Singing Mother Home: A Psychologist's Journey through Anticipatory Grief

Post-Bereavement Grief

P 132 And so, wherever I go and wherever you go, the ground between us will always be holy ground. quoted by Henri Nouwen So what, after all, does death take away, and what do you get to keep? Clearly, when a loved one dies, we have to give up the physical presence, and all that entails, of the deceased. We have known this all along, of course, but the totality of the experience is still a shock when it happens—and it is not comprehended all at once, but is usually realized progressively over time. He or she will not be there for birthdays anymore, or to exchange thoughts and feelings and hugs with, or to check out memories with. We will not see their faces again, or hear their laughter, or prepare a holiday meal with them. The physical reality of the person, which up until now we had always associated with who they were, will be gone. Giving up this earthly connection is usually very painful for us; acclimating to the world without the physical presence of the loved one is both the cause and the function of grief. Post-Bereavement Grief p POST-BEREAVEMENT GRIEF p 133 Each grief experience is unique. I watch a videotape of Mom relating family history and feel increased connection as I note with pleasure the characteristic look on her face when she searched her mind for a date and the little nod she gave when it was successfully retrieved . Yes! I think. I’d forgotten those tiny little gestures that made her presence so unique, and it is gratifying to see them again. My brother, watching the tape with me, feels sorrow. She’ll never be able to tell family stories again. My son, caught up in the same story, may feel frustration because there are facts he wants to know that she leaves out. Same woman, same tape, all family members who loved her— and very different reactions. I sit behind a woman in church who has on a red jacket like one I gave Mom, and the same wavy white hair and thin hands. Later I can’t remember a thing about the service except this woman and the melancholy she evoked in me. Why, I wonder, is the experience of seeing Mom on tape comforting, but the experience of seeing a woman who reminds me of her so painful? My best guess is that the second experience felt like Mom was almost physically present, and it was her apparent elusiveness which caused pain. Several months after she died, I returned to Bath Abbey in England, where my sister and I had taken her five years before. I longed for Mom more profoundly than I had at any other time or place. It was as if she was almost there, as if wisps of her physical presence must surely remain. The associations and memories of this place had been completely set for me within the context of our physically being there together. In my mind, if I was there she surely must be also. I have come to understand the poignancy of almost, as well as to understand that logic has little power to deal with it. I hold in my hands leather gloves that Mom wore in her twenties. I bring them without thinking to my face and feel slightly pleased. No almostness. Why then, does seeing a little girl skipping beside her mother on a sidewalk bring waves of longing that linger all day? I do not know. We humans are such terribly unpredictable creatures! Such moments SINGING MOTHER HOME P 134 are not generalizable from one person to another or even to the same person at another point in time. They touch pockets of sadness and longing inside us that we had been unaware of moments before. In one way or another, such experiences are a tribute to what the other person meant to us, and as such honor both the person and our relationship to the deceased. But—to answer the second half of my question, what we get to keep: According to the newer understanding of grief, we get to keep the relationship! We get to keep the comfort and guidance that the connection has always offered, although we must learn to access it differently. The opportunity may even come to work through old grievances and misunderstandings and to reach a...