Chapter Three:Grieving
Connecting to the Living and the Dead
Sara knows that her mother has cancer. She has known it for years. Sara has pictured her mother’s funeral in her mind countless times – and suffered from guilt for thinking such thoughts.
Sara’s mother is willing to talk about her approaching death. She is too willing for Sara's taste, since it is a topic that Sara would rather avoid. “Not now Mom, we have plenty of time. Don’t worry, you will outlive all of us," is her usually reply to her mother's attempts to discuss it with her. But Sara’s mother knows that she doesn’t have that much time left and she would prefer talking about it with her daughter. Sara feels intense pressure: she cannot give her mother the support she wants and needs – and is enough aware of that to feel guilty.
Sara’s father is also perfectly content to remain in the denial stage. On a deeper level he is angry with Sara’s mother for getting ready to leave him. He's taking his revenge by turning the denial into a weapon against Sara's mother, “You aren’t going to die. What do the doctors know? It’s just a bad cold or some kind of flu. You have gone through this before.” Nothing his wife can say makes a difference. In some ways Sara and her father are collaborators in a conspiracy of death denial.
Both Sara and her father are denying the difficult reality of the impending death. We, as friends, are faced with the dilemma of whether we should become involved or whether we should unquestioningly accept their method of handling the situation. Sometimes we accept their refusal to confront the situation, figuring “they must know how to deal with it best.” This may be due to our own uneasiness about the subject. When we see a friend in such circumstances, the best thing we can do is to let him know that we are there for him. We cannot fully understand what he is experiencing, since we're not he. Saying “I understand the way you feel,” may actually cause an angry boomerang effect, “You aren’t me, so…!” On the other hand, expressing understanding that the situation he is going through must be very difficult ("It must be so hard to see your mother slipping away” or “Seeing a once vibrant parent hurting so much must be hell”( may cause your words to become a catalyst for him to confront his feelings.
The Mourning Process
As far back as Talmudic times, Judaism recognized that the mourning period has four stages:
· Aninut (the period between hearing about the death and the burial itself)
· Shiva or aveilut (the seven-day mourning period after the funeral)
· Shloshim (the first 30 days after the burial)
· The first year after the death.
During the initial mourning period, the aninut, the mourner is released from performing many of the positive religious commandments since he is considered to be in shock and not capable of fulfilling them.
The emotional process experienced by mourners is similar to the one experienced by people facing their own deaths, as discussed by Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross in her classic work, On Death and Dying.
Shock/Denial
“I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” is the usual first response to hearing about the death of a loved one, according to Dave of the New York Police Department. "I used to think that maybe they didn’t understand my Brooklyn accent,” he told me. “Usually at this point we have the person sitting down. I squat or sit to be at eye level and clearly and gently try to give it over again.”
This natural initial reaction is called an "emotional shutdown”. At this point the mind is not ready to accept the enormity of what has happened. Do not be surprised if there is little immediate reaction to your news if you are in the position of having to inform someone of a loss. People in shock may react with numbness, or may not react at all.
The mind needs time to adjust, so it puts everything on hold. After the initial shock comes denial. Typical reactions are, “It can’t be!” "Not him!” "No way – I just talked to him!” Along with these statements you may hear, “There has got to be a mistake.” The person rationalizes, “He couldn’t have been there since he told me he was going to….” “He probably gave the car to a friend of his and they thought it was him.”
My grandmother was an example of extreme denial. My uncle was killed in World War II in Normandy, a month or so after D-day. My father, also at Normandy, went to his brother’s grave and had a picture taken to show his mother. But she refused to accept the fact of his death despite the photograph. She clung to fantasies created out of her hope that someday he would return. “You know they sometimes make mistakes in bodies and they bury the wrong one. It happens all the time. I just heard Mrs. Goldstein tell me a story about…” I remember when I was growing up, sitting on a stool in my grandmother’s kitchen listening to stories about soldiers who suffered shell shock and lost their memory. "Pray for him,” she would beg me. "His memory should come back.” She denied his death, despite the fact that I was even named after him. It probably wasn’t until the age of ten that I realized that she simply could not admit to herself that her oldest son had died. She would travel to questionable “healer-rabbis” who would offer her all sorts of advice and promises that her son would come back if…. For the rest of her life (she lived until 93) we were all accomplices, playing along. She was never able to mourn, and she lived her entire life in denial.
Regret and Loss
Denial temporarily sets the stage for the mind’s grasp of "yes, it is true." Once what has happened sinks in, our natural reaction is to wonder how it will affect us – and the feelings of loss start. “How can I go on without…?” We start thinking about all the experiences we shared – and all the experiences we will no longer be able to share. As one woman related, “I felt like the bottom of my life dropped out. I only saw black, heavy black, almost like a black hole which seemed to draw all of me into it.” Or as another reported, “The thought came again and again, how will I cope without my mother? I relied on her for so much. Now who will help me?”
As hurtful as it is to lose a parent, the pain of losing a child is almost beyond comprehension. We mourn a parent for what we had; a child for what could have been. As years go by the memories of a lost parent becomes nostalgia, “Wouldn’t my father have liked to have been here or seen this?” Feelings of loss are coupled with warm memories of love. When we lose a child, each celebration of life is coupled with" ”...will never see this.”
Shlomo, who lost his 23 year-old daughter, told me, "I always dreamt of my daughter's wedding, how I would dance at it – now I will only dance in my mind.”
Anger
Anger is not always directed at the person who “caused” the death. It can also be directed at oneself and combined with guilt. Gnawing regrets of “Why didn’t I…?” can overcome rational feelings and make life hell.
One rainy evening, Shalom’s brother asked to borrow his car. An hour later his brother was dead. His car skidded off the road and hit a lamppost, killing him on the spot. Shalom’s pain was accompanied by a litany of, Why didn’t I warn him to be careful?” “Why did I give him the car?”
We often feel that we could have or should have done something that might have changed the outcome. The guilt these feelings engender is a potent force that prevents or at least hinders the healing process. Only by reviewing the facts with the bereaved over and over again, can we help them deal with their pain and perceived guilt. It is imperative to help them understand that other people would have made the same decisions under those circumstances. Even then it will take time for them to internalize that the death cannot under any circumstances be laid at their door – and for them to lay their feelings of guilt to rest too.
Sometimes even "professionals” can fall into this trap. During the shiva of the two boys in Tekoa I almost became violent when a police officer lectured one of the parents, “Now you see how important it is for kids not to skip school.”
In many cases the anger is directed at the person who died, “How could you leave me?!”
Jacob’s wife had terminal cancer. She had suffered for a year and a half knowing that she was dying, and had done her best to prepare her husband and her children for her death. After the funeral Jacob displayed what seemed like irrational anger at her for dying. Logically, Jacob knew how much his wife loved their children and himself. He knew she didn’t ask for the cancer – but that has nothing to do with the fact that from now on he must raise his two children on his own. She is gone and now all the responsibilities are his and his alone. His angry, “How could you leave me?” really meant, “How will I cope?”
If a family friend were to suggest to Jacob that her death was not his wife’s fault it might cause him to react even more strongly. Remember, Jacob’s real anger is directed at the situation and the overwhelming responsibility he faces. A better approach would be to simply express understanding of where he's coming from. Placing a hand on his shoulder reminds him that he is not alone. Words like, "This is a really miserable situation you’ve been placed in,” may lead him to talking about possibilities for coping, which will then help him move on to the next stage – that of acceptance. The goal is not to deny his feelings of anger, but to help him realize that yes, he is angry, yes the situation is miserable. Now where does he go from here?
Jacob’s anger can and will also be directed at the doctors, “If they only gave me better advice…” This third party anger is far stronger when there really is a third party involved.
Let’s look at a second case.
“How could you do this to me?” Lena cried at the grave of her husband who had been killed in a car accident. Did her husband mean to die? Of course not! He wasn’t suicidal, he was simply driving home from work when a young driver lost control of his car and hit him head on. Did Lena realize that her husband was actually a careful driver who cared deeply for his family? Of course. But that had nothing to do with her feeling that now she will have to raise her three children by herself. She is angry that her life will never be the same and feels that it is “his fault”. Such feelings of anger are automatically coupled with feelings of guilt for being so angry.
When confronting such a strong emotions, do not try to deflect them by saying, “Come on, you know that Jack would have loved nothing more then to grow old with you.” Or, “You know it wasn’t his fault.” Of course it wasn’t his fault, but that is beside the point.
In this case – and in the case of a terror attack – there really is a third party to blame. Lena wants to sue the driver’s parents. Or in a case of terrorist, the bereaved may want to “kill the bastards who did this!” Under these circumstances the anger is more palatable because – in many cases – it is possible to sue, or offer a reward, or become active against the perpetrators.
My mother’s friend Robin had a son who was killed in San Francisco recently, murdered by someone who simply wanted his wallet. He was not given the opportunity to hand it over. The murderer shot him in the back of his head and grabbed the money. Surprisingly, Robin claimed that she had no anger toward the perpetrator, “It was his environment that caused him to do it.”
Robin is still in a form of denial. She is denying her natural reaction to having her only son shot and killed, subconsciously feeling, “If I do not get angry then maybe he wasn’t shot, maybe he is still alive.” Robin has to admit this to herself before she can move on to the next stage.
There is nothing wrong with being angry, or even enraged at those who killed someone you love. There is nothing wrong with accepting that anger. The issue is not the short run but the long run. Does this anger become a substitute for the loss? Does anger override the mourner’s personality to the extent that it becomes an obsession? Will this anger override everything else in his life?
Anger is usually considered a destructive force. However, in Jewish ethical belief all emotions have both a good and bad aspects. Anger at evil is not a negative impulse. But if anger becomes part of someone's personality it becomes overwhelming, leaving no room for other emotions.
The main question is, can the mourner eventually find a place for that anger in his “normal” life?
One last point: remember the mourner can also be a child. How children deal with their feelings depends for the most part on the behavior of the adults around them. They need to know that the adults' anger is not directed at them, that they are still fully loved. The adult figure is perceived as the rock or the anchor of stability. Seeing unchecked anger in an adult is frightening for a child, as much because of the lack of control it demonstrates as the anger itself. This is particularly true coming at a time when the child needs to feel surrounded by stability.
I will discuss how to deal with different age groups in Chapter six on Trauma and our children.
Guilt
Previously we saw how guilt is transformed into anger at oneself for not being able to prevent a death. This anger is simply the way the guilt manifests itself.
“It should have been me,” cried Sasha. Sasha had gone shopping with her brother, who left the store to get the car just as a bomb went off. Sasha was lightly cut in the face by flying glass and was at her brother's side when he died. Sasha’s brother was fifteen.
When disaster strikes several people from a particular social framework – a school, a small community, a youth movement, or even people who were together temporarily – the phenomenon of “survivor guilt” is common. Several of Rachael’s classmates were killed in a terror attack. Many of her fellow students went though deep depression. Rachael would often burst into tears and ask, “Why were they killed instead of me? I wish I was dead.”