Dying to Grieve
“We bereaved are not alone. We belong to the largest company in all the world – the company of those who have known suffering.” --HELEN KELLER, WE BEREAVED
Grief runs deep and cold. It is incessant. It is always in motion, cutting, carving, gouging, smoothing, shining, refining, and sculpting. It gushes. It trickles. It meanders. It surges and ebbs. Grief can be an underground tsunami, or a gentle babbling brook. It has no set course, nor destination. Oceans await its emptying. Grief is molten ground which flows. It forms the many layers of our being, and the thick foundation upon which we erect our days. When we are quiet, staring off into space, sighing in a peace which passes all understanding, we can hear its amazing sound. It is never a demanding roar, just the gentlest whisper. Grief will be heard, but will never make a racket to gain attention. Grief is like a pulse we notice every now and then.
These are the lines I wrote while finishing my second cup of dark roast coffee, heavily creamed, and watching a lovely slow snow. I could actually count the flakes within the pane. Twenty-eight or there abouts.
I have just recently moved to Vermont, to live with my son Justin, Heather, his wife, and my first grandchild, sweet baby James. I am settling in nicely, but so is my grief.
My grief has been poking around ever since I got here. Trying to get me to mourn a bit, or to lay claim to one of my numerous regrets. I hate it when folks my age say they have no regrets. Where were you, under a rock? My sadness is not yet at the swarming stage, but it is a definitive presence.
In some ways, retirement, which is what I am now, though I still do preach and teach and counsel now and then, is one long lament – without the wailing and gnashing of teeth.
I knew this grieving would occur. I moved from my hometown, Racine, Wisconsin, after a decade stint there, and I do miss several fine friendships, however, a bulk of my grieving is for the adolescents with whom I worked for forty plus years.
Yes, I am being totally serious. I happen to love teenagers, especially the ones who act like teenagers. I struggle with those who act like dependent children, and are always trying to score points with adults, and I am not all that fond of those who seek to come off as suave sophisticated adults.
I like your basic volatile, mercurial, passionate teen, who may love you at the start of the week, then ignore you, even hate you, which is communicated by a charming variety of snide looks, but, as the weekend nears, will ask what’s up for youth group.
Keeps things interesting! Working with adolescents is a challenge, but it is also fertile soil for making a difference. It has been my Life’s calling, and by far my greatest source of satisfaction.
By cup three, I was recalling how teen faces can look exactly like a child in the supermarket, who has suddenly realized the absence of Mom or Dad – I AM LOST. It is a wincing face. Puckered and awash with fear. Teens may also feel panicked and near tears, but being teenagers, they would rather take their appendix out with a shoehorn, then put their vulnerability on display.
So many teens; so damn lost. Adolescence is a time in Life when it’s easy to feel we’ve lost our way. Most teens haven’t a clue as to who they are, whether anyone will love them by choice, not obligation, and secretly dread the day when they must declare their independence.
Adolescents have my heart, and I incessantly try to treat them with a generous dollop of Grace. I just want them to know they are acknowledged, accepted, and affirmed.
Lately, I have become acutely aware of a sharp change in mood among many teens. There has been a significant shift, tough to measure, impossible to calculate, but adolescents seem sadder to me. I can’t help but think they have a good deal to be sad about.
The earth is in peril. School violence remains a deadly threat. The well documented statistics concerning teen suicide, depression, anorexia, bulimia, cutting, cyber bullying, school yard bullying, sex trafficking, and the rampant presence of guns, could put any young man or woman on edge.
This anxiety may engulf them, and they will give off an energy that makes me think they might spontaneously ignite. I know this may sound dramatic, but when I consider whether I could have handled today’s world when I was their age, I have no problem saying --“No way, not a chance! Out of my league!”
Since I do care a great deal, and feel enormous empathy for adolescents, I continue to grapple with the desire to offer help and hope. I have decided it would be smart to utilize my writing as one way I can attempt to offer positive and productive input -- thus, this article, and those to follow.
I love to write, and I believe I know what young people are willing to read, and their parents need to read. They both demand honesty. They both ask to be treated with respect. They both want input, but not advise or indoctrination. They both long to be engaged in a discussion, not hear a sermon from yet another know-it-all. I try hard. I fail sometimes, but I am improving – pontificating is still in my blood.
This article is the first in a series focusing on the losses I have been experiencing in teens – missing pieces. I do not feel there is just one missing piece, but many: the loss of meaning and self-esteem; a loss in confidence and courage; an absence of dreams; the inability to follow a longing or yearning; a failure to cope with chaos or conflict; and a growing erosion of their soul, or spiritual life.
Over the past decade, I have paid close attention to the losses inhabiting the lives of many teens. I have witnessed their genuine lack of hope, and a growing cynicism, which makes many behave like spoiled brats. Far too many teens act as if they know the price of everything, but the value of nothing. They choose lifestyles which are addicted to accumulation, but have no impact in terms of significance. This is best evidenced by teens seeking a good life, which they know full well has nothing to do with goodness.
The loss which is the focus of this article, the embracing of grief, is one I recently discussed with my now 37-year- old son, Justin. In the year 2000, when Justin was seventeen, and a junior at The Buxton School in Williamstown, Massachusetts, he lost his mother to a most unexpected complication following surgery. Our recent talk was about his grief, and his grieving, and whether I had been of any help to him.
I have also spoken to him about this article, and how I hoped to express my concern about the denial of grief in many adolescents, as well as a lack of adult role models to offer any guidance. We both commented on the tragic losses’ adolescents experience due to accidents, suicides, illnesses, including mental illness; as well the toll of divorce, when a family dies; or the break-up of a first love, or any love, really, when the heart feels rent in two.
We also spoke about how many youths are frequently forced to move, change schools, as well as cope with the stress of a parental obsession with grades, SAT scores, and getting into the right college. Such factors, totally out of their hands, may prevent a youth from enjoying being a kid, or having the time to figure out their own goals and dreams for the future. Teenagers go through all kinds of losses, and the age of adolescence can legitimately be called a season of mourning -- everything is in flux.
Justin is also a writer, and he is my biggest fan and critic – he doesn’t pull any punches. He said, “Give me, in one line, what it is you want this article to be about.” I responded with this, “I want to acknowledge how many adolescents have no idea how to grieve, and contend it is costing a goodly number of them -- their lives.”
We agreed, which is rare, and concurred that today’s teenager lacks the emotional or spiritual tools to name and claim their grief, and likely have never received the encouragement to do so. We further concluded that most parents and grown-ups fail to offer insights on the art of grieving, or a willingness to consistently play the role of listener to a grief-stricken teen.
Today’s teens are being foolishly, and at times fatally, encouraged to just move on. Justin told me I too was anxious for him to get “things” back to normal. He explained how I expected him to make huge strides mere months after the loss of his mother, when he was barely able to get out of bed. “You just needed to think I was fine, so that was what I gave you – all the I am having a good day stuff.” I knew immediately -- he was right.
I shared with Justin a recent interview I had heard with Prince Harry, where Harry complained bitterly about being expected to keep a stiff upper lip after his beloved mother died in a horrible car crash -- having been stalked by paparazzi. To him, this meant grieving without drawing any attention to himself or the Royal Family; no outbursts of sorrow or anger; never in a public setting; keeping himself in control, and appearing to have it all together. Grief in private, alone and in the dark.
Prince Harry went on to reveal how he too felt on the verge of breaking down, and had considered suicide more than once. I spoke of Prince Harry with deep appreciation, as I truly was moved by his candor, honesty, and humanity. I commented to my son, how I suspected Harry would save some adolescent lives; just as I hoped I might.
I then noticed Justin was offering me a perplexing look, and what I would call -- a sarcastic smile.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Dad, I not only considered suicide, I made an attempt.”
“Justin, you took 14 Tylenol PM, and you told me you just wanted to get back to sleep, because you often spoke with Mom in your dreams, and could even quote from some of those dreamed conversations.”
“Dad, I was still smart enough to know the risk of taking fourteen Tylenol PM; fourteen Dad, six times more than I needed. I was just so desperate. I missed Mom so much. I could barely breathe, let alone sleep. It was an attempt, Dad. It was a stupid act on my part, but it could have easily been so much worse. I knew I had another ten in my pocket.”
I was stunned. Shocked. Embarrassed. Distraught. I hugged my son, and asked for his forgiveness. He gave it to me, swiftly and firmly. He told me he simply knew I could not deal with a suicide attempt, six months after losing my wife. He was right, but what a pathetic excuse. I was still his Dad. He was my seventeen-year-old grieving son.
“I guess I didn’t do a very good job then, ugh?”
“Dad, you came up to Buxton repeatedly, and you tried hard, but you were, well, like the presence of an absence. I needed to know how you were coping, what you were feeling, and how you were getting through Mom’s death, but you just kept being my pastor, not my father. I did not need you to we wise and poignant and profound. I just needed you to feel as nuts as I did.”
“Oh, trust me, I did.”
“Dad, do you remember the first Christmas after Mom died? We sat across from each other and handed gifts back and forth. Gifts we neither wanted to give or receive. We both felt like we were about to explode. So, we finally went out to eat, which is how we handle pain and sorrow. It was so damn awful. The whole thing.”
Then we laughed. We laughed hard, and we cried a little. I wanted to cry a lot, but I was afraid I would not be able to stop. It felt good though. It was raw grief. No performing a role. No denying. It was a start, a morsel. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Yes, my son and I are still working through our grief, 21 years after Christine died.
Well, now that I have established my complete lack of expertise on the subject of grieving, let me offer you some tips on the art of grief. I know, why would you listen to me?
Well, for those of us who mostly just talk a good line, and admittedly fail to walk the walk, we still do have insights to share. Our failures are a good motivator to be rigorously honest, and to speak with as much maturity and wisdom as we can muster; which is exactly what I will try to do.
Grief must be embraced. It is a presence, and it demands being accepted and known. The art of grief begins when we listen to our loss, engage it in conversation, and recognize it has a message to bring, and lessons we must learn. The goal here is intimacy. The desire is to let grief’s tears roll down our cheeks.
Grieving begins with stop. We must sit with our loss, quietly, in silence, often in solitude and stillness, and ask questions which will enable us to get better acquainted. Our grief will be around for quite a while, and we need to adjust to its presence. It is better to invite grief in for a visit, than to have grief track us down, and eventually pounce upon our hearts when we least expect it.
Grief is real. It is a harrowing and powerful experience. Think of the individual who has a limb amputated, and for a long-time afterword, will claim to feel the actual presence of the limb. They call it phantom pain. Grief is the presence of just such an absence. It is the presence of the absence of a soul or spirit, the loss of an intimacy, understanding, love, dream or hope. The pain created, however, is all too real, and creates a deep and often long-term agony. Phantom? Yes. Phony? No
.
Grief will require ample time spent remembering and reminiscing. This could go on for months, years, a lifetime. Do not be surprised if we tell many of the same stories and timelines over and over again. It is like stitching a wound so it can begin to heal. Grief cuts deep, and will require many stitches. Each memory is a stitch. These threads of history enable the flesh of our soul to mend, and allows us to celebrate the eternal nature of memory.
Grief must be a steady process of opening our eyes, minds, hearts and souls; wider and wider. We must become more aware. We must be fully awake. We must be on notice, and alert. We must be ready to receive and reflect. Grief is a sponge. It longs for input and info, and yearns to hear new data, anecdotes, stories, as well as witness those smells or sounds or settings which might help bring the loss back to Life.
Grief requires the work of reflection, meditation, and what I call -- BIG TALK. This is indeed the opposite of small talk. This is conversation focused on digging down and going deep. This is talking about our ultimate concerns, Life’s meaning and value and worth, and to seek the new understanding being afforded by our choice to grieve.
Grief is an attitude. Grief is a perspective. Grief is a lens through which we see Life in a new light. Grieving is a form of gratitude, as it reveals what we cherish and adore. Grief is a means of reverence and respect, as we honor someone, someplace, something, for having played a vital role in our lives. Grief fills us with the wisdom to know what matters, what will last, and what will become unforgettable.
Grief does not worship the object of our grieving. We do, however, strive to model ourselves after the one or the experience we are recalling. We offer our praise and veneration, by taking the time to listen to our losses, and hear what they have to say, and ask about what they tell us to never forget.
Grief is the beginning of all wisdom. Grief is coming to know every day we are living…we are also dying. It is the recognition of the phenomenally difficult task of living each day with courage and confidence, while simultaneously knowing we may die at any moment.
Grief is a frame around our Life’s painting, a frame and a mat which will lift up its beauty, make the colors pop, make the shadows deepen, and reveal the miracle of light in which it is bathed. All paintings are fundamentally a painting of light – as is Life itself.
Coffee number four. I know I should be feeling a little jittery, but I don’t. It just feels so good to be writing, doing something which might offer a trace of help to a teen who is grieving. I just add more cream, to tone it down a bit.
The paradox of grief is that it involves the distinct feeling of being abandoned by God or our Higher Power, while at other times, arrives with the Divine Presence as its closest companion.
Ultimately, grief will inspire us. Our grief will make us want to make a difference; willing to make do, make up, and even make someone’s day; it will enable us to mature, grow up, and climb to higher ground; and it will offer us a most satisfying sense of significance. Grief will arrive on empty, but if we do the work of grieving, we will soon be back on full.
Most of all, grief is the substance of maturation. Our lives are like one of those intricate domino constructions, and when we experience a single loss, all of our other losses will fall in remarkable precision. Grief reminds…reminds…reminds. Grief is our greatest and most trusted teacher. Grief is the wise one at the top of the mountain, who will turn us around, and make us look back down, as well as take in the spectacular view.
For many of us, our lives are like patchwork quilts, and for others, like a clever crazy quilt, lacking in any specific theme, but which still explodes with a unifying beauty. Our losses are the thread. It is a sturdy thread, and knits together the whole quilt. The thread is the force of unity, or in our case, humanity, which gives the quilt its integrity, dignity, and yes, maturity, as it will enable the quilt to be used often, long, and hard.
Just a few more sips. Half a cup. Might as well chug the ½ & ½.
*****
Dear Adolescent Reader,
There is no healthy way to avoid, ignore, suppress, repress, or deny grief. It is like Spring. It will arrive. It will blossom out of the mud. Name it and claim it and embrace it.
You will locate your grief within your soul. Yes, you have a soul. You know that. You may call it an inner voice, a Higher Power, or God, or just a strong spiritual sense, a hunch, an intuition, a clue. Your body will tell you when your soul is about. You may be moved to tears, or given a lump in the throat, covered in goosebumps, or left dumbstruck, blown away, or awed.
Your soul is there. Like your body, the soul requires you to use it or lose it. Ask for its presence, and it will be there – sooner than later.
You need to learn how to grieve. It is essential to a meaningful and healthy Life. It will require you to stop being shallow, cynical, or void of purpose. It will call upon you to be compassionate, kind, caring, concerned, and willing to serve and sacrifice. You will learn from grieving, and what you learn will create a full life. Life without grief, is like a flat line on a heart monitor.
Do not listen to those who tell you to get busy, move on, return to normal. Grief is never normal. It is a pilgrimage down a road less traveled. Nobody has a map. Nobody even knows the destination. When YOU are ready, willing, and able. Stand-up, step out, start to move, follow your heart, listen to your longings and losses, and trust Grace to be your guide.
Ultimately, Life is a journey into joy. Life’s meaning is not about getting into Heaven in the beyond, it is about building Heaven in the here and now. Grief is a hammer and a saw for such construction. It is the one tool which will enable you to grow, deepen, expand, and become the person you were created to be.
It is dangerous to deny grief. Denial will only attract addictions and abuses, depress your soul, and even create a warped desire to become an absence. Grief which is stuffed, ignored, or hidden, will find a way to infest and take over your life. Think of being driven in a limo, and the grief is the driver, and you are just along for the ride.
It is time to take over the wheel, get your license, and get down to growing up. Be on the up and up, and you will find home on higher ground. Trust me, it is a good life, if we make every effort to fill it with goodness.
Fondly,
Bill Grimbol
*****
Dear Parent, or Adult Friend,
Remember, grief is not an answer. It is a series of dazzling questions. Grief is not the solving of a riddle. It is wondrous mystery. Grief is not getting back to business as usual. It is being transformed. Grief is not logic. Grief is pure unbridled inspiration. Grief is not something we do, but something which we must become.
What is your job in grieving? Be present. Listen. Listen. Listen. Be aware of your own grief. Embrace it. Experience it. Offer the Truth of what happened to you. Be a real role model. Tutor your kids in the art of grieving.
Make your home safe for grieving, just as you made it safe for them when they were toddlers. Make it a place where help can be had and sought, wisdom shared, questions asked, doubts accepted, and where we live our answers on a day-to-day basis.
Make BIG TALK happen. Insist on it. Not by decree, but by request. Ask for what you need, and when you are grieving, you will need to talk, and be heard. Let your teen come inside your soul, and hope they will do the same.
Do not offer some corny religious bumper sticker as a solution. Religion is a noun, but faith is a verb. Religious folks want us to believe what they do. Spiritual folks want us to find out what matters to us, so they can help us discern our top priorities.
Religious folks like coloring books, and paint by numbers, where someone hidden from view has done all the work. Spiritual folks like watercolor painting, and going with the flow, and letting the water do a bulk of the art.
Religious folks will often tell us that God never gives us more than we can handle – it is in Scripture. Well, there are many things in Scripture I no longer find to be true or helpful. We are often given way more than we can handle, but I would agree that a Higher Power or God will take the journey with us. Still, it is normal and acceptable to feel overwhelmed, crazy with grief, and find it hard to get up. Grief packs a huge wallop, and we can be down for the count.
Think back to when you would tuck your child in at night. Feel that wild awe and wonder again. Recognize there is no way you can keep them from the pain and suffering of grief. Just know, however, you can help them to become strong and courageous enough to weather Life’s many storms – and its frequent losses. Feel that love again, because it is this love which will keep you being a presence, rather than becoming a way too busy absence.
And…parents, if you keep trying, you will be ENOUGH. Surrender to that invincible Truth. Most of you are doing and being your best. It is just the world is getting tougher and more complex. Stick with the task at hand, and help adolescents learn that grief is not an enemy, but a close and intimate and trusted friend.
Sincerely,
Bill Grimbol
Well, that was more draining than I expected. Even writing about grief takes energy, and demands focus, but the release it brings is fresh, clean, and offers a breath without any anxiety. Still, I am ready for a brandy.
POSTSCRIPT #1
I forgot to include this, but it is important. Remember the school shooting at Stoneman Douglas High School, in Parkland, Florida? Seventeen students, teachers, and school workers were killed, and another seventeen wounded. There was a march held following this massacre, and it was called SAVE OUR LIVES. Several students who witnessed the shooting, were given a national platform to speak.
Their speeches were breathtaking, moving, powerful, and right on target. Laced through every speech was a message to adults. Where were you, and where are you? When will you lead? When will you get angry enough to fight for genuine gun control? When will adults start being adult? We need you!
If you have not heard those speeches, please do so. In essence, as is in the case of mentoring and modeling grief, adults tend to be missing in action. These great adolescent speeches, are a call to action, and well worth our time and attention.
POSTSCRIPT #2
I have had six sips of great brandy. I now need to share one more thing. My friends tell me I like having the last word.
Grief is like a refiner’s fire. Through chaos, conflict, a whirlwind of loss, enormous pain, brutal emptiness, a loss of faith, rampant fear, and questioning each and every aspect of our lives, grief will bring out the very best in us. Grief is what our wings are made of. Grief will enable us to fly, reach for the stars, take a leap of faith, and believe we can make a difference.
Our grief will melt away all our phony answers, our laziness, our cowardice, our indifference, our apathy, and will call us down to earth, to be humble, modest, and compassionate, and bring us back to Life, on Life’s terms, ready to be fully human with just a touch of the divine.
Grief is Grace. Grief is pure gift. Grief is the breath of God. Every breath God takes – CREATES. Every time a breath is held, is when God grieves. It is the price of being alive. It is the pulse of Life. Yes, this article has come full circle.
I am ready to hit the hay. I will sleep well tonight. I hope you will too. Tomorrow will require a lot of effort, getting our souls back in shape, choosing to get down to growing up, and learning how to excel in Life’s lifetime course in loss. Rest up. This will be a real battle – creating hope in our youth, and in ourselves. We have no other options. Hope is truly all there is. Hope will inspire the love and ignite the faith, and make it happen.
Good night, and a great dawn.
“We bereaved are not alone. We belong to the largest company in all the world – the company of those who have known suffering.” --HELEN KELLER, WE BEREAVED
Grief runs deep and cold. It is incessant. It is always in motion, cutting, carving, gouging, smoothing, shining, refining, and sculpting. It gushes. It trickles. It meanders. It surges and ebbs. Grief can be an underground tsunami, or a gentle babbling brook. It has no set course, nor destination. Oceans await its emptying. Grief is molten ground which flows. It forms the many layers of our being, and the thick foundation upon which we erect our days. When we are quiet, staring off into space, sighing in a peace which passes all understanding, we can hear its amazing sound. It is never a demanding roar, just the gentlest whisper. Grief will be heard, but will never make a racket to gain attention. Grief is like a pulse we notice every now and then.
These are the lines I wrote while finishing my second cup of dark roast coffee, heavily creamed, and watching a lovely slow snow. I could actually count the flakes within the pane. Twenty-eight or there abouts.
I have just recently moved to Vermont, to live with my son Justin, Heather, his wife, and my first grandchild, sweet baby James. I am settling in nicely, but so is my grief.
My grief has been poking around ever since I got here. Trying to get me to mourn a bit, or to lay claim to one of my numerous regrets. I hate it when folks my age say they have no regrets. Where were you, under a rock? My sadness is not yet at the swarming stage, but it is a definitive presence.
In some ways, retirement, which is what I am now, though I still do preach and teach and counsel now and then, is one long lament – without the wailing and gnashing of teeth.
I knew this grieving would occur. I moved from my hometown, Racine, Wisconsin, after a decade stint there, and I do miss several fine friendships, however, a bulk of my grieving is for the adolescents with whom I worked for forty plus years.
Yes, I am being totally serious. I happen to love teenagers, especially the ones who act like teenagers. I struggle with those who act like dependent children, and are always trying to score points with adults, and I am not all that fond of those who seek to come off as suave sophisticated adults.
I like your basic volatile, mercurial, passionate teen, who may love you at the start of the week, then ignore you, even hate you, which is communicated by a charming variety of snide looks, but, as the weekend nears, will ask what’s up for youth group.
Keeps things interesting! Working with adolescents is a challenge, but it is also fertile soil for making a difference. It has been my Life’s calling, and by far my greatest source of satisfaction.
By cup three, I was recalling how teen faces can look exactly like a child in the supermarket, who has suddenly realized the absence of Mom or Dad – I AM LOST. It is a wincing face. Puckered and awash with fear. Teens may also feel panicked and near tears, but being teenagers, they would rather take their appendix out with a shoehorn, then put their vulnerability on display.
So many teens; so damn lost. Adolescence is a time in Life when it’s easy to feel we’ve lost our way. Most teens haven’t a clue as to who they are, whether anyone will love them by choice, not obligation, and secretly dread the day when they must declare their independence.
Adolescents have my heart, and I incessantly try to treat them with a generous dollop of Grace. I just want them to know they are acknowledged, accepted, and affirmed.
Lately, I have become acutely aware of a sharp change in mood among many teens. There has been a significant shift, tough to measure, impossible to calculate, but adolescents seem sadder to me. I can’t help but think they have a good deal to be sad about.
The earth is in peril. School violence remains a deadly threat. The well documented statistics concerning teen suicide, depression, anorexia, bulimia, cutting, cyber bullying, school yard bullying, sex trafficking, and the rampant presence of guns, could put any young man or woman on edge.
This anxiety may engulf them, and they will give off an energy that makes me think they might spontaneously ignite. I know this may sound dramatic, but when I consider whether I could have handled today’s world when I was their age, I have no problem saying --“No way, not a chance! Out of my league!”
Since I do care a great deal, and feel enormous empathy for adolescents, I continue to grapple with the desire to offer help and hope. I have decided it would be smart to utilize my writing as one way I can attempt to offer positive and productive input -- thus, this article, and those to follow.
I love to write, and I believe I know what young people are willing to read, and their parents need to read. They both demand honesty. They both ask to be treated with respect. They both want input, but not advise or indoctrination. They both long to be engaged in a discussion, not hear a sermon from yet another know-it-all. I try hard. I fail sometimes, but I am improving – pontificating is still in my blood.
This article is the first in a series focusing on the losses I have been experiencing in teens – missing pieces. I do not feel there is just one missing piece, but many: the loss of meaning and self-esteem; a loss in confidence and courage; an absence of dreams; the inability to follow a longing or yearning; a failure to cope with chaos or conflict; and a growing erosion of their soul, or spiritual life.
Over the past decade, I have paid close attention to the losses inhabiting the lives of many teens. I have witnessed their genuine lack of hope, and a growing cynicism, which makes many behave like spoiled brats. Far too many teens act as if they know the price of everything, but the value of nothing. They choose lifestyles which are addicted to accumulation, but have no impact in terms of significance. This is best evidenced by teens seeking a good life, which they know full well has nothing to do with goodness.
The loss which is the focus of this article, the embracing of grief, is one I recently discussed with my now 37-year- old son, Justin. In the year 2000, when Justin was seventeen, and a junior at The Buxton School in Williamstown, Massachusetts, he lost his mother to a most unexpected complication following surgery. Our recent talk was about his grief, and his grieving, and whether I had been of any help to him.
I have also spoken to him about this article, and how I hoped to express my concern about the denial of grief in many adolescents, as well as a lack of adult role models to offer any guidance. We both commented on the tragic losses’ adolescents experience due to accidents, suicides, illnesses, including mental illness; as well the toll of divorce, when a family dies; or the break-up of a first love, or any love, really, when the heart feels rent in two.
We also spoke about how many youths are frequently forced to move, change schools, as well as cope with the stress of a parental obsession with grades, SAT scores, and getting into the right college. Such factors, totally out of their hands, may prevent a youth from enjoying being a kid, or having the time to figure out their own goals and dreams for the future. Teenagers go through all kinds of losses, and the age of adolescence can legitimately be called a season of mourning -- everything is in flux.
Justin is also a writer, and he is my biggest fan and critic – he doesn’t pull any punches. He said, “Give me, in one line, what it is you want this article to be about.” I responded with this, “I want to acknowledge how many adolescents have no idea how to grieve, and contend it is costing a goodly number of them -- their lives.”
We agreed, which is rare, and concurred that today’s teenager lacks the emotional or spiritual tools to name and claim their grief, and likely have never received the encouragement to do so. We further concluded that most parents and grown-ups fail to offer insights on the art of grieving, or a willingness to consistently play the role of listener to a grief-stricken teen.
Today’s teens are being foolishly, and at times fatally, encouraged to just move on. Justin told me I too was anxious for him to get “things” back to normal. He explained how I expected him to make huge strides mere months after the loss of his mother, when he was barely able to get out of bed. “You just needed to think I was fine, so that was what I gave you – all the I am having a good day stuff.” I knew immediately -- he was right.
I shared with Justin a recent interview I had heard with Prince Harry, where Harry complained bitterly about being expected to keep a stiff upper lip after his beloved mother died in a horrible car crash -- having been stalked by paparazzi. To him, this meant grieving without drawing any attention to himself or the Royal Family; no outbursts of sorrow or anger; never in a public setting; keeping himself in control, and appearing to have it all together. Grief in private, alone and in the dark.
Prince Harry went on to reveal how he too felt on the verge of breaking down, and had considered suicide more than once. I spoke of Prince Harry with deep appreciation, as I truly was moved by his candor, honesty, and humanity. I commented to my son, how I suspected Harry would save some adolescent lives; just as I hoped I might.
I then noticed Justin was offering me a perplexing look, and what I would call -- a sarcastic smile.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“Dad, I not only considered suicide, I made an attempt.”
“Justin, you took 14 Tylenol PM, and you told me you just wanted to get back to sleep, because you often spoke with Mom in your dreams, and could even quote from some of those dreamed conversations.”
“Dad, I was still smart enough to know the risk of taking fourteen Tylenol PM; fourteen Dad, six times more than I needed. I was just so desperate. I missed Mom so much. I could barely breathe, let alone sleep. It was an attempt, Dad. It was a stupid act on my part, but it could have easily been so much worse. I knew I had another ten in my pocket.”
I was stunned. Shocked. Embarrassed. Distraught. I hugged my son, and asked for his forgiveness. He gave it to me, swiftly and firmly. He told me he simply knew I could not deal with a suicide attempt, six months after losing my wife. He was right, but what a pathetic excuse. I was still his Dad. He was my seventeen-year-old grieving son.
“I guess I didn’t do a very good job then, ugh?”
“Dad, you came up to Buxton repeatedly, and you tried hard, but you were, well, like the presence of an absence. I needed to know how you were coping, what you were feeling, and how you were getting through Mom’s death, but you just kept being my pastor, not my father. I did not need you to we wise and poignant and profound. I just needed you to feel as nuts as I did.”
“Oh, trust me, I did.”
“Dad, do you remember the first Christmas after Mom died? We sat across from each other and handed gifts back and forth. Gifts we neither wanted to give or receive. We both felt like we were about to explode. So, we finally went out to eat, which is how we handle pain and sorrow. It was so damn awful. The whole thing.”
Then we laughed. We laughed hard, and we cried a little. I wanted to cry a lot, but I was afraid I would not be able to stop. It felt good though. It was raw grief. No performing a role. No denying. It was a start, a morsel. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Yes, my son and I are still working through our grief, 21 years after Christine died.
Well, now that I have established my complete lack of expertise on the subject of grieving, let me offer you some tips on the art of grief. I know, why would you listen to me?
Well, for those of us who mostly just talk a good line, and admittedly fail to walk the walk, we still do have insights to share. Our failures are a good motivator to be rigorously honest, and to speak with as much maturity and wisdom as we can muster; which is exactly what I will try to do.
Grief must be embraced. It is a presence, and it demands being accepted and known. The art of grief begins when we listen to our loss, engage it in conversation, and recognize it has a message to bring, and lessons we must learn. The goal here is intimacy. The desire is to let grief’s tears roll down our cheeks.
Grieving begins with stop. We must sit with our loss, quietly, in silence, often in solitude and stillness, and ask questions which will enable us to get better acquainted. Our grief will be around for quite a while, and we need to adjust to its presence. It is better to invite grief in for a visit, than to have grief track us down, and eventually pounce upon our hearts when we least expect it.
Grief is real. It is a harrowing and powerful experience. Think of the individual who has a limb amputated, and for a long-time afterword, will claim to feel the actual presence of the limb. They call it phantom pain. Grief is the presence of just such an absence. It is the presence of the absence of a soul or spirit, the loss of an intimacy, understanding, love, dream or hope. The pain created, however, is all too real, and creates a deep and often long-term agony. Phantom? Yes. Phony? No
.
Grief will require ample time spent remembering and reminiscing. This could go on for months, years, a lifetime. Do not be surprised if we tell many of the same stories and timelines over and over again. It is like stitching a wound so it can begin to heal. Grief cuts deep, and will require many stitches. Each memory is a stitch. These threads of history enable the flesh of our soul to mend, and allows us to celebrate the eternal nature of memory.
Grief must be a steady process of opening our eyes, minds, hearts and souls; wider and wider. We must become more aware. We must be fully awake. We must be on notice, and alert. We must be ready to receive and reflect. Grief is a sponge. It longs for input and info, and yearns to hear new data, anecdotes, stories, as well as witness those smells or sounds or settings which might help bring the loss back to Life.
Grief requires the work of reflection, meditation, and what I call -- BIG TALK. This is indeed the opposite of small talk. This is conversation focused on digging down and going deep. This is talking about our ultimate concerns, Life’s meaning and value and worth, and to seek the new understanding being afforded by our choice to grieve.
Grief is an attitude. Grief is a perspective. Grief is a lens through which we see Life in a new light. Grieving is a form of gratitude, as it reveals what we cherish and adore. Grief is a means of reverence and respect, as we honor someone, someplace, something, for having played a vital role in our lives. Grief fills us with the wisdom to know what matters, what will last, and what will become unforgettable.
Grief does not worship the object of our grieving. We do, however, strive to model ourselves after the one or the experience we are recalling. We offer our praise and veneration, by taking the time to listen to our losses, and hear what they have to say, and ask about what they tell us to never forget.
Grief is the beginning of all wisdom. Grief is coming to know every day we are living…we are also dying. It is the recognition of the phenomenally difficult task of living each day with courage and confidence, while simultaneously knowing we may die at any moment.
Grief is a frame around our Life’s painting, a frame and a mat which will lift up its beauty, make the colors pop, make the shadows deepen, and reveal the miracle of light in which it is bathed. All paintings are fundamentally a painting of light – as is Life itself.
Coffee number four. I know I should be feeling a little jittery, but I don’t. It just feels so good to be writing, doing something which might offer a trace of help to a teen who is grieving. I just add more cream, to tone it down a bit.
The paradox of grief is that it involves the distinct feeling of being abandoned by God or our Higher Power, while at other times, arrives with the Divine Presence as its closest companion.
Ultimately, grief will inspire us. Our grief will make us want to make a difference; willing to make do, make up, and even make someone’s day; it will enable us to mature, grow up, and climb to higher ground; and it will offer us a most satisfying sense of significance. Grief will arrive on empty, but if we do the work of grieving, we will soon be back on full.
Most of all, grief is the substance of maturation. Our lives are like one of those intricate domino constructions, and when we experience a single loss, all of our other losses will fall in remarkable precision. Grief reminds…reminds…reminds. Grief is our greatest and most trusted teacher. Grief is the wise one at the top of the mountain, who will turn us around, and make us look back down, as well as take in the spectacular view.
For many of us, our lives are like patchwork quilts, and for others, like a clever crazy quilt, lacking in any specific theme, but which still explodes with a unifying beauty. Our losses are the thread. It is a sturdy thread, and knits together the whole quilt. The thread is the force of unity, or in our case, humanity, which gives the quilt its integrity, dignity, and yes, maturity, as it will enable the quilt to be used often, long, and hard.
Just a few more sips. Half a cup. Might as well chug the ½ & ½.
*****
Dear Adolescent Reader,
There is no healthy way to avoid, ignore, suppress, repress, or deny grief. It is like Spring. It will arrive. It will blossom out of the mud. Name it and claim it and embrace it.
You will locate your grief within your soul. Yes, you have a soul. You know that. You may call it an inner voice, a Higher Power, or God, or just a strong spiritual sense, a hunch, an intuition, a clue. Your body will tell you when your soul is about. You may be moved to tears, or given a lump in the throat, covered in goosebumps, or left dumbstruck, blown away, or awed.
Your soul is there. Like your body, the soul requires you to use it or lose it. Ask for its presence, and it will be there – sooner than later.
You need to learn how to grieve. It is essential to a meaningful and healthy Life. It will require you to stop being shallow, cynical, or void of purpose. It will call upon you to be compassionate, kind, caring, concerned, and willing to serve and sacrifice. You will learn from grieving, and what you learn will create a full life. Life without grief, is like a flat line on a heart monitor.
Do not listen to those who tell you to get busy, move on, return to normal. Grief is never normal. It is a pilgrimage down a road less traveled. Nobody has a map. Nobody even knows the destination. When YOU are ready, willing, and able. Stand-up, step out, start to move, follow your heart, listen to your longings and losses, and trust Grace to be your guide.
Ultimately, Life is a journey into joy. Life’s meaning is not about getting into Heaven in the beyond, it is about building Heaven in the here and now. Grief is a hammer and a saw for such construction. It is the one tool which will enable you to grow, deepen, expand, and become the person you were created to be.
It is dangerous to deny grief. Denial will only attract addictions and abuses, depress your soul, and even create a warped desire to become an absence. Grief which is stuffed, ignored, or hidden, will find a way to infest and take over your life. Think of being driven in a limo, and the grief is the driver, and you are just along for the ride.
It is time to take over the wheel, get your license, and get down to growing up. Be on the up and up, and you will find home on higher ground. Trust me, it is a good life, if we make every effort to fill it with goodness.
Fondly,
Bill Grimbol
*****
Dear Parent, or Adult Friend,
Remember, grief is not an answer. It is a series of dazzling questions. Grief is not the solving of a riddle. It is wondrous mystery. Grief is not getting back to business as usual. It is being transformed. Grief is not logic. Grief is pure unbridled inspiration. Grief is not something we do, but something which we must become.
What is your job in grieving? Be present. Listen. Listen. Listen. Be aware of your own grief. Embrace it. Experience it. Offer the Truth of what happened to you. Be a real role model. Tutor your kids in the art of grieving.
Make your home safe for grieving, just as you made it safe for them when they were toddlers. Make it a place where help can be had and sought, wisdom shared, questions asked, doubts accepted, and where we live our answers on a day-to-day basis.
Make BIG TALK happen. Insist on it. Not by decree, but by request. Ask for what you need, and when you are grieving, you will need to talk, and be heard. Let your teen come inside your soul, and hope they will do the same.
Do not offer some corny religious bumper sticker as a solution. Religion is a noun, but faith is a verb. Religious folks want us to believe what they do. Spiritual folks want us to find out what matters to us, so they can help us discern our top priorities.
Religious folks like coloring books, and paint by numbers, where someone hidden from view has done all the work. Spiritual folks like watercolor painting, and going with the flow, and letting the water do a bulk of the art.
Religious folks will often tell us that God never gives us more than we can handle – it is in Scripture. Well, there are many things in Scripture I no longer find to be true or helpful. We are often given way more than we can handle, but I would agree that a Higher Power or God will take the journey with us. Still, it is normal and acceptable to feel overwhelmed, crazy with grief, and find it hard to get up. Grief packs a huge wallop, and we can be down for the count.
Think back to when you would tuck your child in at night. Feel that wild awe and wonder again. Recognize there is no way you can keep them from the pain and suffering of grief. Just know, however, you can help them to become strong and courageous enough to weather Life’s many storms – and its frequent losses. Feel that love again, because it is this love which will keep you being a presence, rather than becoming a way too busy absence.
And…parents, if you keep trying, you will be ENOUGH. Surrender to that invincible Truth. Most of you are doing and being your best. It is just the world is getting tougher and more complex. Stick with the task at hand, and help adolescents learn that grief is not an enemy, but a close and intimate and trusted friend.
Sincerely,
Bill Grimbol
Well, that was more draining than I expected. Even writing about grief takes energy, and demands focus, but the release it brings is fresh, clean, and offers a breath without any anxiety. Still, I am ready for a brandy.
POSTSCRIPT #1
I forgot to include this, but it is important. Remember the school shooting at Stoneman Douglas High School, in Parkland, Florida? Seventeen students, teachers, and school workers were killed, and another seventeen wounded. There was a march held following this massacre, and it was called SAVE OUR LIVES. Several students who witnessed the shooting, were given a national platform to speak.
Their speeches were breathtaking, moving, powerful, and right on target. Laced through every speech was a message to adults. Where were you, and where are you? When will you lead? When will you get angry enough to fight for genuine gun control? When will adults start being adult? We need you!
If you have not heard those speeches, please do so. In essence, as is in the case of mentoring and modeling grief, adults tend to be missing in action. These great adolescent speeches, are a call to action, and well worth our time and attention.
POSTSCRIPT #2
I have had six sips of great brandy. I now need to share one more thing. My friends tell me I like having the last word.
Grief is like a refiner’s fire. Through chaos, conflict, a whirlwind of loss, enormous pain, brutal emptiness, a loss of faith, rampant fear, and questioning each and every aspect of our lives, grief will bring out the very best in us. Grief is what our wings are made of. Grief will enable us to fly, reach for the stars, take a leap of faith, and believe we can make a difference.
Our grief will melt away all our phony answers, our laziness, our cowardice, our indifference, our apathy, and will call us down to earth, to be humble, modest, and compassionate, and bring us back to Life, on Life’s terms, ready to be fully human with just a touch of the divine.
Grief is Grace. Grief is pure gift. Grief is the breath of God. Every breath God takes – CREATES. Every time a breath is held, is when God grieves. It is the price of being alive. It is the pulse of Life. Yes, this article has come full circle.
I am ready to hit the hay. I will sleep well tonight. I hope you will too. Tomorrow will require a lot of effort, getting our souls back in shape, choosing to get down to growing up, and learning how to excel in Life’s lifetime course in loss. Rest up. This will be a real battle – creating hope in our youth, and in ourselves. We have no other options. Hope is truly all there is. Hope will inspire the love and ignite the faith, and make it happen.
Good night, and a great dawn.