"Death is indeed a fearful piece of brutality; It makes no sense to pretend otherwise. It is not only brutal as a physical event, but above all psychic: a person is torn away from us, and what remains is the icy silence of death. There is no hope for a relationship, because all bridges were smashed in one fell swoop. "Carl Jung
I'm at a dinner party with friends when I start a stimulating conversation with a woman I have not met before.
Music plays softly in the background while our conversation touches on many different topics. She begins to tell me about a difficult situation she has been facing lately, and how her sister helped her. I listen attentively while she gushes how lucky she is.
"Life would not be the same if I did not have it," she looks at me and smiles.
I drink a sip of red wine, her words piercing my heart. There is silence and I wonder if now would be a good time to tell her that I, too, have a sister. Instead, I carefully change the subject.
Often we never know which emotional wound we have reopened in others. How could we The cuts and bruises of our own psyche hide so well behind serious smiles and laughs. I wonder how many times I have accidentally injured others by addressing exactly what they want to continue from.
This special conversation happens by chance in October, when my heart prepares for another anniversary of my sister's death. Every year, when this date comes, I feel compelled to celebrate it in a grand and meaningful way. But I can not think of anything that could ever be enough.
Unfortunately, the reassuring feeling of "time heals all wounds" is not really true when it comes to grief. At least not for me or my parents. Together we live in a world that still contains my sister. We live memories and laugh about the good times, while the rest of the world seems to forget. It is not that we are in a permanent state of torment, we have just learned to adapt.
I suppose the parallel could be like adapting to the loss of a limb. No matter how much time passes, you will always remember what it felt like to run and jump and play, and how you can not do that anymore. On some days you may be particularly sad about it, on other days it is a bit more manageable.
It seems to be a human tendency to strive for simplicity and a linear, systematic approach to grief. The notorious model of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross was often misunderstood, assuming that the grief passes in chronological order. But anyone who has experienced it knows that it is a jumble that slips back and forth.
Especially on anniversaries.
Everything about the season in which the beloved person died can trigger us. It's that familiar smell in the air, the change of seasons, a song on the radio – and in a moment we're back on the day we found out. It awakens the shock that we have experienced again.
The mind always wants a quick fix, but the heart will never forget. So let's say we are fine, everything is fine. Meanwhile, our body is swelling with depression, guilt, loneliness, anxiety, irritability, anger, and physical symptoms such as insomnia, unusual dreams, headaches, loss of appetite, difficulty concentrating, or an increase in distressing memories.
So what are we doing?
It's been six years since my sister died, and I'm still stunned by how powerful a power grunt can be. No matter how good I feel, the pain of loss is still trapped in my body and I can not find the keys to let it out.
I still have to find something that brings peace and closeness to my sister. In the past, I tried to force the day by speeding it up, only to find that it never worked. I am now trying to lean into grief to really understand it so that one day I can work in bereavement and help others.
Here are some ideas that might help.
Do something your loved ones like to do.
My sister loved many things: animals, hiking, traveling, nature and especially art. She was an incredibly talented artist. She often spent hours drawing, painting or collages.
I am currently studying Art Therapy and felt this strong connection to my sister during a collage exercise in the classroom. After about half an hour, the teacher told us it was lunch, but I could not stop. As the others left, I continued as if in a trance. I felt so connected to my sister that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
Create a physical reminder.
If someone we love dies, we can only visit him in our thoughts or dreams. Having something physical that you see can heal.
You could plant a tree in their honor. If you see the tree grow over the years, you can physically remember it. Or you can plant flowers (or buy them if you do not work in the garden) and create your own beautiful bouquet that your eyes can enjoy as a symbolic reminder of the transience of all beings. Flowers are just like us here for a short time. If we remember that this could help us accept mortality and enjoy the time we have during our lifetime.
Another idea might be to create a vegetable garden. Any moment would be an opportunity to connect with the loved one, and once the garden is in full bloom and rich in delicious vegetables, you can enjoy a meal and thank them in their own supernatural way "Have helped.
Write a letter.
Often people say that they can not write but everyone can. It's just the same reaction as putting a paintbrush on someone and he says, "Oh no, I can not paint." Adults tend to hide behind "can not" or "not good at" because once upon a time it was said that we do not paint well in it.
But it's not about being good at anything. It's about healing your heart.
A lot of pain through loss is related to all the things we want to talk about and all the things the person we love misses. A friend of mine once said that she kept talking with her deceased father. It has helped her tremendously to talk to him in her own imaginary way and find clues to questions that he has always helped her with.
So, whether you're talking loud or wanting to keep a letter is up to you. In any case, you have the opportunity to release all the things you wanted to say.
If you feel uncomfortable with the idea, talk to your adviser and he will develop a plan that will work for you.
Leave your time alone.
If you need, take the day off. If you think, "Ah, I can not …", then let me ask you if you had the flu, you would go to work. Hopefully the answer is no.
Grief is similar to the flu, but it is not a contagious respiratory disease, but a pain that breaks out of the heart and soul. Both need an inner loving care. Respect your body, respect your healing and take time for yourself.
Accept the sheer power of grief.
Many people mistakenly believe that grief is a single emotion. In fact, it is a powerful reaction that shakes us emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually. It is a natural and normal process that all people have to face in dealing with losses.
As much as we believe we can outsmart it by ignoring it or pushing it down, it will always find other ways to leak.
Accepting these raw and powerful feelings that flow through your body can be incredibly painful. I sometimes think of it as an emotional storm. When nature collapses in a thunderstorm with lightning, we all flee covertly. In these moments, I respect the honest and vulnerable portrayal of despair and pain in nature. For me, this is a reminder that we are all like nature, that we all experience inner hurricanes, floods and earthquakes.
No matter how extreme, they always go away. But we have to go out of our way and let it through.
Forward movement
No matter what happens to us in life, it continues. We can stay behind with the earth-shaking torment and still find that the sun will rise for a new day. I know very well how incredibly painful it can be to see the world go on, if you gasp.
We all go our own unique ways on the path to healing. No matter how much time has passed, our loved ones always stay in our hearts.
They are the guiding lights that keep us moving, and I can not think of a better way to pay tribute to loved ones and lost people than to fill the world with more compassion and gentleness.
Kimberly Hetherington is a Canadian writer and practicing Transpersonal Art Therapist based in Sydney, Australia. Her website, Life After Elizabeth, pays homage to her sister, who passed away in the fall of 2013. The website is about healing for loss, self-discovery, ending the stigma of mental illness and exploring how we can be the best version of ourselves we can be.
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