I’m a grief counselor. I work in hospice care, reaching out to the loved ones after the patient dies. I call them a couple of weeks after the death and ask them how they’re doing. Then I listen. Like many of us, one woman had just lost her elderly mother. “I’m better than I was,” she told me. “That first week all I wanted to do was to put a puzzle together. It was 1000 pieces so it took some time. My husband asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. My kids called me and suggested we go out with the grandkids. But I just wanted to work on that puzzle.”
Sifting through the pieces
Slowly, methodically, she narrowed her world to a table full of puzzle pieces and her heart began the long journey of healing. While she literally put the pieces together, she used that quiet time to begin to figure out what her new “normal” would be. Her loved ones made suggestions for what they thought might help. However, only she could chart that course. Fortunately, they let her sit at that dining room table, sifting through the pieces.
Allowing for Differences
Folks grieve differently. Some sort through their loved one’s things to ease their hearts. Others put out photographs and mementos to evoke a new sense of their presence. Some tackle the post-death details effectively, feeling like they are honoring their loved one by doing so. Others sleep long hours and barely have the energy to tend to their basic needs. Many times, I make separate calls to two or three adult siblings who have lost a parent. They don’t understand why the brother isn’t talking about the pain of losing his dad while a sister jumps into commando mode, assigning tasks as the self-appointed matriarch. At the very moment when loved ones need to support each other, they easily drift apart because they grieve so differently.
At our age, most of us have lost someone dear. Be gentle with yourself. Trust your instincts. You won’t be able to tackle a list in your usual manner. One newly widowed man confessed that he found himself often sitting in his living room, listening to an entire album of music without moving. His heart was so busy absorbing the loss that his body became immobilized. I urged him to enjoy the music. To be still. To know that a day would come when he would accomplish tasks from his former life and begin to re-enter his world. Sitting still was exactly what he needed to do to absorb the blow of losing his life’s partner.
Addressing Regret
A common emotion I hear in my bereavement conversations is guilt. Especially when someone dies unexpectedly, there can be regret for words not spoken or actions not taken. Divisions in life loom larger in death. If there was significant brokenness in the relationship, healing may come only through professional help. I remind folks that guilt descends easily with death and forgiveness will become the task at the top of our new list. This takes time and the support of our community—whether that be family, friends, a therapist or a worshiping congregation. Often folks will tell me that they recognize that the guilt is ill-founded, that they did they best they could given what they knew at any given moment. I affirm their mental understanding that they have done no wrong and urge them to trust that head knowledge will, over time, become heart knowledge. That is the journey of grief.
Finding New Parameters
It takes time to sift through the pieces of an unfamiliar puzzle and begin to make sense of it. We usually start with the edge pieces. They have an easily identifiable straight edge that sets them apart. Establishing the framing of a new puzzle is a crucial beginning point. I will stay in my home. I will go back to work in two weeks. I will work with my family to shape a meaningful memorial ceremony. With the basic parameters to our new life lined up, we can look more deeply.
Where is there color? Do I see recognizable images? Where can I begin to add on because the picture gives us more hints for placing the next pieces. Will I join my daughter’s family for pizza night even though it is difficult? Should I host Christmas in my own home as we’ve always done? Or should I take a trip to stay with an out-of-state friend for the holidays. Should I push myself to start exercising again or do I wait until I feel more rested? Can I go to our worship service alone and trust my emotions? Will my friends help me with my grief or will they avoid the obvious subject of loss or focus on it too much? Countless decisions that were formerly made without effort, now take consideration. One by one, we make them and the picture of our new life becomes clearer.
New Life
Over time, we spend less time bent over our puzzle. A foundation is in place and brand new pieces confront us less often. We are ready, with the image more clearly visible, to decide what we want to take with us into our new life and what we need to leave behind. Will I take that trip we always wanted to take when my spouse was alive? Should I sign up for that painting class and turn my dining room into an art studio? Will I volunteer with an organization or a cause that fills my cup even has I help others? New life comes out of barren areas of grief and we begin to notice the color returning.
Surprising pieces
I spoke with a woman who had lost her daughter 6 months earlier. She headed south for the winter, as she had done for years. It was difficult to leave the space where her daughter lived and died behind, but she knew sitting there would not help her in her grief. She told me she volunteered for a nature preserve that rescued and restored injured animals. Her job was to walk the turtles…yup, you heard me. She told me they are big ten-pound turtles who maybe have an injured foot or crack to their shell. She would put them in a wheelbarrow, take them outside and set them down in the grass. The fresh air and relative freedom led some of them to try to escape—but she would redirect them until it was time to put them back in the wheelbarrow and cart them inside. We both laughed as I told her I had never heard of such a volunteer task. We laughed at the absurdity of this surprising piece that was giving clarity to her healing puzzle.
One piece at a time, one decision at a time, one day at a time, extending grace to ourselves and those around us, we find we can laugh once again!
Laurie is an ordained pastor who recently retired from more than 30 years in parish ministry to pursue chaplaincy in a hospice setting. She is a spiritual director, grief counselor, and author. She loves time with her family, cooking good meals, and traveling. You may follow her at preachinglife.net.
On the eve of Mom’s birthday, this is an especially fitting blog. I thank you for your input and wisdom. I couldn’t agree more. Thank you.
Great insights on grief, Laurie. As I process the loss of my aunt, my mother’s youngest sister, who died last year at age 96, the puzzle pieces analogy resonates.
I’m glad that image works for you, Candy. It struck such a chord with me when talking with this woman. I could picture her sitting at her dining room table, focusing on the pieces—and beyond the pieces—so that she had room in her heart to grieve.
Recently I have lost my dad. Grieving while taking care of my mom who has Alzheimer’s makes her grief challenging. Dad was her caregiver, they were married 64 years. It breaks my heart for her. Let alone my own grief of loosing dad, and not having my mom as she was before Alzheimer’s is a difficult journey..
What complicated grief you have, Laura. There are so many layers of loss that it must be hard to give enough attention to any one of them. I wish you well in this time of your life when so much is dependent on you. I hope you can find small ways to take good care of yourself.
Well written.
Glad that you promote working through things.
It was different mourning my mother than it was my father. I read it’s supposed to be a journey that will change the person mourning for her journey.
I would agree with that, Janine. We are not the same person after we lose someone dear to us. We have the opportunity to become more compassionate and appreciative of the gift of each day. Or we can become reclusive and even bitter. Each loss is different but the need to give space and time to each loss is the same. I wish you well.
So much of what you wrote also applies to Divorce. It’s like a death in so many ways and you go thru so many similarities in the grief and Healing process. Sometimes it takes longer than we’d like it to when those memories return and other family members like children are still hurting. I still don’t know which is worse – death or divorce? I know every situation is different.
Thanks for bringing up the added dimension of divorce in the category of grief and loss. I have heard some people who have gone through a divorce say that it’s more difficult than death because the person in the relationship you grieve is still alive and the road to separation was so painful. There is not the same kind of closure in divorced that comes with death. Loss is challenging in all circumstances, but can be uniquely difficult with divorce.