Grieving

Counting My People, by Dr. Helen Davey

Robert D. Stolorow — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 15:27:30 GMT

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/helen-davey/counting-my-people-an-aut_b_354491.html

Mother loss

tochter — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 13:59:38 GMT

This whole series has been gripping and moving. It's so comforting to be invited into a community of grief, bonding around deep truths that can somehow be shared through story and gesture despite their being, in the end, private and unreachable. I was especially struck by your expressed wish not to recover, to hang on to your grief--because your grief held your mother close. I know that feeling. My mother died many years ago, and I still search for that grief, knowing that if I find it I will find her. And I write abut her endlessly. I also know that grief makes others uncomfortable. When they say, "How are you doing?" they want you to say "Fine," because then they can move on, too. Children know this and aren't afraid to say so. When my mother died, my 6-year-old nephew asked, "When is everyone going to stop crying?" "Maybe never," I said. If I may, I'l like to recommend another particularly moving blog about mother loss: miaatmidlife.com. Like yours, this writer's grief is still fresh and evolving. Thank you so much for sharing your story.

Friendship and Mourning

Robert D. Stolorow — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 14:53:23 GMT

Jacques Derrida wrote: "Philia [friendship] begins with the possibility of survival. Surviving--that is the other name of a mourning whose possibility is never to be awaited." In other words, every friendship is structured from the beginning by the possibility that one friend will die first and the surviving friend will be left to mourn. Death and loss are equally fundamental to our understanding of existence.

"Treatable" vs "Curable"

Guylinder — Thu, 07 May 2009 15:57:39 GMT

The author states that "Colon cancer is treatable if it's caught in the early stages." This is true. It is also treatable in its later stages, but it is not curable. There is a difference between "treatable" and "curable."

Doctors often tell people with terminal cancer that their disease is "treatable." That means you can have an operation, and/or chemo, and/or radiation or other treatments which can prolong your life, but you cannot be cured. You are still going to die of the disease or of a complication of the disease. The term "operable" is also not the same as "curable." A lot of people believe that only "inoperable cancer" means that the cancer will kill them. If the cancer is "operable" they often believe it can be cured. But that is not necessarily true. Most people with metastatic cancer can receive an operation where the bulk of a tumor or the visible parts of a tumor can be removed, and this removal will prolong life, but the tumor will grow back, or the metatasis will spread. I have heard people told "We got all of your tumor out. Now we'll start radiation" knowing that the doctors know full well that microscopic cancer cells are still there and will grow back and the person will die within 18 months or 2 years or 3 years.

Terms like "treatable" and "operable" are used to give people hope, but when a patient with terminal cancer is not fully informed that their cancer will likely grow back and cause there death within a certain time frame (5 year survivability rate, eg), or are given a misleadingly rosy scenario for survivabilty (exaggerating the likelihood that a new curable treatment will be developed while the terminal patient undergoes his or her cancer therapy, e.g.), it is really not fair to the patient or the family. Sometimes families are utterly shocked when the patient dies, not really ever having understood there was no chance the patient would likely survive. Sometimes people just delude themselves and hear what they want to hear, and there isn't much one can do about that, but please be aware that "treatable" is not interchangeable with "curable," nor is "operable" interchangeble with "curable."

Emily Running

Robert D. Stolorow — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 04:00:24 GMT

EMILY RUNNING

My favorite time of day

is walking Emily to school in the morning.

We kiss as we leave our driveway

so other kids won't see us.

If I'm lucky, we have a second kiss,

furtively, at the school-yard's edge.

My insides beam as she turns from me

and runs to the building where her class is held,

blonde hair flowing,

backpack flapping,

my splendid, precious third-grader.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly,

a cloud begins to darken

my wide internal smile--

not grief, exactly, but a poignant sadness--

as her running points me back

to other partings

and toward other turnings

further down the road.

(from RD Stolorow, Trauma and Human Existence, Routledge, 2007.)

Grieving

clbeach — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 00:36:46 GMT

I was just listening to Garnet Rogers song about his brother, the late Stan Rogers and thinking of all the powerfull songs and movies about grieving ("Truely, Madly, Deeply" being the best) All of them have the element of being able to reach out to the dead person and express your pain/grief about the absence. I would give anything to be able to do that to my father (gone for 24 years)

Thank you for this honest discussion about the process of saying good by. It's rare for this kind of conversation in modern America.

Motherless Daughters

Akt — Sun, 24 May 2009 15:05:08 GMT

To any woman who has lost her mother, I highly recommend reading "Letters from Motherless Daughters" by Hope Edelmen. It is a collection of letters from women who have shared their grieving experience after the loss of their mothers. When I first came across this book (1996), I was afraid it would be too depressing. It wasn't. I found it brought great comfort to read about other daughters and their journey through the life-long grieving process. My mother passed away when I was 14; 40 years later, I still feel the loss. This is one sorority no one wants to become a member of.

Thank You

PattiButterfield — Thu, 14 May 2009 21:47:43 GMT

Thank you for this beautiful series on grief. My mother died of renal cell carcinoma on March 25, 2009. Your essays are part of my therapy, along with friends and family, Leonard Cohen songs, and a Facebook page in my mother's honor. As I read your essays, I feel as if you are my grief travel guide, walking a few steps ahead of me and clearing a path through the darkness. Your essays describe my own thoughts and feelings about my mother's illness and death with an accuracy I find a little disarming, but tremendously comforting. I wish you the sense of peace you have provided to me.
Patti

“Star Crust Memories”

HAP — Fri, 08 May 2009 16:12:49 GMT

“Star Crust Memories”

Sweet star crusted heart

Forgive me for my frankness

Spring has so far failed

Grieving Lost Innocence

Robert D. Stolorow — Fri, 08 May 2009 01:18:45 GMT

A traumatic loss shatters what I have called the "absolutisms of everyday life" (RD Stolorow, Trauma and Human Existence, Routledge, 2007), the system of illusory beliefs that allow us to experience the world as stable, predictable, and safe. Thus, when we lose a loved one, we must grieve not only the person but also the innocence we have lost.

An Irish Poem

LJRider — Thu, 07 May 2009 19:26:08 GMT

I lost my father to diabetic complications when I was 13. My mother was very similar to yours. She died of breast cancer when I was 21. It's onset was 3 years earlier when I was 17. She had a radical mastectomy, but 3 cancerous cells were accidentally left behind. They thought they could get them with radiation (it was 1973 and chemo was rudimentary at best). The next year and a half, my mother's spirituality showed. I was a son of a devout Irish Catholic women of the "Christ is Love" style of Catholicism. I then lost my oldest brother when I was 31 (suicide). Finally I lost my oldest sibling my sister last year. She was 9 years older than I and was my surrogate mom all these years. She died from rspiratory arrest. Although it was sudden it was not completely unexpected. I had just gotten together with a woman who is now my fiancee. She met my neices at their mom's funeral. She saw me through that hard time. Our wedding date was to be this month, May 30th. On April 18 my fiancee's 20 year old son died from a massive coronary. He had HCM as a baby, but had looked to have outcrown most if not all of it. Your peice on finding love in a loss is so true!

Thank you for what you wrote. It mirrors my experiences. I wrote to share a poem that your writings on loss of a loved one reminded me of:

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...

Lars Rider

our culture has so little place for death

paganharleman — Thu, 07 May 2009 17:50:18 GMT

I lost my older brother two months ago and during that time I repeatedly was reminded how uncomfortable our culture is with sadness and death. I often felt rushed to feel better or get better, to move on. What about mourning I wanted to say. This series has been a welcome refuge from our happycentric society. Thank you for the lovely reflections and for the beautiful poetry you quote.

pagan harleman

Charnel-House is not a slaughterhouse, important diff!

Swoop — Thu, 07 May 2009 14:42:47 GMT

This is obviously a very moving and memorable series.

That being said, when referencing the poetry of Emily Dickinson, M.O. says:

I am reminded of Emily Dickinson, who was stunned to learn that the newly widowed Robert Browning had written a poem, "till," as she put it, "I remembered that I myself, in my smaller way, sang off charnel steps." (A charnel-house was a slaughterhouse.)

It is a very important distinction that a charnel-house is actually a repository for human remains/bones, NOT a slaughterhouse.

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&hs=3Pk&defl=en&q=define:charnel+house&ei=d_ICSoXmOYbfmQf2n9nUBA&sa=X&oi=glossary_definition&ct=title

With this correct definition, the E.D. quote/poem makes more sense. Why would she have been singing off the steps of a place where livestock is slaughtered?

Thank you for sharing this writing with us.

superder — Thu, 07 May 2009 15:20:21 GMT

I pray that I don't have to go through something like you've described, but thank you for sharing, even though it's probably still tough to think, much less write about losing a loved one to cancer.

Bless you.

important series

nemesis — Thu, 07 May 2009 14:08:20 GMT

I have felt so much while reading your series. I lost my mother about a year before you lost yours. I'm grateful I had her with me for much longer than you had your mother, but in the end we're still children no matter how old we are, and all feel lost without Mom. Thank you for sharing and reflecting so much of what I have felt. I still miss her, but feel so close to her still at times -- when I cook one of her recipes, or read her cookbooks, filled with her notes in the margins; when I was seriously ill a few months ago but recovered well. I wish I could write something that would help, but the only real comfort, over time, is knowing how lucky you were to have a great mother.Not everyone's memories are so full of love.

Grieving - Even Now

mkkb495@gmail.com — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 20:57:51 GMT

My father died 9 years ago next month. And I'm still grieving. Not breaking down with tears on a moments notice but there are moments where I will tear up.

I'm happy for 2 things I was able to accomplish in my relationship with my father. First, we were estranged for 5 years (my fault) but got back together and enjoyed 10 happy years together. I guess I matured and accepted responsibility. Secondly, I was able to help him achieve his final wish. That he would be able to die in his own home. Where he felt comfortable and close to his family.

Several of my siblings and I were with him when he died, in fact I had my hand on his shoulder and my sister was holding his hand. We just looked at each other and had the same thought. That some life force just left the room. It was the most profound moment of my life and something I'll never, ever forget.

What I have realized now is that I'm not fearful of dying. Not that I'm looking forward to it but that I now realize it's part of the cycle of life and is unavoidable. My father died a "good" death, he was able to see all his children and say goodbye. I don't know what else a person could ask for. For both the father and the son.

Acute loneliness

LirianV — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 03:48:59 GMT

Thank you for sharing - it was both heartbreaking and a sense of support to see that somebody is going through a life-changing experience so similar to my own. My Mom passed away suddenly in mid December and considering my age (early 30s) I found myself outside any of the grief support groups where I live. Thus, as if losing Mom and all we shared and the pain witnessing the effect her passing away has had on my Dad and my brother weren't enough, I found myself isolated from the world around me - which seemed intent on not understanding me or not being able to listen. Lately I feel this acute loneliness, regardless whether I am with people or on my own. And weekends are the worst. Was wondering, whether anybody has experienced anything like that.

Thanks again. Please keep up the posts, alhtough I can imagine how hard it must be to streamline the cornucopia of emotions, feelings, confusion, memories, thoughts that you are probably dealing with...

Selfish

Soccerfreak — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 09:27:50 GMT

I admit that I come to these articles late, but I appreciate them.

I would advise that there is not enough being provided to care for the psyche of the aggrieved, whether they be the survivor or the caregiver/lovegiver.

I am a survivor of cancer, twice now, the last time after first being told, erroneously, that I had 10 months to live, more or less.

What I have learned over time, from my own experience and from talking to others in the survivor/caregiver community, is that grief is a selfish thing.

I do not mean that in the negative way that we usually associate with the word 'selfish'. I mean that grief is self-ish. The dead do not care what we do, after all. The grieving is for ourselves.

That is not to say that grief is a bad thing. I personally think it is a great thing, a natural way for the living to express anguish at their loss, to relieve stress, to move beyond the moment. I say that from an evolutonary or biological standpoint: it serves a survival purpose, it helps us to cope, for want of a better word.

That said, it is important that we not wallow in our grief. It is important that we turn our grief into positive action. I would suggest for the writer, for example, that she turn her grief into greater memories than a mere apple pie, albeit that is a sweet sentiment and a supportive one by her dad.

I would adivse that those in grief who seem not able to escape its clutches turn the grief into pro-active actions commemorating a loved one. Do the Relay for Life. Go to a children's hospital to support and entertain children. Start a marathon or join a marathon. Find a way, any way, to commemorate the loss in a positive way.

Grief is for us, those of us who survive. I tell you as one who thought his life was to be shortened greatly (only to thankfully be told that there was a big OOPS in that scenario) that grieving is not a thing for the dead or even the dying. It is for those who will go on.

It is up to you, up to us, to turn our grief, at some point, into a positive force.

I hope that the writer can realize that, and I hope that she can do it.

I hope that you can too.

Take care,

Joe

A poem about grieving and baking

MaryAnn — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 19:26:46 GMT

A POEM FOR WILL, BAKING by Susan Rich

Each night he stands before
the kitchen island, begins again
from scratch: chocolate, cinnamon, nutmeg,
he beats, he folds;
keeps faith in what happens
when you combine known quantities,
bake twelve minutes at a certain heat.
The other rabbis, the scholars,
teenagers idling by the beach,
they receive his offerings,
in the early hours, share his grief.
It’s enough now, they say.
Each day more baked goods to friends,
and friends of friends, even
the neighborhood cops. He can’t stop,
holds on to the rhythmic opening
and closing of the oven,
the timer’s expectant ring.
I was just baking, he says if
someone comes by. Again and again,
evenings winter into spring,
he creates the most fragile
of confections: madelines
and pinwheels, pomegranate crisps
and blue florentines;
each crumb to reincarnate
a woman – a savoring
of what the living once could bring.

This has been a l.ovely series

herzliebster — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 03:34:38 GMT

Every time a new installment came up I have read it eagerly and been moved by the precision of the self-observation and the beauty of the writing.

Thank you, Meghan.

Thank you, Meghan

nafspac — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 12:43:41 GMT

For writing this series of articles. Having them in plain sight on Slate has been helpful to me. My own mother, just 58 years old, has brain cancer. I can't bring myself to really think much about the future, but reading your experiences has been a comfort to me -- if they hadn't been right here, easily found, I wouldn't have read them. But I'm better for having listened to your experience, and crying for you and for myself. Thank you.

recipes

ugemitch — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 18:59:13 GMT

My mom died when I was 19. I had learnt some recipes by that time (brownies, apple crumble) but not not enough, not completely by heart. I have never tried baking brownies again. I would not want to use any other recipe but hers. I tried apple crumble, it was good. But I always think I am missing out some crucial ingredient (nutmeg?).

Finitude

Robert D. Stolorow — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 06:25:49 GMT

FINITUDE

Robert D. Stolorow

If we’re not self-lying,
we’re always already dying.
If we’re not self-deceiving,
we’re always already grieving.
The answer to the existential quiz?
“Good-bye is all there is.”

Always Grieving

Robert D. Stolorow — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 23:10:49 GMT

In my view, we NEVER "recover" from grief. We find a place for it in an expanded life. (See RD Stolorow, Trauma and Human Existence, Routledge, 2007.)

Meghan's article on Grieving

Mary Jane Hurley Brant — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 01:38:59 GMT

Meghan's article was beautiful and touching. She did a wonderful and loving job comforting her mother who was ready to leave and receive her reward in heaven.

May her soul now rest in peace.

Mary Jane Hurley Brant, M.S., CGP

Author of When Every Day Matters: A Mother's

Memoir on Love, Loss and Life

Simple Abundance Press, Oct. 1, 2008

http://WhenEveryDayMatters.com

Grieving

Counting My People, by Dr. Helen Davey

Mother loss

Friendship and Mourning

"Treatable" vs "Curable"

Emily Running

Grieving

Motherless Daughters

Thank You

“Star Crust Memories”

Grieving Lost Innocence

An Irish Poem

our culture has so little place for death

Charnel-House is *not* a slaughterhouse, important diff!

Thank you for sharing this writing with us.

important series

Grieving - Even Now

Acute loneliness

Selfish

A poem about grieving and baking

This has been a l.ovely series

Thank you, Meghan

recipes

Finitude

Always Grieving

Meghan's article on Grieving

Charnel-House is not a slaughterhouse, important diff!