Fragile Pieces

Be assured that you will never be the same after the death of your loved one. The death of someone close to you is not something that anyone ‘gets over’. In fact, it’s something that most people don’t want to get over. Getting over something implies forgetting about it and the last thing that you’ll want to do is to forget about your wife, husband, father, mother, brother, sister or friend. This in turn does not mean that someone who has recently been bereaved should live by, or in, the past. The aim is to accept that they have gone, draw strength from the past and let go of the pain.

The ideal, perhaps, is to have joyful, invigorating memories of the past with no diminishing of the present. Strength comes from memories of shared experiences. These can be the memories of single, frivolous incidents that made both of you laugh, but perhaps more important are the memories of significant incidents that reinforced the beliefs in the values that you shared in your relationship. Typically, these might include: honesty, integrity, supportiveness, respect, trust and devotion.

These memories will help in two ways. When you feel yourself slipping into pessimism and depression they will remind you of how you loved, and were loved, and will sustain you in what will be exceptionally difficult times.

Anxieties associated with bereavement range from the major to the trivial. When one partner dies, for example, it often happens that the surviving partner feels they are unable to cope with all of the obligations and demands of the future, especially when they do not have the support of their partner to help and guide them. This fear of the future can be so terrifying that the person lies awake at night so tense with worry that they almost feel on the verge of emotional collapse. Their anxieties might include worrying about being able to pay a mortgage, distress at being forced into unwanted work in order to make ends meet, or even fear over how to change fuses in a fuse box if they’ve never done it before.

If you’ve lost a child you could feel anxious that you might not be able to look after surviving children properly, or even those you might intend to have in the future. A young child might have deep and often unrealistic worries concerning death itself, and might feel that either they have somehow contributed to a person’s death or that they or people close to them will die soon. A friend or sibling might worry that others will be judging their emotional reactions after a death as being too distant or insincere.

Quite simply, someone who has been bereaved may feel that they may be losing their mind, or believe that they are just unable to cope with the future. Their great anxiety is that of breaking down and being incapable of functioning from one day to the next. Of course, in the majority of cases, the reality is the opposite. However, the fact that the person is experiencing fears out of proportion to the reality of the situation is the defining characteristic of anxiety.

Initially, the scale of worry that you might feel you have to face will be enormous. It might make you feel indecisive, helpless and useless, which in turn feeds your anxiety. But over the weeks and the months that follow you will haoe to confront these fears and, in confronting them, you will find that they will diminish. Perhaps the greatest aid in combating anxiety is being able to relax. Relaxation is a series of skills that can be learnt and practised at almost any time of the day. When you are able to relax you will be able to tackle you fears head on and, in tackling them, you will find that they disappear. See Chapter 5 on relaxation and meditation techniques for more ideas.

For a long time after the death of someone close to you, you will feel extremely sad. This sadness is more commonly known as depression, which is a clinical neurosis and not just ‘feeling a bit down’. Depression is not a mental disorder but a condition caused by circumstances and the depressed person’s inability to adapt to them. Most people who suffer depression as a reaction to the death of a loved one experience it in a mild form – although, of course, there will be some people who have a more extreme response. The usual signs of depression are fatigue, social withdrawal, disinterest in your surroundings, not caring about how you look or your general health, insomnia and a tendency to brood.

The danger with depression is that in cases where the bereaved lives alone or is otherwise isolated, the cycle of neglect is unbroken, which may lead to increased depression, possible abuse of drugs and/or alcohol, and/or an exhibition of extreme and unbalanced behaviour. The ultimate expression of depression is despair and suicide. Evidence suggests that elderly widows have a higher suicide rate than those who have not been widowed. Similarly, elderly widowers, who may have lost their sole emotional confidante as well as closest companion, seem likely to experience a loneliness that drives them towards suicidal thoughts. Still, the overwhelming majority of people who are recovering from the shock of a bereavement do not attempt suicide. But do not be surprised if you entertain morbid thoughts of taking your own life. Such gruesome fantasies are common.

It is relatively simple to counter the mild depression associated with bereavement. The answer is to keep busy and try to do something that increases your self-esteem, since the death of someone close to you inevitably lowers your feelings of self-worth. However, if the intensity of your depression is such that getting involved in your work, hobbies, pastimes or looking after your health doesn’t seem to help, consult your doctor. More extreme depression requires medical attention from experts, which is normally very effective. The treatment should not be seen as evidence of mental incapacity on your part. A depression that is the result of the death of a loved one is a natural occurrence and will be well understood by any good doctor.

Death is often sudden, but sadly, some people have to endure a great deal of suffering before they die. For some terminally ill patients, doctors may only be able to relieve pain and distress. Others, such as victims of multiple sclerosis or of the AIDS virus, suffer the progressive degeneration of their bodies. Others still, might recognize the onset of senile dementia. They may feel that they are, or will be, a burden to friends and family.

When the terminally ill partner, friend or family member dies you may experience a great sense of relief that can manifest itself in two forms. The first is on an immediate level of thankfulness that he or she is no longer suffering, feels no pain and is at peace. The second level seems more insidious because you may find yourself thinking that your suffering has ended too. You no longer have to devote your life to caring for, feeding, washing or dressing the loved one, who may not even have recognized you towards the end. All the days, months or years of watching their physical or mental deterioration are over. It is no surprise that you feel relief. Associated with the relief you feel at the release of your loved one’s pain, however, will be guilt. This brings pain, but it’s important to realize that only a saint would feel no resentment at having to look after a sick partner or forgive and forget all their imperfections. Every human relationship is bound together with conflicting feelings of love and occasional dislike. And after someone you love dies it’s normal to feel guilt at having had some feelings of dislike for them when they were alive. Recognize this, and forgive yourself for experiencing almost inevitable negative reactions when death occurs.

Very soon after you have partially recovered from the shock of death, you may experience an anger that spills over into an almost uncontrollable rage. The anger may be directed against yourself for example, if you were not with your son when he died and feel you could have prevented what happened by some action or other, or that you should have had enough money to hire the services of a famous specialist who might have been able to save or prolong your partner’s life. Perversely, you may direct your anger against the loved one who has died: Why did he leave me to face the world all alone? \Xlhy did she deprive me of the chance to see her grow up/to fulfil all the plans we’d made together, etc? How could he be so selfish?

The explanation for this ill will is hurt, and the cause of your hurt is, in an indirect fashion, the person who has died. Anger may be the result of a sad misunderstanding in the last few hours or minutes of your loved one’s life. A last kiss or squeeze of the hand may not have been acknowledged by the dying person. And since the bereaved are so sensitive to any clues about how they are valued by their loved one, so close to death, this can feel like a massive rejection. In reality, it may be that they had no energy to respond, or they needed to save their strength to deal with their oncoming death. But such rational understanding is virtually impossible at times like this.

Don’t be surprised if you find yourself dwelling on the more negative aspects of their character, or re-running specific incidents in your head from your life together when, for example, you thought they didn’t behave as they should have, or when they dismissed as trivial something you strongly believed in. Perhaps you nursed them for years at home and feel angry for having had this time ‘taken away’ from you. This seeming disavowal of your love is a common emotional self-defence strategy among the recently bereaved.

There are more obvious targets for anger. If death was tragically caused by a third party in a car crash or murder, for example, then your anger will be directed there. Violent fantasies of revenge against those who caused the death of your loved one can be extreme and all-enveloping.

It may be hospital staff, including the doctors and nurses, who are the prime objects of your anger, especially if you believe that, for whatever reason, they were able to prevent, or were negligent in causing, the death of your loved one. If you believe in a god, then you may direct your anger there. If your loved one died young, you might even look at elderly people in the street and ask yourself: ‘Why didn’t they die instead? They’ve already had their time.’

Much anger of this type is based on prejudice and misperceptions of reality. In the vast majority of cases, the causes of your anger are likely to be spurious and, ultimately, self-defeating. No amount of rage will make any difference to the reality that death has separated you from the person you loved. The only result of prolonged and irrational rage is bitterness, hatred, resentment (on your part and on the part of those who have had to listen to your rage) and probable ill health. The first step is to recognize that you are angry. It is only then that you will be able to release your anger in a constructive fashion.

Nevertheless, there may be times when you feel you just can’t help yourself. It is quite likely that you will feel furious hostility welling up within you when you see people you know in the weeks following the funeral – at the supermarket, in the street, at work and at parties.

These are awkward moments, but it is important to keep in mind that it is possibly as difficult (if not more so) for them as it is for you. You will have had a little time to begin to adjust to your present state while they will have been becoming increasingly anxious about seeing you again. They will have been dreading it for fear of saying the wrong thing and upsetting you. And when they do eventually meet you they may feel that they are unable to cope. Some people cannot cope. 1 particularly remember, for instance, bumping into an acquaintance in the street fairly soon after Shirin’s death. 1 saw the panic in her eyes before she looked away and strode off as fast as she could without saying anything.

These uncomfortable and embarrassing encounters continue as you begin to return to work and start going to social gatherings. Your colleagues at work might avoid you. You might see people at parties visibly stiffen as you walk into a room, as they steel themselves for what they anticipate will be an awkward interchange.

Almost inevitably, people are nervous and try to say something comforting, but mostly it just turns out to be foolish. For example, people commonly ask: ‘Are you all right?’ (I could hardly believe that so many people thought that this was an appropriate thing to ask because even in the fog of the earliest days of my despair it was obvious to me that this was a breathtakingly stupid question. My wife had just died. Of course 1 wasn’t ‘all right’.) Yet there is worse. ‘Have you got over it yet?’, ‘I suppose that it’s just one of those things’, and ‘Never mind’ are examples.

There will be others you talk to who will try to rationalize the senselessness of death. For instance, 1 was told by a colleague that there was a purpose to Shirin’s life and death. It was to make me ‘grow as a person’. And while I’m able to understand an argument that suffering might lead to a greater understanding of self, 1 certainly didn’t appreciate such trite, unsolicited and altogether dubious homespun philosophy. What such people do not realize is that someone in extreme grief doesn’t want to know what they might have gained as a result of a tragedy; the bereaved are only concerned about what they have lost.

Even after a year or more, people presume to intrude on your grief. 1 remember being frustrated by something or other at work well into the second year after my wife’s death, only to be told in the comforting tones reserved for the very smallest of children: ‘Get over it, Hamish. After all, it was a long time ago.’

Feeling hurt by these sorts of ‘well-intentioned’ comments is not unusual. In fact you should expect it. However, if you find that your reaction to hurtful comments is to become antagonistic, you might want to consider reframing your thoughts. Instead of choosing to become incensed, a more constructive approach would be to empathize with the predicament of your workmates and acquaintances. Try and appreciate the apprehension that they are experiencing; they are only trying to do the best that they can. No-one, except an intensely callous person, would intentionally offend someone who has recently been bereaved. Don’t strike out or think bitter thoughts; accept the attempts, however clumsy, of one individual trying to offer comfort and support to another.

Shock is almost inevitable if the death had come suddenly or unexpectedly. Shock can be regarded as a physiological trauma that seems almost to overload the system. The news is too much to take in. There are two possible outward reactions: an unnerving feeling of composure and normality, or near hysteria.

At this stage you have little or no control over the way you behave. I remember being almost unable to move or speak when the doctors came in from the Intensive Care Unit to tell us the news, even though I had known that the end was near. It was only later when I had completed the formalities and was in the hospital car park that I broke down totally, in a near panic of confusion and anxiety.

Because of the enormity of what has happened it is more than likely that at first you will be unable to accept the reality of death. In fact, you may find yourself refusing to accept your situation. However, it is essential, if you are to start recovering from the shock you’ve had, that you take in the truth and admit that you will not be able to change what has happened. This is not easy to do, but if you do not acknowledge that this is the case, and resist it, then it is almost certain that the stresses and anxieties that will inevitably build up within you will lead to a severe strain on your bodily and psychological resources.

Denial is all too easy. We are surrounded by an elaborate codified language of death that is used to cloud reality and to create a distance between ourselves and it. We talk of the ‘chapel of rest’, ‘to rest in peace’, ‘to sleep peacefully’, ‘to be at rest’, ‘eternal rest’ or ‘not dead but sleeping’. However, exhaustion and emotional collapse are certain outcomes of a prolonged period of refusal to accept the inevitable. More common reactions are a desire to withdraw socially, feeling unable to cope with the new responsibilities that you’ve inherited after a loved one’s death, or being incapable of making even simple decisions. You have no choice but to accept and adapt to your new, unwanted circumstances. And the sooner you do so, the better.

Despite these differences between individuals’ experiences, there seem to be a number of stages and emotions in the grieving process that are common, and which mix and merge from day to day, and even moment to moment. The stages are sometimes presented as an impact stage, a recoil stage, and finally a readjustment stage, but other models concentrate on the wide range of emotions of grief to build up a composite picture of grief. These include: shock, denial, anger, guilt, relief, sadness, despair, anxiety, and, eventually, readjustment built on acceptance and strength drawn from the memories of the good times you had with your loved one.

It has been suggested that this ‘logical’ ordering of stages and emotions is superficial. This is probably the case. Reactions to death are not straightforward, and appear to involve a waxing and waning of all of these different states and emotions in a rollercoaster interplay of bewilderment and pain. Nevertheless, they are convenient labels which are useful in describing different states of grief, and for this reason I use them here.

Recently, it seems to have become more difficult for people in Western society to grieve, and to accept death and bereavement. This is probably due to the changing mores concerning death that have occurred during the twentieth century. For example, it is now not always necessary for people to wear black at a funeral or for a minister to give an address in a church. And more elaborate and formal expressions of condolence – such as the wearing of a black armband – are largely no longer observed. Despite the loss of these cultural supports, people who have recently been bereaved are nonetheless expected to cope. Often they are expected to show their grief for only a very short time, despite evidence to suggest that it can take much more than a year for a bereaved person to start to reconstruct their life. This apparent lack of sympathy may be because people tend to confuse grief, which is the period of readjustment that a bereaved person needs in order to respond to death (or, perhaps less coldly expressed, the period during which their love is not able to let go), and mourning, which is the short period of time during which we make a social acknowledgement that the person we love has died. The period of mourning in modern society is relatively short and is more or less over within a few days or weeks of the funeral.

However, where grieving is concerned, the length of time and the intensity of the period are fairly unpredictable. They depend on your personality, how close you were to the person who died, the previous experiences you’ve had of death and the way in which your loved one died. Following the sudden death of my wife Shirin, I was told by a friend of a friend, whose husband had died after eleven months of marriage, that it was six months before she found she was able to start to laugh again at the trivia of everyday life. But she didn’t tell me that it was going to be a year before I would be able to control bursting into tears at any time of day, or in any place, whether cooking a meal for myself, sitting in my car at a set of traffic lights, or working on a text for a lecture. For some, it can take years.

Death is inevitable. Typically though most people avoid the subject until they experience the death of someone close to them. If they do think of death, it’s often in terms of how it affects other people. Perhaps avoidance is a mechanism we need in order to function effectively in a world where the reality of wars, accidents, famine and sickness brings an end to life. And to think too closely about death might mean not taking everyday risks such as crossing the road, taking a lift or flying in an aircraft. This ‘thoughtlessness’ helps us cope.

However, there is an antithesis in not allowing death to invade too closely in our thoughts. In denying death, we tend to deny that it can take anyone at any time, and through any agent or medium. So, when it comes (as it surely will) we can be taken by surprise.

Even then, acknowledging the fact of death is not enough.

Death isn’t just someone being there one day and not being there the next. People who suffer the profound anguish of bereavement not only feel the loss of an individual, but often the ruin of the totality of their whole lives. It’s an intense and desperate crisis that devastates individuals and families. Some feel that they simply cannot continue. This is a book that aims to address this sense of hopelessness by providing practical help and advice, and to show that it is possible to carryon after someone has died, and reestablish a meaningful life.

This is difficult to do because everyone has a different experience of death. In my own case, death was shocking and unexpected. My wife, Shirin, died in hospital after a short and seemingly minor illness. The last words she ever said to me were: ‘Don’t be upset.’ A few moments later she arrested. She was transferred from her ward to the Intensive Care Unit and despite all the efforts of the medical staff was pronounced dead about an hour later. She was thirty-nine. We had been married for almost seven years.

No-one knows why she died. The consultant treating her was unable to provide a diagnosis, and despite exhaustive investigations by scientists in the Public Health Bureau, all tests proved negative.

I was totally unprepared. Like many people, I’d never thought deeply about the certainty of my own death and did not think that my wife would die so young and without warning. And, of course, when she died I was very upset. I experienced an agony of intense, raw pain for weeks afterwards that was physical as well as emotional. But, in the months that followed, I learnt to draw on reserves of strength that anyone who has not experienced the loss of a close relative, but perhaps especially a partner or child, would find difficult to comprehend.

If, like me, you’ve lost a partner in young adulthood, it is more likely that you will have had little experience of death as compared to someone who has been widowed later in life. For the most part, death for young adults is unexpected. Most of them probably give little thought to the possibility of the death of their partner other than an occasional: ‘What if … ?’ For this reason, they are more likely to find it difficult to adjust to the death of someone close to them than older people, who have been exposed to more experiences of death and have had more time to anticipate and prepare for the death of their partner and of their friends. Young adults tend to personalize death.

In other sad circumstances, children die. Parents often feel that they are somehow responsible. They feel guilt, thinking that they have been remiss in not providing a safe environment for their child. These feelings of failure may be intensified if the child died through miscarriage, stillbirth or cot death. The death of a young child can bring about great strains in a family. Partners often find their relationship less fulfilling than before, and disappointment, bitterness and resentment can follow. They may find it difficult to talk to each other, or with remaining children, which builds barriers to healing.

Most people, however, experience the death of a parent while they themselves are in middle age. Although this does not usually involve the same shock at the seeming senselessness of a younger person’s death, adjustments nevertheless need to be made. For example, bereaved offspring who are middle-aged often start to seriously consider the certainty of their own death and begin to ‘wind down’ their affairs in preparation for it by drawing up a will or discarding physical and emotional clutter from their lives. In addition, many have the shocking realization that there is no-one left in the world who will give them the unconditional love that their parents did.

But, reactions to death are intensely personal and variable. It’s probably true to say that while we can empathize, no-one can really understand the depth of the emotional turmoil of each individual who has been bereaved. However, it is possible to construct a framework for a recovery from the trauma of death that can be applied to most people’s circumstances.