Gioachino Belli 1832