Author: zengineerus

The great Russian writer Anton Chekov once wrote:

“There ought to be a man with a hammer behind the door of every happy man, to remind him by his constant knocks that there are unhappy people, and that happy as he himself may be, life will sooner or later show him its claws, catastrophe will overtake him–sickness, poverty, loss–and nobody will see it, just as he now neither sees nor hears the misfortunes of others.“

I think what Chekov meant by that was that suffering is inevitable in life.  No matter how happy and smoothly life seems to be, sooner or later and misfortune happens, often without warning.  We loose a job, get a divorce, have financial struggles, and experience the loss of a loved one.  I think Chekov was trying to convey that pain and struggle are a part of life.  There is no man with a hammer, the pleasure and pain, joy and grief, abundance and loss, and happiness and suffering are all a part of life.  One does not occur without the other, the mutually exclusive occurring together at the same time, the yin and yang dancing together in loving embrace for eternity.

This image of the dance of the yin yang is best captured in poetry, and grief poetry is no exception.  Poetry takes that yin-yang of life and both validates, comforts, and equalizes the inevitable suffering and pain of life.  And of the many poems of grief and loss, the most captivating for me are the evocative images brought up by the poetry style of haiku. 

In times of grief:

“Night; and once again,
the while I wait for you, cold wind
turns into rain.” — Masaoka Shiki

A thousand words of ordinary literal prose cannot express the dark night of grief where the cold wind of missing a loved one suddenly turns into the tears of sadness.

Or:

“A weathered skeleton
in windy fields of memory,
piercing like a knife.” — Matsuo Basho

In grief, the memory of a loved one can pierce onesYet emotions, thoughts, and beliefs.  We find that the structure of our live we built now weathers away and becomes as brittle as a skeleton.

And as a reminder:

“Watch birth and death:
the lotus has already
opened its flower.” — Natsume Sseke

Yet, through the grief, with that which dies and composes, causes a new flower, a new life, a new perspective, a new optimism to be reborn and grow.

Yet:

“One flower
on the cliffside
nodding at the canyon” — Jack Kerouac

Reminds us that in the deepest part of the canyon, there is still life, a little flower saying hello to whatever sun my reach it.  There is light in the canyon, allow your single blossom to say hello once again.

In conclusion:

“Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!” — Matsuo Basho

All flowers, trees, rocks, and life comes and goes, yet life goes on.  The bells of the shock and trauma dies out, the sting of the grief gets easier.  The fragrant blossoms of other jobs, friends and loved ones remain.  In spite of the grief, sadness, anger, and despair, life is good and life goes on.  Even with the grief, sadness, anger, and despair, there is still happiness, joy, and grace.  Daytime and evening, life is perfect as it is!

Several weeks back my dear friend, Cindy, told me a story.  This story started out happily.  Cindy’s father, Bob, was a great fan of American Football and in particular, the Denver Broncos.  Bob had been a season ticket holder since the the sixty’s, so through a lottery, won tickets to Superbowl 50 back in 2016.  Cindy and her father travelled to San Francisco, CA where the game was being held.  The day before the game, Cindy’s father collapsed in the hotel.  Paramedics arrived quickly and despite their best efforts, Bob died.  Cindy was heartbroken, and despite her grief, attended the game in his honor.

Somehow, the Broncos organization heard about this tragedy of a fan dying the day before the Superbowl he was to attend.  As a result, the Broncos sent a player with the Lombardi trophy to Bob’s funeral.  I saw the picture of the Lombardi trophy standing between the flowers and Bob’s picture next to the casket.  Cindy said she was touched by  simple gesture of support and humility that the Broncos organization showed.  I was touched just by looking at the picture and hearing the story.

As I reflected on this story Cindy told me, the question came to me, does one know the impact of a single life?  As I reflected further on this I realized one can never really know the impact that one life has on others.  When my own father died, I was amazed at the scores of people that I had never met, but somehow knew my father.  And the words some of them spoke to me about my father made me see a man I had known all my life, yet never completely knew.  I learned from this experience that one can never, completely, know anyone nor know the impact of that one life on this planet.  Cindy’s father and my father made imprints on people they will never know.  This made me question, what are the imprints I am making on the ones I have met, and what imprints are they making on others on having an encounter, however brief, with me or with Cindy.

I’m not sure of the exact numbers, but Broncos fans number likely in the hundreds of thousands.  So, more than likely, there are several fan deaths a year.  The Broncos could’ve simply sent a nice letter of condolence to Cindy and she probably would have been touched.  Yet, somehow Bob had made an impact that reached other fans, that reached the organization, that caused a large business organization to show the gesture of support they did.

Life is brief.  And in this short life, one can never know the full impact their life had on others, nor the impact those others have on others.  From this, another question arises, how much of an impact have I made?  Has that impact been affirmative or negative? Likely a mixture of both.  But, as I reflect some more, I wonder have I shown more love, compassion and optimism or more cynicism and resignation?  I will never know, but I do believe that compassion, affinity and optimism have a far greater impact.  What about your impact?

 

I am part of a support group for children working through their grief.  Nine weeks ago, this group had 7 people, we are now down to two people.  They all had good reasons for leaving the group and a few excuses.  But, I think that the reason people quit the groups is that the journey of grief is tough.  There are books and resources that try to map out the journey as best they can, but the books and resources often fall short.  They fall short because the grief journey is a highly personal thing.  The journey is unique for every individual and for every death.  My own journey through the death of my brother is different from the death of my dad and that is different from my journey through the death of my friend Jan.  I was the common denominator through each of those journeys, but the journey was different for each one that died.  The journey is tough because it is ongoing.  There is no “getting over it” or “closure” over the death,  There is simply learning to live with the death and moving on with life the best we can without our loved one there.  Groups help to connect us with people going through the same experience, which is great support.  And support is the keyword, whatever loving and affirmative support one can get through the journey can make all the difference.  Groups are great, but therapists, ministers, friends, pets, or even books and other resources are great support.

But the journey is unique as each and every individual that goes through the journey and and unique as each and every loved one that has died.  Support can make the journey easier and provide a different perspective on the journey, but it is a journey.  This journey has twists and turns and well as lows and highs, and often feels like it repeats.  Just keep in mind, that the journey through grief is just that, a journey.  All journeys are filled with tunnels, but there is light at the end of every tunnel.  All journeys have their valleys, but each valley has their way up and out.  Finally, all journeys have their promontories, but all promontories have their climb down into the ocean of what lies ahead, which is always unclear.  As with all journeys, there is no avoiding it, going over, or around.  The only way is through.  So take all the support you can get along the ways, and venture through.  Who knows what will be found along the way, but whatever it is will make and mold a much richer and glorious adventure.  Bon voyage.

I am trained as an engineer.  My job as a software developer involves solving a lot of problems.  In maintaining software, I fix bugs and problems throughout my day.  In my part time work as a grief counselor I listen and hear a lot of stories.  And, almost every time, and sometimes I have tried to “fix” their “problem” by offering advice when it was not asked for, giving the bereaved things to “do”, or how to change their thinking.  Firstly, to the ones I may have done that, I give my most humble apologies.

Secondly, when I just listened, simply listened to their story, simply listened to the expression of their feelings, I see a shift right at that that moment.  A shift in their eyes and their countenance.  That shift is almost miraculous and all I did was listen, just listen.  I did not offer advice or give things to do or anything about changing their thinking.  I simply listened and occasionally reflect back to them what I heard.  Never have I seen that shift when I gave piece of advice.  Yet, if I just simply listen wholeheartedly, and with total presence I see that shift.

And I don’t get that, no “fixing”, no solving a “problem”, no giving advice, and not suggestions on what they should think.  Yet, in that shift, it’s like a miracle occurred.  The bereaved suddenly smiles or begins expressing from a place I had not seen before.  Suddenly, the bereaved sees the light at the end of the tunnel, they can share about the one that died more comfortably and easily.  The bereaved sees how they can move on from the loss.

Witnessing that shift is miraculous and I cannot explain it in any way from my rational, mathematical mind.  The power of the healing is in the sharing and listening, simply listening.  My role as the listener is not to fix, because I cannot fix no matter what I say or do.  All I can do is create a safe space for the bereaved to express and listen no matter what is said, no matter the tears, or fears or anger. And somehow in that expression, that thing I call “the shift” occurs.  A shift in perspective, mood, and countenance occurs all at once and it is simply in the listening.  And I keep on listening, and when I see that shift, I don’t get it.  I cannot explain it.  The power and magic of healing is not in what is said, but simply in the listening.  And still, there is a part of me, that just doesn’t get it.

C.S. Lewis once wrote in reflecting on his own wife’s death: “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”  And the impact of grief on one’s own physical or mental is like being crippled by fear.  Grief, like fear, is physically exhausting.  I know from my own experience, particularly after the death of my father, all I wanted to do was sleep.  Even the simplest of tasks were accomplished slowly, because, well for one thing, a hard time sleeping.

Also, grief is a a major stressor on both our minds and bodies.  People are sociable creatures, and like all sociable creatures, the close relationships they form help regulate their psychological and physical functioning.  And when a close relationship is gone, it typically leaves people out of control and disoriented.  Just like a frightening event.  Except frightening events are often temporary, death is permanent.  And just as a frightening event can be a great psychological stressor, disorienting, and confusing, grief can too.  It is fair to say that the disorientation, confusion, and stress takes a toll on the body, making the body feel fragile almost like the flu.  Just as the flu can take one out of the game of life for several days, I have seen grief take people out of the game for weeks, months, or even years.  Much of it because of the impact of the exhaustion.

Research has shown, and I have seen in my own life, how prolonged grief leads to anxiety and substance abuse.  Furthermore, and I saw it myself, bereavement leads to alcohol related problems, especially among men.  Which, in turn, has a great impact on the life of the abuser as well as his or her loved ones that life or work with the abuser.  Anyone who has lived with an alcoholic or drug addict has experienced the far reaching impact of the abuse, and therefore the far reaching impact of the grief that caused the abuse in the first place.

Grief is often described as heartbreak or heartache.  Research has shown that the heartbreak might be literally true.  The acute stress of grief, over time, can cause something called stress cardiomyopathy, a serious cardiac illness.  Cardiac illness, if not treated often leads to heart attack or death.  Further research has also shown that “incidence of an acute heart attack increases 21-fold within 24 hours of the death of a loved one, before declining steadily with each subsequent day.”

As if depression and anxiety from unresolved grief is not enough , throw in the impact of alcohol or substance abuse or heart attacks, one can easily see the impact of grief is far and wide.  The depth and breadth of the impact of bereavement unresolved is so far reaching, it is unknowable, and that impact is not isolated to just the individual experiencing the grief.  That impact reaches beyond the individual, or his family, or his community.

Grief must be dealt with, coped with, treated with respect, and worked through.  And just as grief can have far-reaching negative impacts, the working through the grief can have far-reaching positive impacts too.  Since people being sociable creatures, do not grieve well alone, the grieving process demands we all grieve together.  This to has far-reaching impacts for the individual, his family, his community and all human kind.  Perhaps again C.S. Lewis sums it up best when he said: “I will not, if I can help it, shin up either the feathery or the prickly tree. Two widely different convictions press more and more on my mind. One is that the Eternal Vet is even more inexorable and the possible operations even more painful than our severest imaginings can forebode. But the other, that ‘all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.'”

Notes:

Quotes from C.S. Lewis are drawn from his superb book “A Grief Observed.”

Research was drawn from this web article on the website EverydayHealth.com.

 

 

 

 

I volunteer at a place where children and families can go to receive support and assistance through the grief when they’ve lost a loved one.  Recently, as I listened to a 14 -your old by tell the group his story of the death of his dad, I remember thinking as he told the story how similar it is the the story of the death of my brother.  Then, suddenly inside, it was like my brother had died only 10 days age, not 10 years ago.

As I talked about that experience with a friend, it reminded me that grief works in mysterious ways.  Grief doesn’t hit us in tidy phases and stages, nor is it something that we forget and move on from; it is an individual process that has a momentum of its own, and the work involves finding ways of coping with our fear and pain.  That somedays, I feel almost neutral about my brothers death.  Other days, when I think about some of the wonderful times we had together, I feel happy.  And then, when I hear a story that is similar, not the same, but similar, I’m back on the wheel again.

And grief is a wheel and the spokes are the loss, shock, disorientation, depression, sadness, anger, and recovery.  They are not stages or phases, because stages or phases implies an end.  Grief is a wheel, as the wheel of life turns we occasionally will revisit the loss, shock, disorientation, sadness, anger, or acceptance over and over again.  Never like the first time, and never the same as last time, but we experience those same spokes again in a different way from the previous time and in a different way from anyone else.  How we experience grief and express grief is as individual as we are.

Grief, in all its mysterious ways and its ceaselessly turning wheel is also a gift.  It reminds us of our individuality and our humanity, of our mortality and out eternality.  Grief reminds us that out love is both what binds us and that its expression makes us unique.  As the spoke of remembrance for my brother comes around again, I am reminded of how humbled and grateful for the awe and wonder and mystery of this adventure called life.  Thank-you life, and thank-you grief.

This site is intended to be reflections, contemplations, and meditations on my own journey through grief.  I have had 22 people who were close to me die over the last 40 years of so.  I have been to more funerals than weddings.  What can I say, death has been a big part of my life and, when one really examines it, death is a part of everybody’s life.  Death is as much a part of life as eating, drinking, breathing, sex and paying taxes.  One cannot escape the fact they will encounter death at sometime in their life, even if it’s only their own.

Grief knows no demographics.  Grief touches everyone, young or old, rich or poor, black or white or asian or latin, christian or muslim or jew.  Grief affects everyone similarly , but differently.  Grief can run the gamut of emotions from mad as hell, to terrified, to great depths of sadness, to relief, and even happiness.