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October 9, 2008
Mourning
Death always seems to come in threes. If it doesn't touch me personally, then it may touch someone who I know, or be a favorite celebrity. This round started with Paul Newman. I've been a fan since I saw him in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but I became a big fan when I saw him in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Somebody some year had to have named him the sexiest man alive!
Not long after, one of my professors lost his father. My heart goes out to he and his family since I can relate to what it must be like since losing my own father. More about that in a minute.
Finally, just two days ago we learned about the loss of a dear neighbor. He and his wife lived across the street for several years before they had to move to assisted living. I will always remember his jovial smile, war stories and our annual tomato competition.
From my own experience with mourning, I can share some experiences I've had that others may also encounter. Of course, grieving is very individual, so I may be far off the mark for some. I believe loss is a psychic wound that has similar characteristics to physical wounds in that there is the acute stage, a chronic or healing stage, and a scar or permanent reminder of the person who has passed.
To start, there is the shock of the discovery of the event. For me there were no tears, just a pained surprise that I imagine would be similar to the dopamine reaction someone would have upon incurring a serious injury. It wasn't until I had to convey the news to my sister that the real pain of loss began. It was as though putting the event to words gave it a reality that could not be reversed. What I grieved was knowing that I had inflicted pain upon my sister--it was easier for my psyche to imagine her pain and mourn for her than to mourn for my own loss (tricky psyche!).
The crying jags came in waves. I consider myself lucky in this instance to be a female because I know that crying, a reasonable venting strategy, is acceptable for women in our culture. The waves came at intervals that could be timed. After the initial wave the second came in about 20 minutes, then 25 minutes, and again in 35 minutes and so on. I could observe this because by then we were in a car on an 11 hour road trip and there wasn't much else to do. I cannot remember if the duration or intensity of the spell diminished.
I became short tempered and irritable with things which seemed trivial in light of a life snuffed out. I became angry that the world had not bothered to stand still for even just a second to acknowledge the importance of the event. I was exhausted but could not sleep. I felt very protective of my father's body and hoped that his handlers were treating him well and gently. I cried over him being in refrigeration, feeling that he should be swaddled and kept warm. At that moment I felt that the ritual of the family preparing the body for burial was a right one, not to be left up to strangers.
The week I returned to work I began to have weak spells. One of my friends, also a massage therapist, expressed concern that I was returning to work too soon after my father's passing. She may have been more right than I knew. By this time I recognized a trend that had started during the week I was home. Just before a grieving spell, I had a warning period that felt like an anxiety attack. I observed this feeling in my body with the interest of a bystander. I learned to acknowledge this warning, breathe deeply and postpone the grief event to a more appropriate time and setting.
The anxiety attacks went on for several months, occurring farther and farther apart, mimicking the acute phase of my grieving. At odd times during the year, I would wake up thinking about my dad and feel acute loss. I'd share this with my Mom, and she too would have a similar experience. We could only attribute these events to a subconscious memory of an important anniversary: early October, Halloween, mid-March. We expected the big holidays to be hard, but these subconscious anniversaries always took us by surprise.
I thought about my Dad every day, several times a day, and felt awful that I didn't think about him as often when he was still alive. I felt like a terrible daughter for taking him for granted. I wallowed in guilt. About three months after he died, I realized that the reason I thought about him so much was because so many of my interests, activities, and idiosyncrasies are because of him. My guilt disappeared and I felt warmed that I would always have a part of him with me.
It's been over 7 years since we lost my father. I sort through my memories and hold my happy memories close because they are the ones worth keeping. My grief could probably be classified in the scar phase by now. It still zings me once in a while, especially when I can relate to another's loss similar to my own. But mostly my feelings are bittersweet. We never "get over" the loss of a loved one, we just manage to cope.
tags: massage massagetherapy wellness massage therapy bodywork health
Posted by linda at October 9, 2008 6:56 PM
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