Good Grief

Good grief! Even Snoopy is feeling it.
I couldn't think of another title for my ramblings here today. I just like "Good Grief." It makes me think of Charlie Brown, for one thing. For another, it's what I want to talk about. Not in the *sigh*, woe-is-me kind of way. But in the way grief, in all its forms and transformations, can be good.

This past weekend I traveled to Montana with my family for a funeral. The drive was long. L-o-n-g. The weather was not the best on the way back, especially between Missoula and Deer Lodge. The kids did pretty well, though, considering. They didn't fight a whole lot, and the trip only got miserable at the last three hours. Which would be hours 17-20 of traveling. Bleh.
Idaho is eerily beautiful when it snows...

Was it worth it? Of course it was. Sometimes it's bad enough that a sister-in-law unexpectedly dies at the age of 45. Worse yet, her husband died five years ago. And more? Her fifteen-year-old daughter was still living at home with her. But on top of that, you have to deal with your own grief. Were you close? Does it make you anxious? What can you do to help out the kids?

Orphan is such a strange word, but I heard someone say it at the funeral. The conversation was simple and sad; "You understand what it's like to be an orphan." One man said this to another. How do we cope with such tragedy? How do we come to terms of the unfairness of taking parents from their children who are still being raised?

Last year I read The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. Her beautiful non-fiction tells the story of her daughter's coma and her husband's death, and the year that follows. It's not like I read the book and started preaching the gospel of Joan Didion, but I have to tell you...there were a lot of truths on those pages. I also learned something else. Essaying is cheap therapy. Okay, so Joey Franklin told me that, but I believe it. Not only is it therapy for the person writing it, but it's therapy for the person reading it.

So what is good grief, and what does it have to do with all this? I think in order for grief to make good turns, a person needs to face it, internalize it, and make something of it. Grief can be managed in the form of an essay, sure. But it can also manifest itself musically, physically, or emotionally. It's okay to burst into tears because chocolate-marshmallow shakes make you think of your deceased grandfather. It's okay to run five miles when you miss your cousin. And it's okay to sing or play the guitar or whatever it is you need to do.

My less-than-beautiful artwork
Let's not forget visual art. I'm going to tell you a secret. My family has coloring contests once in a while. Whatever it is I choose to draw, I fill the page with swirling colors of every kind. I am not satisfied until every corner is colored in. I don't know why I'm like this. Perhaps I'm a bit obsessive compulsive, but I find it oddly satisfying, as if coloring in every bit of the page will somehow complete it.

I recently wrote an essay about my last miscarriage, which was the most grief-stricken of anything I've ever written. While writing it, I came to a few realizations about my experience that I hadn't realized before. How angry I was. How lonely I felt. How disappointed I was in myself. Regardless of the truth of these things, this is how I felt. Writing words on paper, playing with the sound of the language so that it could convey my feelings, was relief. Some of my sentences were short and clipped. Some of them went on and on. Both types expressed a different emotion or thought.

When my grandpa died, I sang. I sang a lot, and I listened to Johnny Cash. When my father-in-law passed away, my husband passed on his dad's legacy of classic rock, coin and stamp collecting, and his love of movies. When our neighborhood lost a young woman at the young age of 20, a circle of friends gathered together and we talked about how much we loved her and supported her mother. Now that my brother- and sister-in-law are both gone, my husband shares memories of jet-fuel in a car and Garth Brooks. This is how we grieve. Sometimes it hurts to talk about it. But we usually feel better after. We can usually find reasons to smile.

As my children grieve, I hope I can share all of these things with them. It's okay to cry. It's okay to not cry. I'm always here to talk, and I will always have cocoa or tea or warm honey milk. You will have anxieties about death. You will wonder what would have happened had that person lived. It's important to let grief surface, to live through it.

Let me touch on one more thing. I have seen many parents shelter their children from grief. I propose the idea that this might do more damage than good. If you don't teach your children about grief when they are young, they will misunderstand how to deal with it when they're older. The beautiful article, Letting Children Share in Grief, talks about the problems created by a "mourning avoidant" culture. If you're prone to "protect" your children from the subjects of death and grief, please click on the link to see why it's helpful to teach your children how to grieve as soon as the opportunity comes.

Some children are too young to grieve. They don't understand what's going on when a loved one dies. In this case, find someone who can help you with your child. When I say this, I mean that you should have someone around who is able to keep a positive and cheery temperament. But don't leave. It's okay for your child to see that you're sad. In fact, during many grieving moments in my life, my children have been the first to put their arms around me and tell me they love me.

And that is yet another form of good grief.

Comments