Grief and the expression thereof, are so personal.
When my mother knew she had less than a year to live, she told me people would react in varying ways. Some would stay away, too afraid to face it. Some would be helpful and then the varying degrees in between.
My mother had touched many, many people. She had encouraged Betty Ford to go public with her alcoholism and drug misuse. This caused the “disease” to come out of the closet and many many more people sought treatment and learned prevention. Who knows how many countless lives were saved?
My mother treated many people and to a person they said that she was very kind, very tolerant, non-judgmental which gave the people the freedom to grow without the fear of getting it “wrong” or judgment when they occasionally slipped.
She advocated prevention – before people got into trouble with alcoholism and drug abuse. The business people who attacked her were in the lucrative business of treatment so did not like prevention. She stood quietly firm.
It then stands to reason that many people, after my mother died, many people called thinking to comfort me. In reality, they really wanted to be comforted themselves.
One of the first people I called was one of her doctors. He was speechless. He knew it was coming – he was the one who told me to prepare me. He thanked me and hung up very quickly. I didn’t realize how highly he had regarded my mother and loved her (as a friend, nothing different) until then. That moved me more than anything.
Many, many people offered advice on how to handle my mother’s death. Some words were very interesting:
I was wondering when I would collapse. An acquaintance said, I thought the same when my father died. But someone said I was strong and I would not collapse, just slowly get stronger.
Now your mother is with you always.” In typical fashion I replied, “Not ALWAYS! I hope.” The person was taken aback. I continued the joking: “I mean not in the bathroom!” They realized it was okay to joke and laughed with me.
“You’ll always remember your mother as young.” Uh. Okay.
“You never grow up until a parent dies.” Um…Okay. Now what?
“You won’t have to take care of her as she ages.” Given a choice, this statement seemed insensitive – I would have traded. But I took it as it was meant – to be comforting.
“When my mother died, after the funeral, people went on with their lives. I’d look around and wanted to say: ‘How can you people act as though nothing has happened?!?!?! My MOTHER DIED!” I understood this one.
Another said maybe 2-3 years later: “When my father died, they said it would take two years to get over it. They were wrong; it took me at least 5.” This was a relief. I was not over my mother’s death at 3 years.
Many had a suggestion for an instant fix for my grief. We do live in a society where we don’t like to see sadness, grief, anger so we try to fix it instantly.
One thought I had while I was sobbing uncontrollably in the car was that I was lucky enough to have had someone in my life whom I loved so much and who loved me so much that it hurt this much when they were gone.
Eventually, one day, I thought I am so tired of sobbing and I started just crying when it hit me. I was getting stronger.
I realized the only fix was time. I didn’t mind the suggestions but I did find the insistence I do their suggestions a bit tedious.
One’s (“CS”) solution for an instant fix to sadness was I get a job, then I wouldn’t have time to be sad. I replied I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a job right then so it wouldn’t be fair to the employer. Besides I have a job, going through Mom’s things. (She had been a collector and it was comforting. I got to know her a little better through this process).
CS: Suit yourself but I’m right.
Me: Well thank you for your concert but just maybe I know what is right for me better than you do. And what is right for me is what I am doing.
What I found interesting re this person is that I never burdened my sadness on him. Never. So since it wasn’t affecting him, why was he so insistent?
CS: Well people who don’t take my advice always find out I was right.
Me: Always?
CS: Yes.
Me: Wow. You are always right?
CS: Yes.
Me: So what horse should I pick in the horse race? What stock is going to triple in a week?
CS: You should get a job. You’ll see I was right.
(No offer to help me get a job though. I find all sorts of people willing to give this type of advice thinking they are helping but the real help is to help me get a suitable job if that is what he really thinks I should do).
Me: And what if you’re wrong?
CS hesitated then: What?
Me: What if you’re wrong?
CS couldn’t answer. He had never contemplated he could be wrong.
So the conversation ended.
Fascinating.
Another interesting difference in grief behavior is: Some people get rid of all the deceased’s things as soon as possible – even before they may have died. Others, like me, like to go through the items, take their time, keep it as representative of keeping the deceased person close. I get to know them better. What I found interesting is how competitive people were – their way to grieve was the way so many people tried to interrupt my process and get rid of my mother’s things right out from under me. While they told me to get a job to feel better. I guess all that was to make them feel better, not me.
Eventually an acquaintance from school invited me over for an informal cup of have tea. She’s a pretty funny, interesting, lively woman so I accepted if only for the distraction. She turned out to be ideal. She had gone back to college to study psychology and was specializing in grief counseling. She had been doing some as part of hospice prior to that.
Over the next several years she guided me as to what to expect: the first year will be a shock as we figure out new traditions without my mother for the usual holidays. The second year will solidify those traditions. I’ll think I’ll being doing well and at about six months; people often have a relapse or step back. I’ll slowly get stronger.
When people thought I should be over my mother’s death within a couple months, her husband actually defended me saying, maybe she’s working on it instead of pushing it under the rug.
I wasn’t used to people defending me or I wasn’t used to hearing about it.
After a couple of months, she asked me what I didn’t miss about my mother. That was sacrilege – I had always heard not to say anything bad about the dead. I merely said: I wasn’t ready to go there.
She was matter of fact – it was just a question and there is no right and wrong.
It started me thinking, though. It is part of the grieving process. I know so many widows who had been married to strong men who refused to get married again. They liked the freedom to do as they pleased whenever they pleased.
Early on, my father had insisted I go to lunch with the minister of my father’s church. I had vague memories that the minister had been involved in a few scandals so was especially uninterested. However, it was all my father could think to fix my grief. He was trying in his way.
The minister was buying so I figured to make everyone else happy yet again, I’d go. Never know, he might have some pearls of wisdom – don’t kill the messenger and all. I thought my father would be there. He wasn’t. Just the minister and me.
During lunch, which I remember being delicious actually, when I questioned the minister, he said he wasn’t sure he believed in Jesus but that was what he was supposed to preach so he did. Further, he told me he had had a homosexual experience – just wanted to try it – but it caused his divorce. After all that, he figured he wasn’t a homosexual. I think there was more but those were the stand-outs.
After lunch he said: This has been great, I feel so much better – we’ll have to do it again.
Over my mother’s dead body! Oops, we already did that.
Such was the variety of the support system when my mother, my best friend, died.
c. GCYI
