Common Ground

      “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there..”

                                                                                                            ~ Rumi*

Why are we always so hard on ourselves? In the 4 years I have been practicing grief counseling, 3 in a hospice setting, I hear a repeated refrain: “I thought I was doing so much better but I am not.”  The self-judgment contained in this statement interferes with the process. And that is what grief is: a process, which implies that it is fluid, changeable and on-going.  If grief takes us on a journey through the unknown terrain of our emotional fields, why are we so unwilling to simply notice where we are?  Instead, we judge it, as if what we feel is somehow incorrect.  “I am supposed to…”  “I should be…” and the worst one:  “They say I should….”

This seems to be a common ground in grief – nearly everyone questions whether they are grieving in the right way.  In Hospice, clinicians use the phrase “grieving appropriately.”  What does that mean? What is appropriate expression for you may be alien to me. In some cultures it is appropriate to wail and keen; in others, to present a calm façade. But there seems to always be expectations that somehow, the way you are feeling it might not be quite right. The person who is quiet in their grief is commended as “strong” as if allowing emotion to be felt and expressed is somehow wrong. And the wailing person is sometimes seen as needing medical intervention!

It is natural to question how we are doing but is it necessary to be convinced that someone else has a better handle on coping then we do? Yesterday, while sharing a bit of my own grief experience I caught myself saying, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Then I said, “well, actually this IS the way it happened and I have had to find ways to cope, to adjust, even to LIVE within that happening.” There did not seem to be any other choice.

Out beyond self-judgment is the field of exploration. As we navigate our grief without a map and even without a destination, we might discover a new sense of self. How did those early adventurers find their way as they traveled to unknown lands?  They explored, they observed, they took measurements and guidance from the stars.  We grievers can do the same: we can explore our relationships, we can discover how loving has changed us. We can take the love we shared along with us as the guiding star, even though our loved one is physically gone. And we can leave self-criticism back on the distant shore.

       “Sometimes when I am down, I am my own worst enemy. Let me be my friend.”

                                                                                     ~ Martha Whitemore Hickman**

*Mevlana Jelaludin Rumi, 13^th c. poet, as translated by Coleman Banks

**January 5 entry, Healing After Loss by Martha Whitemore Hickman, Harper Collins

Being IS Doing

Today marks my one year anniversary as a bereavement counselor for Hospice.  It has been a heart-expanding year; a year of daily karuna practice. Every day, I have been called to open hearted listening, just Being with someone, compassionately. 

Inside the practice of karuna and active presence, the practice of managing chaos resides.  How much of life is chaos and how much of life is predictable?  A psychologist posed this question to me a few weeks ago and I've been asking it to others. Most people rate chaos quite high; some people go for a 60/40 split with predictability having an edge. That was my position too, but it was surprising when this doctor stated that only 5% was actually chaotic.  Of that 5%, he asserted, 4% was merely irritating or annoying.  The only real out of control chaos in life is about 1%.

Of course, in hospice work, we are helping people who are in that 1%. They are panicked, watching their loved one deteriorate, providing medical care they never imagined they would have to do. While many people prefer to die at home, the toll on their families is enormous. Wives, husbands, children, grandchildren and even family friends step up and gamely administer medications, change and clean the frail bodies, tempt them with tasty treats that can no longer be swallowed. And they are grieving in anticipation, not knowing when it will "end," and dimly recognizing that the end of life will not end the grief.

Daily, people ask me, "what can I do?" I smile gently and lean forward.  Just BE, I answer. Sit with him and tell him you love him, or don't even say it out loud.  Hold her hand and sing quietly. Open your heart and just BE with your loved one, as calmly as you can, pulsing with love, light and gratitude.

Afterwards, come and sit with me.  I also will hold your hand and walk with you for a while.  And if you are wondering what to do with all this pain, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. They won't fix it or make the sadness go away.  But they can help you manage it, learn from it, grow with it. And one of the best lessons I've learned this year is that sometimes, you don't really have to do anything.

Just Be with it.

Somewhere packed away, I have my Certificate of Being, bestowed by a humorous professor from the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology.  I think I will dig it out and put it on my desk.

Life After Death

Working in an interfaith, spiritually centered Hospice affiliated with a Catholic Hospital, I hear many people talk about what they expect after death. They say with certainty that they know they will see their loved ones again, or they joke that the husband, mother or father is up there (pointing to the ceiling) having an argument with Aunt Elsie, or driving everyone a little crazy.  It's a comforting thought for believers.

I've also listened to grievers who are troubled by their beliefs. Some worry about their loved ones, for whom they put so much time and desperate effort in trying to keep comfortable.  One man said he spent most of his time praying for his wife, because he feared that she needed him.  This week, a woman said, weeping, that she had the unnerving feeling that her husband wanted her "up there" with him. It felt like a pull in his direction and was very disturbing. She was not interested in harming herself in order to get there but she had this very clear feeling and was troubled by it.  This was in Group and several other members offered comfort and suggestions for her. I asked her if she could turn it around and ask him to be present with her here, and she again said that she thought he wanted her to come to him. 

In my spontaneous Sagittarian way, I blurted out without thinking, "well, it's not very nice of him, is it!"  The woman, along with everyone else in the room burst out laughing.  I feared I had been too provocative, but really, it seemed to me that she is alive and should be free to live fully, after his death.  If there is some presence there calling her, where is he expecting her to go? It seems almost rude of him (if it IS him and not a turned around thought about giving up) after all those years of care she gave him.  It would be nicer for her to find ways to re-engage in her life now, despite the sorrow and loneliness.

I have been thinking a lot about Life after Death myself lately but not in the same way.  To me, life after death is what you do with your life after your loved one died.  Life is not a passive place in which to wait, although grief often feels like an empty room in which everything is askew.  It is up to us  to embrace life, reshape it, re-invest in activity, new endeavors, new friendships and maybe even new relationships.  Immediately after my husband died, I heard a voice in my head saying, "your life has radically changed. Now WHAT?"  This has been the motivating thought even when I had no answers about how to live and walked around for years in a life that felt like an alien landscape. 

It is not easy to rekindle a desire for living when all you can manage is the most minimal of activities.  But over time, life begins to be more comfortable, even interesting.  There is life after death, and it can be whatever you want it to be. It is yours to shape.  Make it beautiful, full and fun.