The Happy Thanatologist

I just returned from the Association of Death Education and Counseling Conference in Portland, Oregon. Some people who love me fear that my choice of profession at this stage in my life is based on an unwillingness to let go of the trauma of death or, at the very least, it is probably really depressing.  I have to tell you that neither of these suppositions is true!

Delving deep into how people cope with death and loss and how they come out the other side is actually inspiring. Attending lectures by passionate researchers, psychologists and counselors and listening to others who are supporting people of all ages, in all kinds of grief, is enlivening. I paired this educational experience with a visit to my oldest daughter to see her new home and a visit with some dear old friends so my 10-day trip was fun as well as educational.

I had never been to Oregon before and it is quite beautiful, although a little wet. My dear friend took me to the Columbia Gorge and we saw the amazing Multnomah Falls which splashed on our faces. We started talking in the car at the airport and did not stop until she dropped me off at the hotel for the conference. I love it when you haven’t seen friends in a long time and it is just a matter of catching up on the interval with stories. I am very grateful to her and her husband for being so welcoming, especially since I invited myself over!

Once ensconced in my hotel room with a view of the Willamette River, my conference experience began in earnest with a meet and greet. Many old colleagues were there including a woman from my first year cohort in my Master’s program. And I began to meet new colleagues, accept dinner invitations and share information and ways to practice. The keynote speakers were stimulating, especially Okello Kelo Sam, a former child soldier from Uganda who drummed and sang while telling us about the orphanage and school he has started for children who have suffered as he did.

Thursday afternoon, I presented my talk on using expressive therapies in grief counseling sessions. This is what I am passionate about because I believe that pairing non-verbal modalities with talk therapy can be very beneficial. And while I know that developing evidence based research in thanatology is important, apparently many attendees were hungry for some ideas that were both practical and different. I expected to have perhaps 20 people at my experiential workshop; instead over 80 people came. They were sitting on the floor and crowded in the doorway! The interaction was great and people continued to comment that they had enjoyed the talk.

Since I’ve been on stage since I was little, my inner performer came out to play. I enjoyed speaking without a script and I particularly enjoyed helping people to see that expressive modes can really help people when they are grieving.

I hope the many people I connected with keep in touch!

Meaning and Purpose

When I first began studying grief, I learned about a model called “meaning-making.”  At first this angered me because I did not think that I could come up with a meaning for Alby's death. It made no sense that he left us in the middle of our lives together.  I also felt that my own life had lost its meaning, even though the work I was engaged in continued and even ramped up since I was now trying to complete it alone.  I puzzled over the idea of meaning for a long time.

Dr. Robert Neimeyer, an influential leader in grief counseling and therapy, talks about meaning making as a way to rebuild your life after loss.  In the reconstruction model of grief counseling, the story becomes a pathway to transformation. By telling the story of the loss and of the relationship, you can find points of connection. Through the narrative, you might discover new activities, new passions. As I worked through my own story of loss, I slowly understood that by living a meaningful life, I would discover its new purpose.  By finding connections from our relationship, I continue to bring him forward into my life now.  In other words, the meaning in my life moves through our shared story and finds purpose in the stories I am creating and the work I do in my life now. In other words, there was no meaning in his death but I can make meaning in my own life, afterwards.

Many of my clients talk about a loss of purpose.  One young woman feels that it is important to focus on her purpose now that her shared plans with her boyfriend will not come about. Even as she cries, she seeks meaning in a penny on the ground, a hawk in the sky. She visits places they intended to go together and looks towards finding a more satisfying job to enhance her career, as if she is being invisibly encouraged by him. An older woman struggles to find meaning in other parts of her life besides her work which, although it gives her a true sense of purpose, does not supply enough meaning to fill the hole left by her husband. She seeks connection with her adult children, in remembrance of their loved one. A mother, mourning the sudden death of her daughter, searches for purpose now that she no longer has this child to guide. It will take her a while to rekindle any sense of meaning after this death. A young man, struggling with issues of growing up, leaving childhood friends and bad habits behind, longs to create a meaningful career to shape himself as an adult.

It's a common theme although we each have our own unique story to tell. Listen to these stories that you tell yourself and others. Notice where the connections are. Notice your own themes and see if they will lead you to a new sense of purpose.

 

How have you rediscovered meaning and purpose after death or a difficult transition? Leave me a message - I'd love to read your response.

Talking to the Bereaved

We seem unable to know what to do or say when a friend is grieving. Too often people resort to stock comments, meant to be comforting which actually are maddening and even hurtful to the bereaved. As a certified grief counselor, I’ve listened to clients cope with the hurt feelings these well-meant but clumsy clichés cause.  Here is a list of things you shouldn’t say, accompanied by what the bereaved person thinks if you do:

“He’s in a better place.”  So, being here on earth with me is not a good place?

“It was his time.” How do you know that? It certainly wasn’t MINE!  This is right up there with the next one:

“God has a special plan for her.” This may be helpful to the deeply religious but for most of us, the idea that there was a good reason to die, especially when this is said about a young person, is ridiculous. There is not a single human being who has direct insight into any cosmic grand plan that does or does not exist. Do not say this to a person who just suffered the death of a loved one.

“Well, after all, she lived a very long life.”  As if you are not supposed to feel sad? Does it matter if your 97 year old mother died? After all, you’ve had her in your life for such a long time – wouldn’t it make sense to grieve? This comment is insensitive and dismissive.

“Call me if you need anything.”  Trust me, the griever is too busy coping with death to pick up the phone. This does not mean that he doesn’t need anything. It means he is too upset to ask.

“You have to be strong.” The person saying this is telling the griever that they are uncomfortable with their emotions. In my opinion, strength is highly overrated. Grief is no time to be stoic.  Sadness, anger, fear and anxiety – all emotions that are symptoms of grief –  cannot be hidden by pretending to be strong.

“Are you over it yet?”  OY!  This was actually said to me by a weird firewood delivery man 3 months (yes, THREE) after my husband died.  I could not even speak. 

      Here is the truth about grief.  You will NEVER get over the death of someone you love.  You WILL be able to live again; you can grow, love, change, experience new things for the rest of your life. At the same time, you will always miss them. There will be random times in the future where you will suddenly feel terribly sad that they are no longer here. This will happen whether your loved one was 10, 50 or 100 years old when they died.

      So, now that we know some of the things NOT to say, what can you say or do for someone in grief? 

      BE THERE.  Show up, bring some nice tea or a plate of cookies and don’t be insulted if your friend just stares at them. 

    “I am here for you.”  Say this and then demonstrate it. Do something that needs to be done – offer to pick up the newspaper or a gallon of milk.  Make dinner, drop it off with a hug and a warm smile.
 

        Actions speak louder than words.  Offer to mow the lawn, take the garbage to the dump, help with shopping.  I am forever grateful to the acquaintance who noticed my mailbox stand was falling apart and simply built me another, came over and replaced it. 

    

       Say their name. People are sometimes afraid to bring up their name, thinking that this will make the person upset.  THEY ARE ALREADY VERY UPSET, and they are worried that no one remembers. Talk about the dead person.  Make it okay for their loved one to tell stories, to share a laugh about something funny they did in life. 

“     "I don’t know how you feel but I am willing to listen.”  Bring a box of tissues and let your friend cry in your presence.  It’s okay to weep a little yourself too. 

        BE THERE later. People usually rally around the time of death and then seem to disappear. Remember that your friend will be grieving for a long time.  Show up later, in 6 months, in a year, as well as immediately after the death.

Kindness, compassion and showing up are the best things you can do.  Saying words that show you care are the best things you can say.

Shattering and Becoming WHOLE Again

Spring is coming; even though it is early March, green shoots are rising up from the damp soil. Birdsong has changed and we are collectively hoping for something positive to generate along with the change in seasons. At least I know I am.

I’ve been focusing on a project that’s been burbling just below the surface, sometimes bursting forth and sometimes lying dormant. Over the years it has metamorphosed from intense journal entries to a sort of memoir to a travel guide for the journey with no map. If you’ve ever grieved, you know what I mean. Now, I have committed to the project and in order to hold myself more accountable, I am going public with it.

It’s a book and its working title is Shattering Grief: Picking up the pieces to become WHOLE again.

My theme (my personal mission?) has always been working through those feelings of brokenness, the sense that your life is in shards after the death of someone so integral to you. That feeling of being shattered was so pervasive that it required a quest of repair. I wanted, no, NEEDED to feel WHOLE again. There have been so many discoveries during this process and the most wonderful one is that now, I feel relatively complete. Was that broken feeling just an illusion? In the same way that grief can masquerade as depression and insanity, perhaps it put on a grand costume of fractured mirrors.  Whether this was real or not, it required a lot of attention.  It compelled me to look at all the pieces of my life and my self and consider each one carefully. By considering the various roles I play in my life and in the lives of family and friends, the possibility of growth and even some change appeared.

Death often creates a sort of identity crisis. We can cope with this by considering who we thought we were and who we are now. We can use our relationship as the foundation on which to rebuild; to use qualities of our loved one as some of the bricks. We can enhance our own abilities and develop new interests. Slowly, we can begin to ask another question.  Who do I want to be? And how can I accomplish that?

Remembering Lyn

My meditation walk is covered with yellow and brown leaves but the centers of energy around which I traverse can be brushed off.  Today I will walk in honor of a friend who left this earth on Sunday.

She was very tall and skinny and had been on life-sustaining, cancer abeyance medications for 4 years.  Her struggle to stay alive was coupled with her struggle to continue to work despite dizzying side effects. A gentle soul who cared deeply about ecology, peace and her daughters, we shared several threads of connection: the people we knew and living locations although at different times. Lyn was the Volunteer Coordinator at the hospice where I worked for some time and always tried to offer ideas for working with children since she had run creative programs for little ones for many years.

About a month ago, I visited Lyn in her home. She was still trying treatments but her body was rejecting even hydration attempts. She could no longer drive but she had many friends providing help.  She wanted to clear the energy in her home and we developed an affirmation for her to hold with intent. She wished to release negative thinking and ask for what she needs.  I gently suggested that she ask to receive whatever this was, including peace.  I lit sage and wafted it all over her home, upstairs and down, into nooks and corners, over boxes, books and bedclothes.  Lyn sat on her couch with her eyes close, desperate to hold on to the thinning cord of life that she still had.  With sympathy and love, I made her lunch and then gave her a cardboard circle and some pastels.  She made herself a shield with a golden center, black lines jagging out of the circle and blue lines of peaceful energy pointing in.  Then she said she was tired and I left.

Last week another former colleague and I went to see Lyn in the hospital.  We gave her a stone engraved with the word Peace and another that said “One Day at a Time.” She clutched them both and said she was scared but she also had what she needed – her two daughters had returned to be with her.  Lyn finally decided to enter Hospice on Friday.  My colleague felt that she would be more comfortable there and would probably feel better for a week or two; I thought I would have time to visit her again. But we did not know what was happening inside her.  Perhaps having finally accepted that death was near, she relaxed and let go.  Lyn floated into peace on Sunday.  She was a gentle, loving person and now, she has melted into that peaceful energy that surrounds us.

Today I will walk in Lyn’s memory rather than attend her funeral. I am glad I got to see her, hug her frail body, one more time before she left.  Relax, Lyn. You’ve been holding on for a long time.  You deserve this peace.