To Grieve or Not to Grieve, That is the Question!

 If you were given the choice between diving into the darkest depths of the ocean, fully equipped with all of the gear needed to handle whatever you might encounter, OR being slowly dragged down by an 80-pound anchor while you flailed frantically to keep your head above water, which would you choose?

Well, when it’s put that way, I’d have to choose diving into the depths. Grief is a lot like plunging into the depths of a dark unknown ocean. When we plunge into grief, we fear we will never resurface. So we choose instead to frantically tread water while lugging an 80-pound anchor that slowly drags us to the very place we were trying to avoid. How ridiculous is that?

Last year, I had a very important friendship end. I chose to dive right into the darkness of my grief and bawl my eyes out! I was pathetic. I cried in front of everyone I encountered and even cried during a presentation I gave about, of all things, sharing and being open about one’s grief. I was literally a sobbing mess for eight days. As I look back, I realize it took a lot of courage to allow myself to express how I was feeling. I was honest and shared my sadness with an open heart. Then a funny thing happened. The crying stopped and I felt light and free.

If I had chosen to pretend that I was fine or tried to repress my grief, kicking wildly with that anchor chained to my legs in an attempt to keep my head above water, I would have been dragged down into the darkness anyway. My heart and soul would have been battered and exhausted. I am certain that I would still be sad had I tried to fight my grief. But I chose to dive into the depths, trusting that I had the gear I needed to face what had to be faced. Including taking responsibility for my part in creating the circumstances that ended the friendship and understanding that I wasn’t a victim. As a result, I became stronger and light enough to resurface quickly. It was a very empowering experience.

I am using a minor loss in order to give you a simple illustration. I know that major losses are complex and more difficult to face, but the same principle applies. In July of 2004, my brother died, five months later, my infant daughter died as well. It was as if my soul knew that the two losses combined were more than I could handle, so I put fully grieving the loss of my brother on hold. It took a great deal of energy just to get through the day and I felt heavy and tired all the time. The blocked sadness also blocked my ability to experience love and joy to the fullest.

On the third year anniversary of my brother’s death, it hit me: my brother was gone. That is when I began to really process my grief. I dove in by writing, reading and sharing about my loss. It’s been six years and I have just begun to resurface. I am sure people thought, “Honestly, it’s been years, shouldn’t she be over it by now?” I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t put my sadness about my brother on hold and given myself the time to grieve, would I have been able to resurface sooner? My guess is yes. My energy started returning just this week! I am starting to feel more love and joy in my everyday life more than ever before. Having processed my grief doesn’t mean I won’t continue to miss my brother, my baby and even my friend, but as long as I allow myself to feel my sadness and let it come up and out, I will continue to be empowered.

Do not be afraid to dive into your grief. Get the tools and support you need to work through your sadness and you will avoid a lifetime spent in darkness fighting to get to the light. If you need support or would like to learn more about the tools needed to effectively process your grief, please contact me by email or phone. I would be honored to be your spiritual grief companion. You, too, deserve to live a life filled with energy, love and joy.

Do We Really Have a Choice?

Sometimes I wonder if our lives are predestined or if we really have choice. Often it seems the universe conspires to lead us in a particular direction, and no matter how hard we fight it, we are going there whether we like it or not. I had a very specific vision of what my life was going to be; let’s just say it doesn’t remotely resemble the life that has unfolded (and continues to unfold) before me.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that my life’s work would be about grief, death and how death can teach us to live. But as I examine my life, this is where I have been headed from a very young age. When I was six years old, my stepfather died of a massive coronary. From that point forward, death and loss became a major theme, so my mother’s and my unresolved grief became the foundation of my most formative years.

Many losses and years later, a newly ordained minister, the very first “official” service I did was a memorial service of a friend who had committed suicide. The first words I spoke were, “I could never have imagined that when I met Robert six years ago, one day I would be a minister, and that his Memorial Service would be my very first.” Not two years later, I was standing at the same pulpit for my brother’s memorial giving the eulogy; three months after that, I conducted the entire funeral service including singing “The Lord’s Prayer” for my oldest and dearest friend, Doris. Two short months would pass before I was once again at the pulpit after my daughter’s passing. I wasn’t just a mother in front of her family and friends; I was a staff minister in front of her congregants. I felt their eyes watching as they held their breath. I saw the way they looked to me as a leader in their community to see how I would handle the weight of all of these losses.

The weight on my shoulders was great and I chose to be very honest about my descent into doubt and hopelessness. I stopped giving sermons and I stopped seeing my spiritual counseling clients. I could no longer help a desperate person find hope with the same shallow teachings and platitudes that I had been taught because I knew they were false. I had to find deeper meaning.

I read books, tried individual psychotherapy, group therapy, mediums, spiritual counseling, and finally The Grief Recovery Institute. I got a lot from each of these approaches for the loss of my brother, but none of them helped me completely with the loss of my infant daughter. I even went to Compassionate Friends, a bereavement group that helps families after losing a child. As I sat in this group and heard story after story of how this baby died and that woman miscarried, and how nobody understood, all I felt was traumatized, not supported. I knew grieving for the loss of an infant was different because of a lack of a perceived relationship between the parents and an unborn child or a baby under the age of one year. Doctors have even been known to say things like, “You can always have another,” or “At least you lost it sooner rather than later.” As if to say there was no connection between the parents and infant. I noticed that people either focused on the death scenario or simply refused to acknowledge it at all.

That was the impetus of a study I have been conducting for the last six months. I had hoped to uncover the missing piece to completing grief after losing an infant. At the beginning of this study, I wasn’t sure what the remedy could be. I thought it might be a simple “Five Easy Steps to…” What I learned was that each case is unique, because grief is not the same for everyone. I discovered that the existing paradigms are helpful but incomplete, that so many of the resources available to grievers are psychologically-based, religiously-based, just one person’s experience or completely “woo-woo” psychic-type stuff. Again, these can be helpful, but I realized that there is a lack of spiritual (NOT religious or “woo-woo”) help for grievers who may have lost their faith. Further, the religious material out there for grievers is filled with judgment and threats. Not good!

The most important gift I received from this study was the understanding that grief recovery must include the story of the relationship. I could walk into any funeral of an adult today and people would be crying and laughing but most importantly, they would be telling stories. Stories about their loved one’s life, not just the circumstances surrounding the loved one’s death. That is what I would call complete grieving.

But what happens, for instance, if you have a baby that is stillborn? If I walked into one of those funerals, I am willing to bet, there wouldn’t be laughter and stories about the baby’s life. And that, my friends, is the most important missing piece to grieving the loss of a baby. I have found in my study and in my own experience that healing occurs more completely when the grieving parent tells the complete story of the relationship they had with their infant, of both life and death.

I had a very real relationship with my daughter while she was inside my partner Cindy’s belly. I read to her, I sang to her, we even bought a Doppler to hear her heart beat every night. Later in the pregnancy when Cindy was on bed rest, we had weekly sonograms in which I got to watch every stage of growth. Later still, we lived in the hospital for the last six weeks of pregnancy where Cindy was hooked up to every monitor you could imagine twenty-four hours a day. During that time, we literally heard every beat of her heart, every movement of her little body; we could tell by the accelerations and decelerations of her heartbeat whether she was hungry, sleeping, uncomfortable or happy. Her kicking told us a lot, too! Mostly she would kick to either applaud my singing or to shut me up… I never quite figured out which kick was a good review and which kick was a bad review. This was a seven and a half month relationship that started the moment we found out Cindy was pregnant. The story of her birth and death only covers nineteen hours of that relationship.

I do believe one needs to acknowledge the crushing blow of an infant’s death; as a result of this study, I have created a workshop for parents who have lost an infant called “Birth Write: The Write Way to Grieve ©” which will help parents document through writing the story of the LIFE they had with their baby. I have also developed another workshop called “Finding Your Way Back to Faith” for grievers who have lost their faith as a result of their loss. I am really grateful for the wisdom I gained from this study. I believe it has brought my life’s purpose into sharper focus and provided me with a very real direction. I am currently writing a book that will include my new grieving method and the material that comes out of the workshops.

And so, this is the life that is unfolding in front of me. During many of my past loss experiences I have felt broken. Shattered. But now that I have made peace with the fact that this is what God or Spirit wants me to do with my life, I actually feel more whole than I have ever felt in my entire life.

If you find yourself in a life that doesn’t look like the life you imagined, like you don’t have a choice…you do. You can choose to stand idly by as your life unfolds before you, or you can take the unique experience and wisdom that only you have, make peace with it, and boldly live your life purpose.