More Good Words

Chapter 1
The Power of Grief

Love and Grief
Love is one of the most powerful forces in human life. I believe that we were created for the express purpose of loving. We bend and sway with the force of love and we yield to it, giving the beloved much of our energies and attention. We try to give our best selves to those whom we love. Without love, humans simply are not whole, and they don’t experience their most crucial emotions. Love is central to our lives.

Standing right beside love and ready to jump into the fray, however, is the capacity to grieve what we have loved and lost. When a beloved person dies or is lost in another way, for many people, grief steps in unbidden. It is unbidden because grief is as natural, normal, and necessary as breathing the air. We are helpless to its initial impact because grief is the emotional byproduct of lost love, and it is completely unavoidable when we have given ourselves to love. Without grief, many people who have loved cannot be whole, and they cannot experience their fullest range of emotions. Undeniably, we humans have both the capacity and the need to grieve just as fully as we have loved.

Grief occurs in the seconds between the ordinary, unknowing day and the phone call or knock at the door that tells us that life will never be (quite) the same again. Grief sneaks into our consciousness, and it suddenly exists where it has not been before. A curtain drops and separates pre-grief life from grief-filled life. One minute the world is fine; the next minute the world has changed in such unutterable ways that sometimes the only utterance is a wail that emerges from our most primal selves. As the Cheyenne Native American might say, our hearts are on the ground.

The space between the before and the after—the space occupied by the curtain that is falling on our old lives—is a liminal space. It is a threshold that we cross, marking a passage between the old, familiar way of life and the new, unfamiliar life of loss. In the liminal space, there is a brief, ethereal moment of the unreal (This can’t be happening!) that occurs before a new reality comes to exist. Indeed, while we may reside in the land of disbelief for quite some time, the curtain that has dropped gives us sense of the before and after—and that the “after” is not where we want to be.

This book is about what we can do with the pain of the new reality. For, if we don’t confront our grief—feel it, move into it, experience it, taste and see it, and eventually let it go—that grief may suck us into a mud so thick that we can scarcely tread before being engulfed, swallowed up, and drowned.

Grief is pain that passively happens—it hits; it hurts—usually without our foreknowledge and certainly without our permission. Grief is, indeed, passive in that it occurs without action on our parts. Someone we love dies, is killed, passes away, took her life, never had a chance, wouldn’t take a chance—or otherwise disappears from our presence through a divorce, breakup, or geographical or physical movement away from us. When these things happen, grief hits.

Grief alters our sense of existence and our sense of self. We are no longer seeing ourselves as what we were. It does not matter that what we were was not ideal—we want it back!

Some Types of Grief
Below are seven types of loss that are not in any particular order. Each of these categories of loss can cause us to grieve. Sometimes, we won’t even be sure what exactly we are grieving. However, the death of any of these people certainly will influence us emotionally after we learn of their deaths.

Loss of parent: Before my parents died, I was their child. Even though I’m an adult, I liked knowing that Dad ruffled my hair, calling me his kitten and that Mom wanted me to eat well, exercise, and have a job that I can love. Now that they’re gone, I feel like an orphan.
Loss of child: Before my son’s death, I trusted that my children would all be okay. I would die first in the proper, natural order of things. Since he died, I worry all the time about my remaining children, their spouses, and their children. There isn’t enough time in the day or energy in my bones for all of this sadness.
Loss of spouse or significant other: My wife died. I used to know who I was in the world. Since she died, I don’t know who I am anymore. Am I still a husband? Does she still love me? Will anyone ever miss me like I miss her? What do I need to do to see her again?
Loss of sibling: Until my brother died, I was the second child. After he died, I became the oldest and my parents’ caregiver child—unprepared and alone in the task. Sometimes I get mad at him for leaving me like this.
Loss of friend: Before my best friend died, I knew who to call at night to tell my sorrows or to giggle about the goofs in life. How can I ever laugh again without her? Who can I tell my secrets to? Nobody understands how I feel.
Loss of co-worker or acquaintance: He seemed fine in the office on Friday—joking with us, working, and taking a long lunch. He made sure he said hello to everyone. Was he really saying goodbye? I can’t believe he’s gone.
Loss of someone we dislike: I just couldn’t wrap my head around that woman—she was rude and didn’t care about anyone but herself. We’ll all be better off without her. In fact, I won’t even think about her anymore.