Ponderings

In recent weeks, I have been mulling over various questions and concepts, wondering what the answers are, if there are any…

I have already written about how it is widely recognised now that a person does not get-over the loss of a loved one, but instead gets used to carrying her/his grief and develops continuing bonds with the deceased person. Fair enough, I get that, but what I have been wondering about is what do those continuing bonds mean for me. How can / do I have continuing bonds with B? He's dead, and yet there is definitely something about carrying him with me. I guess it's about remembering, or at least not forgetting, what we had together and what made us who we were together, recognising how he shaped the me I am now, or at least the me I was before he died (I wonder whether he would recognise the me I am now...). I carry the memories of the good times we had, and try to remember all the in-between stuff, the precious nitty-gritty of everyday life that we don’t notice when it is happening. The trouble is, though, all that is in the past and not the present, and I wonder whether these continuing bonds stop me living in the present? So, how do I develop continuing bonds that are helpful, and get rid of those that are not? How do I even know which are which?!

I notice that at times I talk to B, at least in my head, for example, I might say, 'I know you would want me to be happy', 'I wonder what you would think', ‘You would know that’, or 'You would know what to do'. Is this an example of those continuing bonds? I wonder, however, whether personalising these statements helps my grief or hinders it. Perhaps it keeps B 'alive' (!) in a way that isn't helpful. Would it be better to say, ‘I know B would want me to be happy’, ‘B would know that’? This then makes me wonder about language I use and what impact it might have. Going a step further, instead of saying ‘I know B would want me to be happy', should I say, 'B would have wanted me to be happy'? He isn’t here, he can’t want me to be happy, and yet I know that, if he was here, he would want me to be. Is it just semantics, or does it make a difference in the process of letting go? In many ways, it seems such a little thing, but what effect does it have, if any, on my mind? It’s a bit like recording the things I am grateful for each day. It seems a little thing, and yet I understand it can have a big impact on one’s psyche. What if that also applies to the tenses I use?

Then, there is the peculiarity of the language we sometimes use to describe death. I’m not thinking about all those synonyms we use to avoid saying the word ‘died’ (which, by the way, really annoy me!), but I guess it’s more of a philosophical question. An example would be, 'he’s dead'. A common enough sentence, except to me it seems a complete oxymoron. B 'is' no longer, he existed once but he no longer does, except, of course, in my mind and the minds of those who knew him; the present tense no longer applies. The word dead means he isn’t! Perhaps, after all, it is like all those synonyms, we just don’t like to accept the finality of death… And that brings me nicely on to the concept of acceptance!

Recently, I have been pondering whether I have actually accepted B’s death. I’m a palliative care nurse, I knew B was dying, in his last hours I told him that it was alright to let go, he died in our living room, I knew he was dead, I called the undertakers to remove his body, I saw his body in the coffin, I saw the coffin as it slid away, and I scattered his ashes. This wasn’t what I wanted, but I knew he was dead! I knew he would never come back. I knew I had to grieve and carry on with my own life. I know B isn’t here, I live with his absence. But, I still think about him, not quite all of the time; I sometimes talk to him; I try to remember anything and everything about him and us. I don’t want to forget! Does talking to him in the present tense mean I haven’t accepted his death? Does the fact that I don’t want to / can’t leave him in the past mean I haven’t accepted his death? In fact, I don’t think acceptance is a helpful word when applied to grief, particularly if it means ‘to have got over it’. B is not here and I am getting more used to living without him, but it still isn’t easy. I know he’s dead, I wish he wasn’t. He will always be a part of me and my life. I think I have accepted his death, and what I am now trying to do is to re-build my life around this massive void, the absence of B and all those secondary losses that go with it. And, part of that seems to be working through all this mush in my head!!

I have noticed of late that I no longer feel as though my life has no purpose, well most of the time, anyway. Ostensibly, nothing has changed, I haven’t done anything to give me a sense of purpose again, and I didn’t notice the change happening, but I am glad it has happened. It seems as though that sense of meaningless has melted away, and it is somewhat of a relief. I wonder whether it is because I am now more able to live in the present. I wonder if I had been living in the past or, conversely, trying to live in the future (which is impossible), just because the present was too painful to be in without B. Now I am learning that it is okay to just be, to be mindful, to be still and to be aware of what is happening around me, and to accept the feelings that come my way, that sometimes overwhelm me, without ruminating on them. In other words, I’m trying to live in ‘the now’ without too many expectations. Perhaps that is the difference…

All of these things seem so entwined! I was going to say, 'any answers gratefully received’, but I guess most would answer that I just need to do what is right for me. To be fair, that's probably what I would say to someone else, though I'm not sure that always helps… Christina Rossetti’s poem keeps coming back to me (it still makes me cry) – she seemed to have similar issues, so perhaps I am doing okay, after all… 

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,

   Gone far away into the silent land;

   When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

   You tell me of our future that you planned:

   Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

   And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

   For if the darkness and corruption leave

   A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

   Than that you should remember and be sad.