Grief Primer
Grief Primer
Jun. 26, 2020
I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say that we are all in a state of grief right now, whether or not we’ve lost someone close to us. Humans grieve all sorts of losses, not just the loss of life: loss of freedom, independence, roles, things, ideas, relationships, and function. Loss of ignorance, too, and the innocence it confers. Compounding all the losses the pandemic has brought to bear, we’re also losing the veneer of justice that we’ve so wanted to be real, but wasn’t. Living life means facing a cascade of loss, a dynamic that this historic moment has especially intensified.
Grief makes its own weather. While it can feel problematic as hell, grief is an essential piece of the human picture. Who knows? Maybe it extends way beyond humans, too; it’s certainly powerful enough. It may be asking too much for you to revel in your grief, but it’s important to understand the relationship between grief and love. It’s straightforward: the pain of loss stems from the power of love. And it doesn’t have to be the pretty kind of love; even attachment to our miseries can be love of a sort. One way or another, if you didn’t care, this would all be easier.
When you recognize its connection to love, grief can feel more engaging. But that’s not always easy to see, as grief is a masquerader, too. It presents as nihilism, bitterness, jealousy, self-loathing, appropriately inappropriate tears or laughter. It can be numbness or flatness or lethargy; it can be full of agitation and commotion or bursts of insight or creativity. The point is, you’re altered by it.
Unless you understand that grief presents in a thousand ways, you might misjudge yourself or other, unwittingly compounding the pain. In hospice work, for example, and in the hospital too, you get used to unprocessed or unrecognized grief popping up all over the place and in many forms. Families finding fault in things over which they have some control instead of at the disease (if fault must be felt), or by requesting other voices be in the mix until they hear the news they seek. In patients or coworkers yelling at staff for no particular reason. In our own weird mood swings. All are grief’s proxies.
There are books and songs and art to tell us all about grief. But for our purposes here, to get a feel for the big middle ground, I’d like to point out two outlying versions. Anticipatory grief is when we grieve just knowing the loss is coming. This one is extra important to understand, since it can feel extra ridiculous “wasting” time when your beloved is still here. But with our capacity to look into the future, this is likely a pretty common state. As such it probably serves a good purpose, perhaps as a kind of practice for what is to come. You can certainly choose to use it that way.
At the other extreme is grief that doesn’t end. In the clinical world we call this complicated grief, or prolonged or pathological grief. This grief is different. Instead of the clouds beginning to lift six to 12 months after the loss, the clouds stay and grow thicker and more suffocating. Depression, exacerbation of illness, substance abuse become serious threats. Violent or otherwise intrusive thoughts are not uncommon. In such ways grief has moved from a useful, if difficult, process to a harmful one. Through a medical lens, for example, grief can trip into illness. Time spent with a good therapist or counselor can be helpful anywhere along the way, but it’s essential if you find yourself in complicated grief.
In general, it’s useful to remember grief as something normal—a part of natural life and not a weakness or fault. In a way, it’s something to be proud of. You are alive, and you care enough to be affected by that fact.
And you’re not actually alone. If you’re looking for some tried and true guardrails, try leaning on others, either directly or through cultural tradition. Clergy, chaplains, teachers; faith traditions all have timeworn practices around death, dying, and mourning. These have ever been life’s essential struggles.
Or consider attending a support group. There may be one specific to your circumstances—cancer or spousal loss or men only, for example—or more generalized. Being with others who are also grieving can prove a great relief. No more pretending that everything is okay. Less need to explain yourself. Some support groups are facilitated by peers and others by trained counselors. Check online or with your local hospice agency or at hospital resource center (many but not all have one) to see what’s available. Groups tend to come and go, so check again over time. If you prefer one on one conversation, consider visiting with a grief therapist or death doula or psychotherapist. (You don’t have to be depressed.)
Another way to deal with grief is to ritualize. American culture has largely lost touch with the grief rituals of the past and the wisdom behind them: hanging crepe in the window, wearing black, wearing an armband, to name a few among zillions. Material symbols connote some spaciousness for you and those around you. People may be more forgiving, kind, respectful. Expectations adjust. But there are processes and behaviors too, allowing you to settle into another part of your brain, where fewer decisions need to be made and you’re more apt to just be (which is plenty).
And it’s always helpful to keep the fundamentals in mind. Grief is discombobulating, so it pays to tend to the basics.
Take your shoes off and put your feet on the floor; feel ground; breathe deeply; drink water; eat and taste; sleep.
In these ways, grief may be just what the world needs now. This is exactly how we’ll be true to the reality we are facing, while also being true to our hopes and longings for something different. Loss, like any truth, need not diminish us. Grief is how we’ll metabolize all this loss and not lose ourselves in the process.
For more info like this, check out the paperback version of our book A Beginner’s Guide To The End available June 30th at your favorite bookstore, and on Amazon.