Life consists of a series of challenges. They are the pedals on the bicycle of life. And primary to our success in dealing with these challenges is the degree to which we accept them, if not welcome them. Acceptance (as opposed to resistance) frees you to go ahead and make choices – to change the situation if possible, to walk away from it if possible or to settle into the acceptance of the new what is. In my last post, When Now is Enough, I wrote about my transformational acceptance regarding my mother’s dementia. I had reached that settled state.
Four weeks ago, she passed away. The time from her not being well physically to her departure was thankfully short.
Photo courtesy of Elizabeth McAndrew
Previously, during that time when I railed against her situation, before I reached acceptance, I had always thought, given her grasp on reality and the ensuing circumstantial changes it necessitated, that I would be overwhelmingly relieved for her when the time came. That my relief would leave little room for any other twists of emotion.
And after my change in thinking, I was sure that my state of acceptance and peace would continue in the face of her death and its finality.
But in truth, the reality unleashed a whirlpool of emotions fed by distracted thoughts. Nothing ran according to my pre-emptive script. That in itself was confusing. In fact, I began to wonder if I even knew what I was thinking and feeling.
The realisation gradually dawns – there is no script, there is no control, and attempts in that direction are futile. It’s time for acceptance, once again, this time of the whirlpool and the very individual nature that comprises such whirlpools. They change direction in an instant, they develop from swirls into maelstroms.
Naturally I’m relieved for her, for her release, and I’m sad for those of us left in the trail of her memory. The knowledge of her always being there, and for so long, represented a constant in a life that otherwise seems beset by inconsistencies. The relief side of this emotional seesaw engenders a sense of calm, until sensory reminders of her trigger another surge of sadness, or my restless thinking wanders around unanswerable questions.
There’s been a depth of emotional stirrings, the effect of which has taken its time to surface into awareness, arising at irregular intervals, awakening me to the full warm tenderness and complexity of my relationship with my mother, and of course to the realisation that no more chapters or details can be added now.
Waves of sadness take you unawares. That’s what happens during this time. But co-existing along with those waves appears to be a struggle to resist any outward show of feelings. Holding back tears, keeping composure intact. Why I wonder do we find this so awkward? Why is the western culture, particularly that of Anglo-Saxon origins, so inhibited in expressing deeper feelings?
Major events in life carry a prescribed code of conduct which, in the absence of questioning, directs us through the motions of ceremony.
Yet emotions create an inner force that needs an outlet through which to release the stress and emotional pain. According to the Harvard Medical School, keeping difficult feelings inside, otherwise known as repressive coping, can be bad for health, linked to a host of serious physical and mental conditions.
In this vein, I deeply respect customs such as keening, a form of vocal lament commonly associated with Gaelic Celtic funeral traditions. Although, according to linguistic anthropologist Jim Wilts, it dates back to 2600 B.C. in Egypt, and was at one time practised universally. The practice was discouraged by the Christian Church around the 6th century in favour of only priests and clerics leading the ceremony. It is still practised, however, in parts of the world including the Middle East, parts of Africa, East and Southeast Asia.
As Dr Sarah Campbell, a Naturopathic doctor, says, “Heavy emotions don’t come up to punish us. They come to liberate us.”
That is exactly it. Crying out the grief is cathartic and in essence healing. And besides, the effort required to suppress spikes of sadness as they have occurred, was, for me, beyond the limit left in the wake of emotional exhaustion. So yes, I have allowed my tears, forewarning my partner not to stress or think that he needed to do or say something each time they flowed. The waves of sadness have been allowed to pass through with acceptance and far less tension. And so too, in the lighter moments, has laughter arisen without a trace of guilt. In the mishmash of emotions, being real has led the way.
This is of course my personal experience which I felt I needed to share and thereby bring closure to the previous post.
Mourning is an individual process with no templates, no shoulds or should nots. It’s a case of allowing what you feel without resistance and in truth.
There are no heroes in mourning.
What a great read - relevant to all of us at some point in our lives. I am left with a sense of freedom to honour my emotions and express them healthily.
So true this!