Dr. Val FarmerDr.Val
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Rural Mental Health & Family Relationships

Death Brings Life Into Perspective

December 21, 2009

We live in a death, age, and pain denying cu1ture. Death, pain, old age, illness and tears frighten us. We glorify birth, comfort, youth, health and laughter.

The majority of widows are medicated within 24 hours of a death. Normal grieving is regarded by society as weakness, sickness or craziness. Mourning, the outward expression of grief, is decidedly unmanly. "Big boys don’t cry." Alcohol covers up pain.

It is OK to express grief. What are we so afraid of? Of being human? Of not being in control? Are we being sold a bill of goods - that this is supposed to be a pain-free, problem-free world?

To hide our grief from ourselves and others, we don’t express our feelings. We isolate ourselves from others. We deny ourselves the healing power of tears and mourning.

Even our faith in life after death can be a two-edged sword. On the one hand, grief can be seen as a lack of faith. On the other hand, too much faith in eternity keeps us from mourning our losses in the "here and now."

We need to embrace our pain and grief as normal and natural. Even the confusion and "crazy" feelings that accompany a major loss are normal and natural.

Some people confuse depression and grief. Depression means feeling hopeless and helpless. Grief is feeling sad and empty. They are different.

Mourning losses prevents depression. "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."

Grief work is the active re-identification of the self that incorporates the loss. We come to terms with what has been lost and how we feel about it.

Grieving means change, adaptation, energy and "work" at a time when we don’t feel like it. It is choosing to reach out to others when we want to withdraw. Grieving is hard. The loss requires us to re-evaluate who we are now.

It is through other people that we experience new dimensions of understanding and compassion. We choose honesty and intimacy over pretense and loneliness. We express ourselves to those who really matter.

Death brings life into perspective. Death forces us to love. Death tells us there is a limited amount of time and we’d best get on with life before death intrudes.

Grief can be a spur for creativity. Our search for meaning and significance to life makes our work more important. We become more focused on the contribution and legacy we wish to leave.

Life is short. Death teaches us that. Some things become more urgent. Embracing grief teaches how to live and how to love. In one sense, grief is not normal. It is growth beyond normal.

Pain is the by-product of love. If you take the pain out of death, you take the love out of life. To choose not to hurt again is to choose not to love again.

Grief and joy are companions. You can’t have one without the other. Tears are gifts, not symptoms.

There is recovery. Will the pain go away? Will the grieving ever stop? Not entirely, not ever. But there is recovery from the intensity and disorganization of the grieving experience.

- First, you can talk about the loss.

- Second, you can talk about the loss without feeling emotionally overwhelmed.

- Third, you can feel good about "feeling good" again.

- Fourth, you gain objectivity in being able to discuss the full reality of the loss, not just an idealized version. In the case of a death, this means being able to talk about the full personality, both good and bad, of the deceased.

- Fifth, the present and future look good to you again.

Time doesn't heal, mourning heals. Time heals. Wrong! Time doesn’t heal. Time gives people opportunity to grieve and mourn. Grieving and mourning heal. Because people have had time to mourn doesn’t mean that they’ve "done it."

An 85-year-old man, when confronted with a diagnosis of a terminal illness, penned these thoughts, which subsequently appeared in the Journal of Humanistic Psychology.

If I had to live my life over again, I’d make more mistakes. I wouldn’t try so hard to be so damn perfect. I’d relax more. I’d be sillier than I've been. I’d take more chances. I’d take more trips. I’d climb more mountains. I’d watch more sunsets. I’d eat more ice cream ...and fewer beans.

I’d have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones. I’ve lived sanely and sensibly and have had my moments to be sure ...I’d have more of those special moments.

I’d travel lighter next time. I’d walk barefoot earlier in the spring and later in the fall. I’d play hooky a lot more. I’d ride more merry-go-rounds. I’d smell more flowers. I’d hug more children. I’d tell more people I love them.

If I had my life to live over again ...but you see, I can’t.

It took the reality of death to bring these feelings about life into focus. Perhaps if he had shed more tears and mourned more openly, he might have had these thoughts sooner.