The first time I picked up knitting needles was on a beautiful October morning in 2002, six months after my 5-year-old daughter, Grace, died from a virulent form of strep. Learning to knit wasn’t just a way to distract me during the long months of grieving. It also was an attempt to redefine myself. Once Grace was born, I became the mother of a little girl. That meant I combed her fine blond hair and taught her the ABCs; that we lay together on the sofa, singing along to her favorite movie, Oliver! I had a vision of a future in which Grace grew up and my role changed: I would shop with her for lipstick, teach her to ride waves in the ocean and share my favorite books with her. Once, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, Grace said: “I want to write books like my mommy, except I’ll write mine in nail polish.”
When your child dies, that imagined future dies too. Unable to grasp what had happened, I could no longer make sense of words. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t write. I needed to find something new. Yes, for distraction, for meditation, but also to put me on a path that was not all wrapped up in the person I had been. I needed something without Grace’s fingerprints on it.
This is the part of grief that I did not yet know. Like most of us, I knew the common things: how hard each birthday and anniversary would be; how my husband, Lorne, and I might not sleep or eat very much; how we should try to talk about our pain. Grief brings an emptiness with it, like someone punched a hole in you. My arms and my lap ached from the emptiness Grace had left behind.
After the death of someone we love, we are forced to figure out who we are now. It is difficult to reach the point where you realize that moving forward doesn’t mean leaving behind the person you’ve lost. I remember how upset I became when we had to buy a new car shortly after Grace died. A part of me wanted to keep everything exactly as it had been. I even resisted painting the living room. Each small change seemed to make our daughter disappear a little more.
Then, that same October when I learned to knit, my husband began redoing the cracked asphalt sidewalk in front of our house. Every weekend, as the leaves changed from green to gold and then began to fall, he dug and measured and planned an intricate herringbone pattern. When the sidewalk was finished, he began work on the driveway, removing the sharp gravel and replacing it with cobblestones. By the following fall, Lorne had relined our small city yard with beach stones and circular patterns of cobblestone and brick. By the garden, he laid the stones in a heart shape for Grace.
This physical labor distracted him. It helped the long weekends to pass, and he found a new passion. Our yard, our driveway, our front walk—all of it had changed. And it was beautiful. One warm spring evening, I looked around our exquisite yard. When we moved to this house, Grace had dubbed it “our happy house.” That night, I smiled—remembering and believing that, even with changes, it was indeed still our happy house.
How to move on. Part of the work of grieving is to channel our emotions and energy into activities that help us redefine ourselves. Some people turn to creative pursuits. For me, it was knitting. The soft clicking of the needles helped me to relax. Some people reach out and help others by volunteering. And some, recognizing that life is precious and short, fulfill their dreams.
To help yourself heal, do what moves you. Or do what matters. Adopt a cat. Visit Spain. Ride a bike. Help the homeless. Be a mentor. And in each new activity, remember the loved one who brought you there. Then, take those first tentative steps into the rest of your life.
Ann Hood is the author of “Somewhere Off the Coast of Maine.” Her new novel,“The Knitting Circle” (W.W. Norton), is just out. (Parade, February 4, 2007)
Friday, July 06, 2007
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Grieving the Death of a Parent
A friend of mine, a hefty, 6-foot-4, middle-aged rancher in Colorado walked out one early morning to inform his foreman and ranch hands, "I'll be gone today and tomorrow." Then, with tears in his eyes, he told the men, "I'm going home to bury my mama."
The sentiments of this rugged character are universal. Regardless of your age, size, occupation or gender, when your mother dies, you are still that mother's child. She is still your mama and the place where she raised you may still be considered your home.
Immediately, after either parent dies, you are plunged into the sharp, painful nostalgia that accompanies the recollections of childhood--everything your mother or father represented in terms of security, familiarity, and protection seems to be gone. You're now forced to cope with the loss of parental love and attention that was given, uniquely, to you, and that you depended on, possibly even took for granted. To one degree or another, you grapple with the realization that no one knows you in the exact same way as your mother or father--indeed, will ever know you as your parent did.
You may have depended on your parent for advice or information, or for moral support, and now have to get by without that dependable resource. Such an adjustment will be tormenting, especially if you had a pattern of interactions--conversations at certain times of the day or week, or nearly daily visits.
. . . no one knows you in the exact same way as your mother or father--indeed, will ever know you as your parent did.
If you were in a caretaking role, you may have set up your schedule to accomodate your parent's needs. Not tending to all those chores and responsibilities may leave an emptiness at the center of your life that aches to be filled. And if you were the child most involved with helping your parent, it's possible that other family members will now see you as caretaker and decision-maker for them, too--a situation sometimes complicated by the fact that siblings less involved may consider their grief to be more significant than yours.
But every survivor is vulnerable to a whole range of powerful feelings such as devastation, fear, abandonment, remorse, frustration, yearning, isolation, or confusion. And if you've been a caregiver who is now physically or emotionally exhausted, you will doubtless experience some relief as well, even though it may be sadly intertwined with longing.
If you did not have a mutual loving relationship with your parent, your responses to his or her death will, of course, reflect that missing bond. You may have been the victim of emotional or physical abuse; you may have had to care for yourself at too early an age; you may have witnessed parental acts of violence or impropriety. Or your parent may have revealed some unpleasant, disturbing information to you before dying. For any number of reasons, you may now be struggling with feelings of relief and release along with feelings of disappointment, dismay, guilt, anger or yearning. You wish that you could have your parent say or do the things you longed for. You wish you could understand the rejection you suffered. You may even feel robbed of the opportunity to express your anger toward your parent.
In cases such as these, grief is set in a context of unfinished business that causes a great deal of anxiety. It's important to recognize your ambivalence, or even dislike, and not be reluctant to explore and express negative feelings for fear of experiencing guilt. Working through both guilt and anger will help you to successfully come to terms with the loss. In a sense, you lost your parent before your parent died; coping now with the actual physical death means allowing your lifetime's accumulation of past conflicts and hurts to be given their due attention.
Regardless of the particular circumstances of your loss, it is essential to express all of your emotions and to discuss your most frequent thoughts and challenges in regard to your grief. You can do this in several ways--by setting up times to talk with a friend who has also lost a parent, by joining a support group, or by talking with a pastor or counselor. What's important is that you can allow the feelings that occupy you, sometimes even overwhelm you, to come to the surface without apology. By sharing with others, you can more fully recognize just what issues are especially troublesome to you, which emotions seem all encompassing and what you are missing the most and why. Painful as it may be to face these powerful feelings, this is the route to healing.
Explore the nature of your relationship with your parent, focusing on the most important or challenging aspects. It also helps to talk or write about your parent's perception of you. How did your parent's understanding of you differ from, or coincide with, the understanding you have of yourself? How did that affect you? You may even like to express your fears, yearnings, or anxieties to a photograph of your parent. You can say things you wish you had said before the death, explain your actions or views, affirm your love, confide your less than positive thoughts. Seeking release in this way is perfectly acceptable and not unusual during the first year or so of the grieving process.
Second, you may find it calming and reassuring to keep a physical reminder of your mother or father near you. Any item that was integral to your parent's life or was especially important to him or her will suffice--a pin, a watch, a hairbrush, a letter, a shirt or robe. It will serve not only as a personal treasure but as tangible proof of your parent's individuality and attachments. At first, the selected object or article of clothing is an inanimate "companion" during grief, even a talisman, a comfort; later it becomes something which may be used to prompt a vibrant memory of a parent, to bring him or her back quickly and clearly.
Third, memorializing your parent in a special way is comforting. You may, for example, make a tape recording or video of memories in which you and others share stories, anecdotes or observations about your mother or father. Or you may choose to write a journal about your parent's life, including accomplishments, values, goals, background, wishes, mannerisms--anything and everything that is significant to you.
Fourth, think about what to keep and what to give away, not just of your parent's possessions but of your parent's beliefs, personality traits, habits, skills, aims, loves. Which of those will continue to reside in you? Which ones will you nurture? Which bring you less peace and comfort and can be let go? Through you, parts of your parent's individuality and influence can thread through each day ahead, each year, adding to the tapestry of your life and the lives that follow yours. In that dedicated way, your parent will never die.
Carol Staudacher is an author, grief educator and poet. She writes a regular column for Beliefnet on coping with the full range and impact of the adult grieving process.
The sentiments of this rugged character are universal. Regardless of your age, size, occupation or gender, when your mother dies, you are still that mother's child. She is still your mama and the place where she raised you may still be considered your home.
Immediately, after either parent dies, you are plunged into the sharp, painful nostalgia that accompanies the recollections of childhood--everything your mother or father represented in terms of security, familiarity, and protection seems to be gone. You're now forced to cope with the loss of parental love and attention that was given, uniquely, to you, and that you depended on, possibly even took for granted. To one degree or another, you grapple with the realization that no one knows you in the exact same way as your mother or father--indeed, will ever know you as your parent did.
You may have depended on your parent for advice or information, or for moral support, and now have to get by without that dependable resource. Such an adjustment will be tormenting, especially if you had a pattern of interactions--conversations at certain times of the day or week, or nearly daily visits.
. . . no one knows you in the exact same way as your mother or father--indeed, will ever know you as your parent did.
If you were in a caretaking role, you may have set up your schedule to accomodate your parent's needs. Not tending to all those chores and responsibilities may leave an emptiness at the center of your life that aches to be filled. And if you were the child most involved with helping your parent, it's possible that other family members will now see you as caretaker and decision-maker for them, too--a situation sometimes complicated by the fact that siblings less involved may consider their grief to be more significant than yours.
But every survivor is vulnerable to a whole range of powerful feelings such as devastation, fear, abandonment, remorse, frustration, yearning, isolation, or confusion. And if you've been a caregiver who is now physically or emotionally exhausted, you will doubtless experience some relief as well, even though it may be sadly intertwined with longing.
If you did not have a mutual loving relationship with your parent, your responses to his or her death will, of course, reflect that missing bond. You may have been the victim of emotional or physical abuse; you may have had to care for yourself at too early an age; you may have witnessed parental acts of violence or impropriety. Or your parent may have revealed some unpleasant, disturbing information to you before dying. For any number of reasons, you may now be struggling with feelings of relief and release along with feelings of disappointment, dismay, guilt, anger or yearning. You wish that you could have your parent say or do the things you longed for. You wish you could understand the rejection you suffered. You may even feel robbed of the opportunity to express your anger toward your parent.
In cases such as these, grief is set in a context of unfinished business that causes a great deal of anxiety. It's important to recognize your ambivalence, or even dislike, and not be reluctant to explore and express negative feelings for fear of experiencing guilt. Working through both guilt and anger will help you to successfully come to terms with the loss. In a sense, you lost your parent before your parent died; coping now with the actual physical death means allowing your lifetime's accumulation of past conflicts and hurts to be given their due attention.
Regardless of the particular circumstances of your loss, it is essential to express all of your emotions and to discuss your most frequent thoughts and challenges in regard to your grief. You can do this in several ways--by setting up times to talk with a friend who has also lost a parent, by joining a support group, or by talking with a pastor or counselor. What's important is that you can allow the feelings that occupy you, sometimes even overwhelm you, to come to the surface without apology. By sharing with others, you can more fully recognize just what issues are especially troublesome to you, which emotions seem all encompassing and what you are missing the most and why. Painful as it may be to face these powerful feelings, this is the route to healing.
Explore the nature of your relationship with your parent, focusing on the most important or challenging aspects. It also helps to talk or write about your parent's perception of you. How did your parent's understanding of you differ from, or coincide with, the understanding you have of yourself? How did that affect you? You may even like to express your fears, yearnings, or anxieties to a photograph of your parent. You can say things you wish you had said before the death, explain your actions or views, affirm your love, confide your less than positive thoughts. Seeking release in this way is perfectly acceptable and not unusual during the first year or so of the grieving process.
Second, you may find it calming and reassuring to keep a physical reminder of your mother or father near you. Any item that was integral to your parent's life or was especially important to him or her will suffice--a pin, a watch, a hairbrush, a letter, a shirt or robe. It will serve not only as a personal treasure but as tangible proof of your parent's individuality and attachments. At first, the selected object or article of clothing is an inanimate "companion" during grief, even a talisman, a comfort; later it becomes something which may be used to prompt a vibrant memory of a parent, to bring him or her back quickly and clearly.
Third, memorializing your parent in a special way is comforting. You may, for example, make a tape recording or video of memories in which you and others share stories, anecdotes or observations about your mother or father. Or you may choose to write a journal about your parent's life, including accomplishments, values, goals, background, wishes, mannerisms--anything and everything that is significant to you.
Fourth, think about what to keep and what to give away, not just of your parent's possessions but of your parent's beliefs, personality traits, habits, skills, aims, loves. Which of those will continue to reside in you? Which ones will you nurture? Which bring you less peace and comfort and can be let go? Through you, parts of your parent's individuality and influence can thread through each day ahead, each year, adding to the tapestry of your life and the lives that follow yours. In that dedicated way, your parent will never die.
Carol Staudacher is an author, grief educator and poet. She writes a regular column for Beliefnet on coping with the full range and impact of the adult grieving process.
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