NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #26/NN_1992_26.iso/spool/alt/support/1398

Internet Message Format | 1992-11-07 | 4.6 KB

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From: [e-mail] (mary.rita.otto)
Newsgroups: alt.support
Subject: Re: Grief and Holidays
Keywords: grief, holidays, Christmas
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 5 Nov 92 21:57:19 GMT
References: <[e-mail]> <[e-mail]>
Sender: [e-mail]
Organization: AT&T
Lines: 73

In article <[e-mail]> [e-mail] (Andrew M. Cohill) writes:
>In article <[e-mail]> [e-mail] (Marcia Hoppers) writes:
>>
This one sat around for awhile;  I wasn't sure how to answer it, but I
knew that I wanted to.  So I saved it until now.

>>I have learned that time does *not* heal, that you have to *work* at it
>
[Story about just spending time (not talking) with people who understand
you are grieving deleted]

>
>Time does not heal, but eventually scar tissue forms, and the pain
>subsides, to be replaced by the tightness and roughness of that scarred
>and damaged part of ourselves.  Thirteen years after the loss of someone

This is the part of the post that has troubled me.  The mention of "scar
tissue" and "tightness and roughness".  It doesn't have to be like that.
Really.  In my case, the memories of my loss are not that way.  They have
left their marks on me, but in ways so removed from tightness and
roughness that those words seem out of place.  I think back about the loss
of my mother, and I feel warm wonderful memories of her, unhappy acceptance
of the circumstances of her death, and an increased understanding of the
process of grieving and an increase of my understanding of other people
in my family.  Despite a difficult history, I now have a much closer
relationship with my father than before our loss -- we can talk to each
other now at a level that I never thought was possible.  It was only
through sharing our loss that we were able to achieve that.

In my opinion, there is such a thing as "moving on" and "getting over it".
I know that I have, because I am at a place where I can think back about
my mother and remember the emotions associated with that memory (like how
funny she was at her birthday party, and how happy I felt) rather than
the sadness of experiencing the grief of her loss.  Being over it means
that you aren't being affected by it in the same way anymore.  I can
see the difference with my father;  every time he thinks about her, he
winds up being sad and grieving more.  He isn't over it yet.  He still
has more grieving to do.  It has been over three years, but he's not ready
to move on yet.  I think some people never do.

That gets back to the tightness and roughness.  Tightness sounds like
holding back unresolved feelings and grief.  (Might be a bad idea.)
Roughness sounds like something irritating, something that it hurts to
remember.  Again, unfinished business.

Society's view of grief is that it should be very private rather than
public.  That it should be quiet rather than loud sobbing or angry
outbursts.  Hogwash.  Those concepts make those around us more comfortable --
"look at how well (s)he's taking it", "(s)he's bearing up pretty well" and
all that rot.  But that is not how grief works.  Grief works in ways like
every night at bedtime, when trying to fall asleep, you cry your eyes out
uncontrollably.  It works like you are in the supermarket and see her
favorite cookies, and you stand there sobbing, and people think you're
an idiot but you just can't help yourself.  Grief works like you are
trying to make some cookies and you just start screaming at the kids
and banging around the kitchen because you are overcome with rage over
what has happened.  Grief works like you are walking through the mall
and you see groups of mothers, daughters, and granddaughters and you
start crying because you realize that will never be you and your mother
and daughter.  And any one of these that you try to deny will come
back to haunt you and force you to deal with another part of your loss.
The loss not only of the person, but of your dream for the future, your
plan for the way life was supposed to be.
>I will think of her every day, not as a wallowing in the past, but just
>a kind of whispery echo of what my life with her was.  Her death was a
>tragedy, and I can not change that.
>

It is important that we allow ourselves to grieve until we are finished,
to release the feelings which society would have us repress.  Perhaps
you can find a way to finish the grieving in your life, if you want to.

Mary Otto