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!

Character Education: Political Correctness vs Civility

Years ago, when I was PTA Rabble Rouser in Chief, a parent came to a meeting with an elaborate presentation about something called “character education.” She said that children needed to be taught manners and how to be nice to each other, in school. She backed up her argument with charts and visual aids.  I was a bit taken aback because I thought that manners, tolerance and how to be kind to other people was MY job, at home, as a parent. After pointing out that recommendations for changes to the educational system needed to be implemented by the school board, not the PTA, I went home very puzzled.  A year later, character education became a state mandate.  How was it possible that we needed to mandate the teaching of common decency and civility?

I must be blind or completely out of the loop. It seems that not only did we need character education, a major sector of this country needs a refresher course. Suddenly, people seem to think they can say whatever they want, no matter how mean, intrusive or bigoted. At check-out lines across the country, nutty people feel emboldened to comment nastily on other people, without knowing anything about their challenges, their lives or who they are. A mother struggling with two special needs kids, another young boy and a toddler gets threatened with CPS by the woman in front of her. Wouldn’t it have been kinder to say, “May I help you?” The nephew of a friend, calmly waiting his turn on line in a store suddenly gets called a vile racial epithet for no reason at all, other than some bug-eyed man’s idea of “free speech.” Using the excuse that we no longer have to be “politically correct,” the crazies have come out of the closet.

Calling people names is not “telling it like it is.” Being rude, hostile, loud and threatening does not show strength of character – quite the opposite. What happened to offering assistance? To common courtesy? Tolerance?  Basic human dignity and kindness? Character is defined as the mental and MORAL qualities of an individual. Can we live up to our highest standards instead of the lowest?

Free speech does not mean you can say whatever hateful or hurtful thing that pops into your head. Good character dictates thinking before speaking, in case your words might wound.  Free speech is not verbal vomiting. In a civil society, we need to be just that – civil. Good character means good conduct in the best sense, not because it is politically correct but because it is good. We do not know what another person is going through and it behooves us to take a breath and at least try to be calm and kind. And if we are unable to do that, perhaps we should not speak at all.

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.

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

Searching for Signs

Grievers often look for signs of their loved ones after they are gone.  Some people find pennies in their paths, some see butterflies.  A woman told me that lights turn on upstairs when she is downstairs and no one else is in the house. She is sure this is her husband and sometimes calls upstairs to say hello and to tell him to stop scaring her. Photographs show shining orbs or an aroma wafts through the room, seemingly without cause. But for every person who tells me they have seen a sign, there are 4 or 5 who say they wish they could. They long for some tangible message from the beyond that lets them feel that their lost loved one is still present, still looking out for them.
 
But if the desire for a tangible sign is a yearning for connection, what if our loved ones ARE showing up – in such subtle ways that we are missing the signal? Does a sign need to be a paranormal, graphic gesture? If we could see these random remembrances of them as connective threads, we might discover that our loved ones are present in our lives on a daily basis.  What about the random thought of something they said, a memory that suddenly arises and makes us smile?  Isn’t this a sign of our continued connection with our loved one after they die? 

 I challenge you to consider this: if our dead loved ones live on in our hearts, then they show up in our thoughts and memories. They show up when we don’t know what to do and suddenly remember what their advice would be.  They show up in a gesture that is just like theirs, in a song on the radio, in their favorite flower that blooms in the garden.

 
I challenge you to notice that they show up every day. The signs are there if you just pay attention.

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.