Grief work

This sermon was written for our annual Service of Memory and Hope on November 1, 2009 at the UUC Meeting House, but was not delivered because of the number of people who spoke about loved ones they had lost in the past year.

Today we hold our annual service of memory and hope. I always approach this service with a feeling of uncertainty — not that I’m unsure about the value of this service. I know that for many, it has been a meaningful opportunity to share feelings and thoughts about the loved ones lost in recent months. But I recognize that grief can be messy, unpredictable, and filled with emotions that are difficult to predict or control. So I’m never sure what to expect when we hold this service.

Grief varies from person to person. Some people grieve actively for weeks, others for months or longer. Some find this experience to be disruptive and overwhelming. Others may feel deeply sad but their day-to-day life goes on without too much interruption. The experience of grief will be different if we’ve lost someone we had been in close contact with, or if the deceased person was someone we haven’t seen for years. I recall a friend who felt very guilty because she cried for days after her beloved dog died, but when a cousin whom she hadn’t seen for years died after a long illness, she felt very little emotion. But the dog had been a daily companion, her cousin was a distant memory, so her grief for her dog seemed very understandable to me — and eventually to her as well.

When we lose someone who has been an important and consistent presence in our lives, the work of grief can be all-consuming and exhausting: physically, emotionally and mentally. The smallest tasks can wear you out. The mind seems to shut down. You lose things, forget appointments or how to get from one place to another — even if you’ve driven that route for years. Normal physical routines may change. Your appetite is poor, or you over-eat. You can’t sleep, or you crawl into bed every hour on the hour for a nap.

Your emotions may be very unpredictable. The most unimportant events can push you into a rage or into tears. You may feel angry with the doctor, the hospital, or the deceased person for being careless or not taking better care of himself or herself. You may even be angry with yourself for your perceived involvement in the death. Why did I let my child drive on such a rainy night? I knew my husband was in denial about his heart condition. Why didn’t I drag him to the doctor? You may be angry at God or at life because no one should die so young, in such pain, or because someone was driving drunk and struck your loved one. On the other hand, you may be surprised — as I was after my father’s death — to feel both deeply sad and greatly relieved that your loved one has been released from suffering. Feelings like anger or guilt can linger for years and cause even more suffering if we don’t deal with them.

Or you may not know what you feel. It seems that men sometimes have trouble labeling their feelings, but if a relationship has been difficult or the illness long and drawn out, then our feelings may be jumbled. Again, we may need someone to help us make sense of them.

As we move through the routines of life, the work of grieving can weigh on us. We have good days, bad days, and very bad days. Someone once told me that grief is like being trapped in a jar. You can see the “real” world, but somehow you’re cut off from it. And every so often, something gives the jar a good shake and you come apart. Others have said that they feared that they are going crazy —insane with grief. One minute they were laughing, the next moment brought tears. Dreams that include the deceased person are common and sometimes disturbing. You see the person you’ve lost, but you can’t reach them, or when they speak you can’t hear them. Dreams can also offer comfort. It’s common for the deceased person to speak of being in a good place or to affirm their love for you.

Eventually we begin to come to terms with the loss of the loved one, but it can take much longer to face the other losses that this death brings, roles that gave you an identity, a purpose — even status.

The poem My Father’s Death by May Sarton¹ describes this change as a new birth into full adulthood and independence. There is a note of triumph in this poem that suits Sarton’s situation, but I think that she would not have felt this way had she lost a spouse or a child. Letting go of our accustomed roles as partners, parents, sons and daughters means that we have to think of ourselves in a new way. People who experience the loss of both parents often describe themselves as “orphans” even though they have been on their own for years. Men and women who are alone after the death of a spouse find themselves in a confusing state of social limbo as they try to figure out how to maintain friendships with the couples that were close to their now missing better half.

Over time — however long it takes — most of us find that life begins to take on certain routines again. The once strange and difficult tasks of life become more routine. We may be surprised to hear ourselves laugh. Memories of the person we lost may still bring tears, but not as many.

The life we face now may not be the future that we planned for ourselves. We face a “new normal,” and it can take a while to figure out just what that will be. Plans start to take shape, only to dissolve in uncertainty. It can take some time to make decisions and work up the energy to carry them out.

As the new normal takes shape, the sharp edges of grief soften and daily life begins to feel a little easier — at least most of the time, as there will still be days when memories return and grief heats up again. Holidays, family celebrations, seeing old friends who want to share memories, or getting a piece of mail addressed to the one who is no longer there to open it can bring hot tears that catch us by surprise.

There are times when the work of grieving is too much. We wonder if it will ever end. How will we know? Dr. Theresa A Rando, the author of several excellent books on death and grief, says that the purpose of grief work is threefold; The first is to change your relationship with your loved one, recognizing that he or she is dead, and develop new ways of relating to him or her.

This may sound strange, but the truth is that relationships continue — even after death. I’ve known people who have carried anger towards a deceased person — or a desire to please a parent or spouse or sibling — long after they had departed from this earth. Rando advises that if we are to heal these unresolved and painful issues, they must be faced. Again, the help of a qualified counselor may be what is needed.

The second purpose of “grief work” is to develop a new sense of self in the face of the many changes that have come about as a result of this death. This is especially true when the relationship what was lost was central to one's identity or life routines. My friend who grieved for her beloved dog was stunned to discover how many little rituals and routines involving this animal had crept into her life. She faced a huge and unexpected void that made her grief work more difficult.

The third goal is to take on healthy new ways to be in the world without your loved one. This may take time, and be an up and down venture. Be patient with yourself, but also firm. Don’t look too far into the future. Sometimes the goal of getting through the next half hour is all we can manage!

Finally, we need to discover new pursuits, new people, and new ventures that can absorb some of the emotional investment that we had made in our relationship with the beloved person who is no longer in our lives.

We see this most commonly when the survivors take up a cause or project that had been important to the deceased person or in their memory. Some people discover that they now have the energy and time to turn to their own pursuits and fulfill dreams of travel, education, or professional advancement that may have been set aside during a final illness — or were never imagined, until life changed.

As we face the hard work of grief, it helps to know that others have walked this path and survived the journey. Bereavement groups and counseling may help. There are also a number of books on surviving the loss of a loved one, and some are targeted to a specific loss. I’ve just finished reading a powerful book titled Nothing Was the Same by Kate Redfield Jamison, a psychologist, author, and a woman who struggles with bi-polar illness, in which whe chronicles the death of her beloved husband, Richard Wyatt.

At the end of the book, she writes:

“Grief had taught, if nothing else, that to move forward I would have to imagine a life without Richard. I had often said to my patients who were struggling in the wake of mania or suicidal despair: 'We are each an island. It is your task to bring to your own island what you need to live long and well: love, beauty, diversion, friends, work that sustains, a meaningful life.'”

This is good advice to follow — even if we are not caught up in the work of grief. On this day of memory and love, if you are grieving, I hope that the good days are more frequent and the bad days less painful. I would remind you respectfully that you are not alone. You are a member of this beloved community and as your minister, I’m available to you, to listen, to offer whatever assistance I can, and to help you find the help you need when what I can offer is not sufficient. I know from my own experience that for many of us, the three most difficult words in the English language are “I need help.” Please don’t let your embarrassment keep you isolated. The work of grieving is difficult and no one should have to do it alone.