When Ern died, I told friends who comforted me that I was all right, the death was a release for Ern, and I had done my grieving during the months of his last illness. But two incidents occurred that make me think I should go. The local therapist who does this is a marvellous woman.

First, I found myslef suddenly angry with my daughter. When I tried to figure out why, I found it was because during Ern's last illness, she 'killed us with kindness' by bringing really excessive gifts (caselots of canned food, for example, which I then had to find a place to store, until I could give it to friends or cart it off to the food bank. Ern's appetite was almost nil. And she would suddenly begin housecleaning, (she's a dynamo), and the vacuum cleaner would be raging, and things would be put away where I could never find them. Also they visited too often. I told them that Ern needed peace and quiet, and had specifically asked for fewer visitors, but still they would come. Now I'm angry at myself for not defending him better from well-meant but baneful attention, and my anger is being directed outward, too, at them. I find this all to be quite irrational. I know very well they did it out of misplaced kindness. But the anger doesn't go away.

Besides that, I did a very strange thing. I had good friends visiting, and we got on the subject of poetry. I said my very favorite poem was Yeats' Lake Isle of Innisfree.

Here it is:

quote:

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE
By William Butler Yeats
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear the water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

And I got a strong urge, or need, to read it. So I got the book and read it aloud. And in the middle, I broke down and cried. (I can't remember when I last cried. Many, many years ago, anyway.) I looked up, and they looked shocked. I apologized, and they said, "No, it's wonderful. Do continue." So I mastered my emotions, and continued. But I broke down completely on the last line.

Later I remembered that it was our poem - Ern's and mine.

Is this normal? Is it grief?

Uncanny! That's a poem I recite to myself every once in a while, but I've never read it or heard it from anyone, anywhere, since perhaps 1934 at William Dawson school in Montreal. I wonder if I remember it wrong or you made a mistake? I remember it as "lake waters lapping with low sounds by the shore while I stand on the roadway ---etc" I never remembered the title or poet, 'til now.

As to the rest of the grief thing, I'd rather wait until the next time we talk. I wrote the book on weeping, a family trait. We used to make fun of my father who could cry at Mickey Mouse cartoons.

You're right, Frank! Lake water it is! I just checked in the book. Thanks for correcting me. And yes, we'll talk soon. I need good advice.

Babs oh Babs - If you hadn't cried for years, then it's about time! Crying is a release mechanism, and you are such a strong woman I'm sure that you are very good at controlling your emotions. Crying is healthy, and IMHO, a very important part of the grieving process.

My dad passed away 30 years ago, but to this day I cannot hear "Taps" without, at the very least, choking up, and often will cry. 21-gun salutes usually get to me too.

I'm very happy that you are thinking of going to counselling. My good thoughts will be with you that it helps...I'm sure it will. Love, Joni

I assume your Dad had a military funeral. I have always found that slow, stately melody moving -- so how much more so if it were part of your memory of his final service.

You're right, I was brought up to think that emotional control is very important. Not that we should not feel honest emotion, but that we should control the outward signs. Part of stubborn Scotch pride, no doubt. Fat lot of good that ever did anybody.

I confess that since that experience, a good thing and a bad thing have happened. I have become much closer to those good friends who were my guests that evening. And I do choke up whenever I even think about that poem. I choked up when I posted it this morning. I want him to be here with me in our own Innisfree.

Love to you, Joni. You are a sweet, sweet lady.

babthrower: I cannot imagine you going for grief counseling any more than I can imagine myself going for same, and I have sustained some pretty heavy losses in recent years. Grief is a funny thing in that it creeps up on us surprisingly in spurts. When my sister called from the vet to tell me that she had to put our cat to sleep, I couldn't stop crying for hours over the loss of that cat with whom I had bonded through some grievous times. I felt so silly but soon got my act together. It may be true that we grieve particularly strangely when we are going through periods which are difficult in enough other ways. Maybe you do not realize it, but your true issue is likely one of not having fully dealt with how you will communicate to others who yet care for you that you wish to maintain the high level of independence to which to have been accustomed. Before you do this, you first have to determine whether you need others' help and how much of it, if any, you need. I think that you are going to be able to monitor your needs and also likes and dislikes for quite a few more years.

Well, tsaeb, it is true that I have been very independent since my teens. And after Ern died, I plunged into work, re-organizing the house, hiring tradespeople for what I didn't have the skill for, and for some of the heaviest work. (I'm very strong physically.) But irrational things were going on, like the anger.

It may well be that you religious folk have the edge on us atheists in this regard. You may believe that you will meet your loved one, sweet cat or human, in another life, and that helps you deal with the loss.

I have no such comforting belief. He is gone, except in our memories.

I have often wondered about the evolutionary advantage of the religious urge. I think that it allowed humans to cope with the death of a child. This is something I've never experienced, but I know that it would be utterly devastating. One would be so demoralized for quite a significant time, that one would lose the motivation to struggle to stay alive oneself. Without that motivation, during the hard and dangerous times in, for example, stone age culture, many would not survive.

I see that the highest rate of people claiming to be religious is in Africa. We know the starvation, war and genocide they endure now. Perhaps that is why they are so religious -- they need it to deal with their lives without despair.

But thank you for your thoughtful post. I will decide this week whether to go. I'm afraid just now I'm not in touch with my emotions.

Oh, my Dear One... Yes, what you describe is normal- all of it, the anger, the seemingly out of proportion outburst over the poem, the flinging yourself headlong into activity- you're reacting to an enormous loss in, really, a very healthy way- You're not falling into some of the more destructive traps that grief lays for us, such as slothfullness or seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle.
Gradually, acceptance will come, but it is a slow climb with many plateaus and much backpeddling... things will feel startlingly normal for a bit and then out of nowhere some inconsequential thing will trigger a fresh wave of mourning- This is normal.
And those of us without the comfort of religion to cushion the edges of major losses sometimes have a rockier road than those who can lean on or rail at God.
I think it's rather a shame that most of the conventions of mourning have been abandoned- many of those conventions were onerous, some bordered on the barbaric but they did provide the grieving with mile markers and something to rebel against.

I'm always available if you ever want an ear.


ps- Please try not to be angry with your daughter for having been too present- Yes, she ought to have respected the stated wish for fewer visits, but her behavior was a totally normal response to the unimaginable feeling of helplessness and uselessness that comes of knowing there's nothing that can change the outcome- I can only imagine that any child you raised would find feeling helpless to be utterly unendurable.

MrsS said

quote:

things will feel startlingly normal for a bit and then out of nowhere some inconsequential thing will trigger a fresh wave of mourning-

That exactly captures it, Shana. I was invited on a sea-kayaking expedition a few days ago and had a wonderful time, enjoying the hard paddling using my muscles, and the lovely waves and blue sky. Even the sea life we pulled up to inspect:
here
and here.

But then yesterday morning I was back to the choked-up feeling, when i thought that Ern is not here to enjoy the greengage plum harvest that he used to love.

And the anger that I feel is weird. I feel it emotionally but I don't 'believe' it. I can't ever remember having that experience before.

This is grief babs, and as MrsS says, acceptance will come.
You probably went through a certain amount of anticipatory grief while Ern was still alive, knowing, and accepting his prognosis.
But as I was reminded recently, having that person there, no matter how sick, is quite different to them finally being physically gone.
This takes time, you will get there, I know it, and good memories of Ern will endure, without the pain.

babthrower: For the record, I do not anticipate seeing loved ones in heaven after I die. Also, as you likely know, I believe that heaven is a relationship with God, which we can have now, not a place to which we go after we die.

Have you looked up "grief" on the net? At one time, I did, and the first thing I learned is how normal the process, which has stages, is. Healing cannot be rushed.