One of the most confusing
things about grief is its unpredictability. When my daughter was going through
the worst of her addiction and I felt as if I had lost her forever, grief would
overwhelm me when I least expected it.
Once I turned down an aisle at
a department store and found myself, by accident, in the baby-and-child
section, where the sight of those sweet little outfits, the dresses trimmed
with roses, the tiny socks and leggings, the adorable mary jane shoes, hit me
like a punch to the stomach.
Another time, I was at a
fundraising auction when I came across a little girl’s dress with heart buttons
all down the front, complete with matching tights, and didn’t realize I was
crying till I felt the tears on my cheeks.
Sometimes I would hear a child
call out, “Mommy!” and reflexively turn, then feel a sharp pain in my chest
before my mind had even realized why.
Christmas, once my favorite
holiday, turned dark the year she ran away at age 15. I had no way of knowing
where she was, whether she was hurt or scared or in terrible trouble. I could
not rid my mind of pictures of her homeless on a city street somewhere. I
remember the weight of her stack of still-gaily-wrapped presents as I took them
out from under the tree, wondering if I would ever see her again. They were so
heavy I could barely lift them over my head to store them on the closet shelf.
I couldn’t bear the family
togetherness messages everywhere that December. There were TV commercials that
made me sob. I had to turn off anything with kids in it. Bright, young kids
bursting with promise were the ones that tore most at my heart.
Even after she returned,
although I could breathe a bit easier, I still feared for her life. She was
still addicted, still beyond my ability to help.
And even today, years after
she became sober and we began to repair our relationship and the broken trust
between us, flashbacks can hit me. Christmas can still turn dark in an instant,
and nightmares can take me back to those days of hopelessness.
A friend whose son died of a
drug overdose has shared a few similar things with me. She too says that,
although many years have passed, the pain and grief can still come at
unpredictable moments, so strong and fresh that, wherever she is, she has to
leave and go home to recover.
Knowing the pain of loss as I
do, I wonder sometimes how any parent can bear the agony, sorrow, and guilt –
my feelings of loss were always jagged with my guilt – of losing a child to
drugs. It’s those shards of guilt that can stab through the grief and spear us
in the heart.
Even
if you haven’t lost someone, you likely have feelings of sadness and remorse
from your past that you haven’t dealt with fully. You may have lost not a
person but a dream of the way life would be for you. You may even have lost
your faith, trust, and sense of meaning. Take time to mourn those losses so
that you can move on and find new purpose. Remind yourself that you’re part of
the universe, part of the flow of life, which includes pain and loss as well as
joy. Acknowledge the pain, but don’t let it drown the little everyday raptures
and beauty around you. Here are some keys and practices to help you find this
balance.
THE KEYS:
1. In
addition to mourning your loss, you must face the guilt you feel for being
(in your mind, perhaps even in your unconscious) complicit in that loss. You must learn to forgive yourself. A friend of
mine, whose feelings of guilt threatened to capsize her, told me what she
learned during this nearly unbearable period in her life:
“During
those months I think I cried more than I’d ever cried before. I also scrawled
incessantly in my journal, castigating myself for what I’d done, grieving for
what I’d lost. I didn’t think there would ever be an end to my tears, my guilt,
or my grief.
“Then,
a few months later, I heard about a self-forgiveness workshop and signed up. It
took place over a weekend that summer, and I think it may have saved my life.
“The
workshop taught me to do two things that helped heal me. First, I limited the
time I spent writing about what was bothering me. I wrote on a hurtful subject
for only 15 minutes and then put my journal away. A few hours later, I reread
what I’d written and reframed it by thinking of other ways to say the same
things that were kinder toward myself.
“The
second thing I learned was to look in the mirror, directly into my eyes, and
tell myself I was a worthy person and that I loved myself just the way I was.
When we were first “forced” to do this in the workshop, I thought, ‘Oh, God,
no.’ But it turned out to be a moving thing to do. It did help me forgive
myself.”
2. Create
new rituals to replace those of the past. After that awful Christmas when my daughter was gone, I knew I had to
redefine Christmas if I was ever to live through that holiday again. Many of
the things that had meant Christmas to me were now too painful. I gave up the
Christmas tree, the decorations, the big dinner with the cranberry sauce, the
gravy, the dates stuffed with walnuts and sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar.
Instead, my husband and I began spending our Christmases at the movies. It felt
almost sacrilegious the first time we did it, but also very freeing. I could
start seeing it as just another day, not one fraught with meaning.
3. Be
prepared for feelings of grief, anguish, and guilt to come unannounced. Learn
some tactics to snap yourself out of that deluge of emotions. This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t feel your
feelings, but when they overwhelm you or come at a time that feels
inappropriate to you – in a meeting, at work, in a crowd – you need a go-to
method that will put you back in control. When this happens to me, I go
immediately to square breathing (Breathe in for four counts, hold for four,
breathe out for four counts, hold for four. Repeat.) Or wear rubber bands as
bracelets so you can snap them against your wrist to “snap” yourself out of
such episodes.
ACTIONS TO PRACTICE:
1. Incorporate
pockets of rest throughout your day. Take
five minutes between activities to sit or lie down, breathe deeply, and regenerate.
If a thought enters your mind, label it “Thought” and let it drift away. Focus
on the here-and-now, the feel of your body against the chair, floor, bed, or
wherever you are.
2. Eat
something you love. Eat it slowly, mindfully, with total attention.
Concentrate on nothing but the food and its color, flavor, aroma, texture, and
beauty.
3. Instead
of ruminating about things you can’t change, contemplate things you can do something
about. Decide on small, realistic
steps you can take to move toward the life you want to live.
4. Practice
some of the tactics mentioned in “The
Keys” above to help you heal. For example, try using a timer to limit the
amount of time you spend crying, writing about painful things, or worrying.
When the timer goes off, move on to something practical and positive. Also
check out the exercises in my earlier blog posts, “Remaking Your Life” and “Holding
On, Letting Go: Like Ash on Water,” which are all about coping with grief (scroll down and you will find the earlier blog posts). For
still more exercises, take a look at WAKING UP HAPPY, www.WakingUpHappy.co.
Please contact me with
your own stories, strategies, insights, and any questions you may have, as well
as an answer to this question, if you’d like to reflect on it and send me your
answer: What tactics have you found most helpful to deal with the pain of life?
