• It is important to note that children have many questions about death, and these are usually different than the ones that occur to adults. Children’s questions deserve simple, straight forward answers. The first task of a grieving child is to make sense of the factual information about how the loss occurred. A caregiver’s direct, concrete explanation of the facts surrounding the death will help the children begin to come to terms with what has happened. They may ask to hear the facts a number of times. They may also want to share the story with many others … friends, teachers, strangers … to try to comprehend the unimaginable that has happened.
• Children’s perception of loss and their grief has to be understood according to their developmental levels. Death, or indeed any loss, means different things to children of different ages. Enquire and try to figure out what this loss mean to this child at this particular time in life. What they feel they have lost will be a determinate of what they are missing, and what needs to be.
• Dispel any fears the child may have. Children are often afraid that someone else in the family, or they themselves will die also. They need to have reassurance that these fears are unfounded. Every child is afraid of being abandoned, so if one parent has died, the remaining parent can assure the child that he/she expects to live a long time, and will take care of all the child’s needs.
• Children need to teach adults about their grief. Every child and every response is unique. Rather than assuming that we know what the child is feeling, we must allow the children to be our teachers. As children share their grief with others they trust, they tell us what they are feeling and experiencing. As adults communicate respect, acceptance, warmth and understanding, the child will sense that they are being taken seriously and be more open to the stabilizing presence of that individual as they reach out with meaningful support.
• Children express themselves in a variety of ways after a loss. Some of the most widely recognized include: an apparent lack of feelings; acting out behavior, due to feelings of insecurity and abandonment and often expressed by behaviors which provoke punishment, for children would rather be punished than feel ignored; regressive behavior; fear; guilt and self-blame; “Big Man” or “Big Woman” syndrome, (often encouraged by those who with good yet unwise intentions tell a 10 year old that he has to be the “man of the family”); disorganization and panic; loss and loneliness; explosive emotions.
• Simple ceremonies such as lighting a candle next to a photograph; placing a letter, picture or special memento in a casket; or releasing a helium balloon with a message attached for the person who died, can be effective rituals of farewell. Children can be wonderfully creative with these kinds of meaningful, symbolic ideas.
• Speak in simple language: Ask the child what he/she thinks, knows and feels, and respond specifically to these concerns. Do not give excessive detail, and make sure you check how the child is putting the information all together.
• Be honest. Avoid half truths. Never tell a child something he/she will later have to unlearn. Don’t avoid the word death, because sometimes the alternatives (asleep, gone away, in a better place, etc.) create worse difficulty in a child’s mind.
• Be open about the situation: When my wife died, my boys were 9 and 7 years of age. As much as I might have wanted to, there was no avoiding the questions that arose. “Why did Mommy die?” “Where is she now?” “What will we do if you die too?” I tried to answer the questions they asked simply and honestly, without giving too complicated responses. They discerned that I was making them a part of it all, and was being open about everything and accepted that.
• Initiate the conversation: Children may not ask questions because they are not sure if they will upset we adults. They may not know what to ask, or be able to put their uncertainties into words. They know that something unusual is happening, and are scared by it. Instead of asking questions, they may turn to whining or other negative behaviors, which add to your emotional stress. In response, rather than helping them cope, adults may get upset or angry and this adds to the reluctance to talk. Try to be sensitive to opportunities to ask children how they feel. We might ask, “You’ve probably been wondering about …. ”, and pose the question that the children may be asking.
• Sometimes our concern for the children can mask a deep need to resolve our own adult grief issues. Sometimes it is easier and more socially acceptable to say, “I am concerned about the children,” than it is to say, “I’m having a hard time dealing with this myself.” So be careful not to transfer your own fears and anxieties on to the children.
• Often a child may benefit from a support program. Talk to your doctor, spiritual leader or other community resource people to see what programs are available for your children.
• Above all, let the child know that these feelings of grief are natural and a necessary part of the grieving process and that their grief will pass. Assure them they are not alone, and that others, including you yourself, feel sad as well. Assure the child, however, that these feelings will pass with time, and that life will return to normal.

Sally’s words teach us that a child’s feelings resulting from the death of a parent or sibling may not be obvious to others. Because the child thinks the universe revolves around them, a death can produce an anxiety that translates into a “fear of losing myself”. Sally, at 5, felt like she was getting “smaller and smaller” and that she might “disappear”. This fear of being lost, and the related anxieties about being on the outside of things is common among children of all ages.

It should be obvious that any child old enough to love is old enough to grieve. Children of ages are affected by any significant loss, and often very deeply, because their coping mechanisms are just developing. To understand the complexity of how each situation affects a child, we should ask ourselves: 

“What does THIS loss mean to THIS child, at THIS time in his/her life?” 

However it is important to recognize that a child’s comprehension and their response to a death varies, depending on their age and developmental levels. Death means different things to children of different ages.

For Infants, awareness of their world is limited, so the death of a mother is perceived as “unavailability” or “absence”. An infant’s needs are for physical contact, warmth and consistency, which creates security. The absence of a nurturer poses a threat to survival, resulting in fears.

Between about 2 – 4 years, a child still has no concept of the permanence of death, but their fears are more numerous. Cartoons suggest that characters can be blown up, run over, hurt, but then simply get up and go about their business. Likewise the young child may believe that “Mum will come back” and may continue to act as if the dead person is still alive. Death is just a “sleep” from which they didn’t wake up.

Between ages 5-9, a child’s understanding of death undergoes another change. This is often the age of “magical thinking”. They see death as coming from an external source … a bogeyman, or angel who comes to take people away. They regard it as some kind of enemy or assailant. Thus children may regard death as something to outwit, rationalizing “if I am good or do the right things I will be able to reverse this.” If we do not make children a part of what is happening, or keep it “a secret”, they assume that somehow they are responsible, which mistaken perception merely adds complications to their mourning.

Again remembering that we are talking developmental levels as well as actual ages, between 9 – 12 the child begins to understand that death is the end of life, irreversible, and is a natural part of life rather than an enemy who steals people away. They become more concerned with the consequences of death … “who will take care of me? will we have to move? will Dad marry again? (and if so what will happen to us?)” Because they are no longer thinking of themselves as “little children”, they may present a façade of independence and coping. They want to comfort a surviving parent or family member, and may try to assume the roles of the person who has died. They want to be helpful, which can be OK, but caution is required. All too often younger children have a terrible burden placed on them by some well intentioned person who says, “You need to act grown up. You’re the father/mother of the family now.” The child will assume the role to attempt to master their pain and deny their helplessness, but it is unrealistic to expect a child to be anything other than a child.

Older children often need help to express their grief, especially over the loss of a parent. Research clearly shows that teenagers have more intense grief, but struggle desperately not to show it. Adolescents are suspended between the dependency of childhood and the adult responsibility they hope to earn. The young person may fear that expressing deep sadness or grief displays a return to childhood vulnerability, which they resist stoically. But also, it is part of the teenage role to be in conflict with parents, and so when a parent dies during this transition between reliance and self-determination, there can be a struggle. Besides, it is not regarded as “cool” to be talking about missing your parents. Teenagers are exceedingly concerned about the acceptability of their responses to others, particularly their peers. Thus the teen may find it difficult to express the feelings the death of a parent can raise.

Any death confronts teenagers with their own mortality. They could die. Angry at the death, they may adopt a “Why should I care” attitude. Perhaps as a defense, or maybe in defiance, young people sometimes engage in reckless or dangerous behaviors to show they don’t care or to try to prove they are immortal.

As we have mentioned, a child who has been personally affected by death will have multiple fears, among which might be:

• Fear of losing the other parent (then what will happen to me)
• Fear that he or she too will die
• Fear of going to sleep (lest I never wake up, like Mum)
• Fear of being separated from a parent or sibling
• Fear of being unprotected
• Fear of sharing feelings or emotions with others 

Then, this past summer, another family member got sick. In spite of heroic treatment with constant care and attention, they finally died.

No, it was not a child, parent, sibling or relative.Marian lost her cat!

For those who have never had a companion animal, pet loss is often hard to understand. “After all,” many say, “it was just a cat … or a dog, bunny rabbit, hamster, budgie or any one of many possibilities.” Pet loss is often overlooked by society, so when an animal dies, owners grieve alone because they are afraid that they will be ridiculed, or thought to be crazy or stupid, because, after all it is “only a pet”.

But for Marian, Pebbles was “one of the family”. This loss has been just as devastating to her as the death of her husband, probably complicated by the fact that she was “their” cat, and Pebbles death cuts one more string that connected her to Bob. Perhaps the loss of an animal is made more difficult because there is a lack of understanding of how significant this relationship can be, leading to little sympathy from those around.

In fact, within a week of Pebbles death, a neighbour showed up at the door with a new kitten for Marian, which she politely refused to accept, still too hurt from her loss to be able to invest in another relationship. She managed a wry smile as she told me about it. “Too bad they didn’t bring over some younger guy to replace BOB when he died”, she retorted, and the chuckle we shared helped put it in perspective.

In case you haven’t noticed, the Pet Industry is big business these days.

Report Buyer, a UK based online destination for business intelligence, has now added a new market report titled “The Pet Industry” which predicts that last year, North Americans will spend over $43 BILLION (£25 BILLION) on pet supplies and services, and that pet owners in the UK are fast catching up with their North American friends when it comes to spending money on their pets.  Pet food is the largest segment accounting for 42% of the total market. But non-food pet supplies such as litter, toys and over-the-counter medicines are the fastest-growing segment of the market. Stores in the UK are increasingly responding to the growing trend of the “humanization” of pets by providing accessories and products beyond leads and water bowls. A buyer for a major national chain recently stated that the response to the store’s new pet boutique has been “absolutely phenomenal”. Animal hospitals, and pet cemeteries are also growing exponentially, and cremation urns and other funeral paraphernalia is becoming big business.

And so, not surprisingly, grief counselors for pet loss are emerging. The loss of any relationship can cause intense pain, and even if others may not understand, a pet is often a significant and constant part of your life. Pebbles provided Marian a source of comfort and companionship, unconditional love and acceptance, and even fun and joy after Bob’s death. Little wonder she was devastated by the loss of that relationship.

While there are many common factors in grief over any relationship, there are issues that are unique to the situation that often trouble the grieving pet lover.

A major issue is guilt, especially in those frequent situations where the pet owner had to decide to euthanize the animal or where the cat was killed by a speeding car or a veterinarian treatment was unsuccessful. In Marian’s case, she spent an extraordinary amount on treatments hoping to give the cat a few extra years of life, and her some more time with her pet.

But after 8 months, she saw the writing on the wall. Vets may be the best judge of physical condition, but Marian was the best judge of her beloved pet’s quality of daily life. Seeing the constant pain, as well as having to undergo difficult and stressful treatments that didn’t seem to be helping, as well as Pebbles general lack of interest in life, Marian chose to end her beloved companion’s suffering, and the vet concurred.

Marian courageously insisted on being with Pebbles to the end, needing to see the cat passing peacefully and without pain. She spent some time with her beforehand, and continued to stroke and comfort her while the procedure was administered, and remained for some time after the cat had died. Many veterinary offices have developed a very sensitive and caring process for the procedure which is sometimes done in an office, in the person’s home, or even on occasion in a person’s car.

Then there was a decision about what to do with the remains. As with a human death, there are many options. Some alternatives are to leave the pet at the vet’s for disposal; to bury the animal at home (although city regulations often prohibit this, and it can be difficult if the person moves after a while); pet cemeteries provide dignity, security and permanence at a cost; cremation is less expensive and provides many options to handle the ashes, again at a cost, including urns, jewellery, etc. If you didn’t know it, folks, the pet funeral industry is alive and well.

Marian made all the decisions about what she wanted for Pebbles, and handled the situation like the trooper she is. But then she came home to an empty house, and it hit her like a ton of bricks. She felt a myriad of emotions:

She felt sadness that this constant companion who had provided a connection to her beloved Bob was gone.  She expressed anger that the treatments the vet had promised would give Pebbles a year or two of life (and that had cost her a small fortune) had not worked and had caused 6 months of suffering. She tormented herself with guilt over the fact that even though she knows it was “the right thing to do”, that SHE had made the decision, that SHE had killed her cat. Had she been too hasty? Could she have done more? And above all, the loneliness of missing the comfort and companionship she had clung so desperately to after Bob died.

Let me make a confession. I never did “get” the significance of pet loss, minimizing its importance in my own mind because I have never owned a pet, my fear of animals going back to being bitten by a neighbor’s rampaging German Shepherd dog when I was 10 years of age.

But I get it now, thanks to hearing Marian’s story. So many people get so much love and delight from their beloved pets in life, and like any significant relationship, they grieve deeply for them when they are gone. But it is more than that. People often make pets living symbols of their inner feelings: for some, symbols of their own innocence and purest feelings and the need to care; for others symbols of aggression and dominance as I personally found out at age 10. Whether positive or negative, when that pet dies a treasured secret part of the person also dies.

I did a bit of research in the “pet loss web sites” and found that much of the advice to help people through their grief is exactly the same as what is offered when a human companion dies. Regardless, grief is probably the most confusing, frustrating and emotional thing that a person can experience. It is even more so for bereaved pet owners, when society in general does not give them “permission” to grieve openly. Consequently, they often feel isolated and alone. It is known as disenfranchised grief. Luckily, more and more resources are becoming available to help the bereaved pet owner realize that they are NOT alone and that what they are feeling is entirely normal.

As Helen Keller once succinctly put it: “What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”

By Dr. Bill Webster

A 50/50 chance, to any gambler, is a pretty good bet. But did you ever stop to think that if you are in a significant relationship, there is a 50/50 chance that you will eventually grieve the loss of your partner.

Listen to some of the stories of people who experienced the loss of a spouse.

“I would go to work and it would seem that everything was the same as it had always been. But then I would come home. WOW! Just walking into that empty house. Nobody to say hello or ask me how I got on that day. No delicious aroma of supper in the oven. I had to make my own meal … when I felt like it … and most of the time I didn’t … because I was missing what I had lost … not just my wife, but also the person who used to look after me. That was when it hit me hardest.”  Michael

“The days that followed his death were both utterly full and completely empty … full of activity yet empty of life. Much of the time I sleep walked through the things I had to do, so numb that I was often completely unaware of what was going on around me. I felt like Pinocchio must have felt inside of the whale … cut off from everything that I thought was my life. Then an event or a few spoken words would bring me out of my darkness, only to find myself standing alone and confused on some strange and unfamiliar shore, full of feelings and memories, but also feeling utterly lost.”   Robyn

“She was not only my wife. She was also the one who would tell me if my socks matched; if my tie was straight, or if my hair was combed. She was able to tell me with one look if I was talking too much or saying something stupid. She was the one who would remember all the birthdays and special occasions, and all I had to do was sign cards. She was good at all the things I am not good at. So she complemented me and made me more whole. God, I miss her so much. I feel like part of me is missing.”  Joe

A common theme among people who have lost their spouse is the debilitating effects of feeling entirely alone and incomplete. The sense of feeling like you have lost an essential part of yourself is both painful and disconcerting. The world suddenly looks like a different place, often odd and distanced. You are not sure how to cope with life in general, and sometimes you may even wonder if you even want to try.

One 68 year old widow said, “There is no use trying because you can’t get anywhere anyway. I’m so tired all the time. Everything is too much effort.”

Some of the most common feelings and concerns after the loss of a spouse are reflected in the following statements:

          I felt like I had lost my best friend
          I am angry.
          I feel guilty that I didn’t do enough for him/her.
          I am afraid.
          I worry about lots of things, especially money.
          Suddenly I feel very old.
          I feel sick all the time.
          I think about my own death more frequently.
          I seem to be going through an identity crisis.
          I feel relieved that his suffering is over, then immediately guilty for feeling that way.

Behind each of these statements is a feeling. To fully understand the effects that the loss of that spouse has on that survivor, we need to understand the dynamics behind each of these reactions. The feeling communicates what the person is missing and offers an opportunity to examine the deficiency and find ways to cope with these responses in a way which will ultimately facilitate healing.

First, it is essential to recognize that healing cannot take place unless you EXPRESS what you are feeling and thinking as a result of your loss. That which cannot be put into words, cannot be put to rest. This is where a support group can play such a vital role for grieving people. The opportunity to talk about the person, their life as well as their death, what you miss about them, your feelings of loneliness, anger and many others, and to review the final days of their life and your relationship.

Even when there is some ambivalence about certain aspects of the life shared, it is important to verbalize your anger or your regret about what you lost and never had, or about what could or should have been.

There are some very real consequences from not expressing feelings. Studies clearly show that mortality rates are higher among those who do not articulate their grief, and this may also account for the much higher rate of males who die within a year of their spouse, due to the societal norms that make it more difficult for men to express emotions.

Some survivors ask, “How long should I talk about this? What is normal?” This concern is often motivated by the fact that within a few weeks or months of the death, others seem reluctant to talk about it. After all, their life has returned to normal. But the widow or widower needs to talk about it, because it just feels unbelievable. Life will never be “normal” again (even though a new definition of normality will be established eventually). So some grieving people need to talk for six months, but for others it can be two years or longer. Everyone needs and deserves to follow their own time line.

Over the years, I have noted FOUR situations particularly affecting grieving spouses that require an inordinate amount of personal courage:

          1. Coping with persistent unpleasant memories
          2. Avoiding certain rooms or situations in the house
          3. Experiencing hallucinations where the dead spouse is seen or heard
          4. Dealing with their spouse’s personal effects (clothes, tools, etc.)

Unpleasant memories most often relate to the painful images surrounding the death, and the frustration of not being able to “do” anything to change the outcome. Often through a life-threatening illness, a relationship will peak in one direction or another … a good relationship will tend to get better, a poor relationship will tend to get worse … although there are glorious exceptions. This intensity of the relationship prior to the death magnifies the loss, either by the person missing all the things done and shared through the illness, or by feelings of regret that they did not do enough. Often the inability of the survivor to “let go” of the image of the person in the present is connected to one or other of these factors.

If the person is avoiding sleeping in their own bed, or steering clear of certain areas of the house, this behavior should not be considered unusual or pathological. They are merely protecting themselves from stress. There is a reason for every behavior and perhaps that location is a too painful reminder of the death, or expresses a concern as to “how will I manage”.

Hallucinations (or however we choose to define these experiences) have a wide range of “explanations”. Is it a “visitation of the person’s spirit”, or is it a “product of sensory recall”. I try not to attempt to explain what it may or may not be, but rather to ask how the survivor felt after the experience. And almost always, the person feels reassured, relieved, comforted. If that is the effect, it hardly matters whether it is a dream, a hallucination or a visitation, and to argue that seems to me to miss the point.

Dealing with a spouse’s personal effects is something many survivors procrastinate over. Sometimes this has to do with an understandably low physical energy and emotional stamina. Because these are “special things” you may not know who to give them to or what to do with them. That is OK.

Do nothing until you are SURE that you feel comfortable with what will happen, even if that takes several months or longer. But when you do decide, ask a friend or family member to assist, or even just to be there and talk to you while you do it. Maybe there will be things that you simply do not want to discard or give away so keep them. Remember, it doesn’t hurt anyone or anything to leave your spouse’s things right where they are. Don’t allow anyone to force you into dealing with things until you are ready, sure and comfortable.

So far we have looked at some of the unique challenges surrounding the loss of a spouse.

Now we turn to examine how the surviving individual must convert the mourning process into a nurturing process as they seek to rebuild and reorganize a life where they feel like a half of them is missing.

I believe that an often overlooked aspect of losing a spouse is the change in identity the survivor experiences. We tend to define ourselves by our relationships, our work, our activities and involvements. Many couples define themselves as just that … a couple. It is not ME, it is WE. Admittedly the degree of change will be determined by the complexity of the relationship. But we really cannot understand what any person has lost until we understand the relationship that was shared and is now lost. What is missing from that relationship is really what the person is grieving. And, obviously, every single relationship is unique, with different dynamics and interaction.

So it is reasonable to say that the more dependency the person had on their spouse and the role as husband or wife, the greater the void now that the role is no longer there.

In other words, the surviving spouse not only grieves the person who has died, they also grieve the role that is lost. They suddenly find themselves cast into the role of being a “widow” or a “widower”, a role they neither relish nor desire. The question becomes, “Who am I now?” I still feel like the same person, but my roles in the family, community have changed. This, by the way is often why a grieving spouse will find comfort in getting back to work, because at least THERE, their role remains somewhat “constant” in that familiar context.

Of course, reclaiming ones self is only possible when you know who your “self” IS. Before you are able to reclaim, you have to identify and redefine, “Who am I NOW” in the light of my loss. The W of WE has to become the M of ME … but turning a W to an M means turning everything upside down, and that is exactly what the widowed person may feel.

So how can a grieving widow or widower redefine themselves? I think it is inextricably linked to interests and experiences. People who get involved, whether in necessary tasks like looking after children, family or work, or by involvements in the community, groups, activities, find that these things increase self esteem and energy as they enhance the person’s identity.

But let’s take a walk on the wild side. Although it is grossly unfair, the widower is often viewed as more “socially acceptable” than the widow. Because the percentage of widows greatly exceeds that of widowers, males are regarded as “eligible” whereas females are regarded as a “threat”. Accordingly, hostesses more frequently extend social invitations to males than to females, so a widow’s social life may not be as jam-packed.

On the other hand, because many men rely on their wives to arrange social activities, after her death it may be difficult to go out without her, to develop social skills, or to put forth the effort that he will need to enjoy the pleasure of other people’s company. Again, social clubs or support groups can provide a good bridge to help the person develop skills, or at least feel more comfortable in such situations. Michael, almost a year after his wife died, said:

“I think the difference between a male’s grief and that of a female is a cultural thing. Men are not as social as women. I mean I have friends, but when we sit down for a drink or something we talk about business or sports or activities. Men aren’t really taught to relate their feelings, or emotions, and certainly not their vulnerabilities. So when my wife died, my friends didn’t know what to say, as if they were afraid to ask me how I was feeling.”

Physical health is another area that concerns many people. Suppressed emotions can contribute to physiological symptoms, which can have serious consequences. Health doesn’t just happen! It involves exercise, good nutrition, avoiding excessive intake of caffeine, alcohol or drugs. Some survivors live on coffee or snack foods and rarely eat a balanced meal.

“The last thing in the world I wanted to do was eat. Everyone kept urging me to “eat something” so if someone was there or watching me, I would eat something to please them. But when I was alone, I ate nothing. In the first month after my husband’s death, I lost 20 pounds. It wasn’t till I started walking daily with my neighbor that my normal appetite returned.”

Insomnia is one of the major symptoms resulting from conjugal bereavement. This can be aided by what we do and what we consume in the hours before going to bed. But many males experience other physical symptoms. Again Michael brings an important insight:

“I’ve noticed some changes in my health. Particularly in my stomach … pains, indigestion, and other symptoms I won’t mention in polite company. My doctor put me through tests, which I think was a good thing to do, but he indicated that often men experience physiological reactions to the emotional stress of grief. That doesn’t minimize their importance. Maybe it’s easier for us to say “I have a pain in my stomach” than it is to say, “I have an ache in my heart.” But whatever it is, it is important to pay attention to the message.”

It may seem strange, but several people have reported to me how changing their physical environment has helped their emotional state. We should all from time to time look around our environment … at home, at work. Many times that can reflect our emotional state. A cluttered, untidy or dismal environment can often reflect a state of mind. But the opposite is also true.

Change usually happens from the inside out rather than the other way. The more you do to enhance your environment, making it cheerful and pleasant, the more your emotional health will be positively influenced.

While everyone is different, I found after my own wife died, and I was left to raise my two young sons, that I had to carefully arrange the surroundings in my home in order to better cope. I put lots of colorful and happy things in the kitchen, because that was where I had my biggest struggles after her death. I put positive, inspiring posters and items in the bedroom, because that was where I felt most lonely. I had ONE room where I had pictures and artifacts of our life together, and when I wanted to think about her, that is where I would go. When I left that room, I closed the door and focused on all the tasks I had to get on with.

Add color, brighten the place, tidy up a space for yourself, buy a new chair … the ways to make your daily living more pleasant are innumerable and the positive impact on your emotional well being will be tangible.

There is of course no definite point at which the grieving process is complete. Can we ever say, “I have completely healed from the loss of my spouse”? Who knows!

But as we redefine ourselves; as we relinquish old roles and establish new ones; as we develop increasing confidence in our social outlets that satisfy personal needs and coincide with our interests; as we become more able to

talk about our loss with relative ease; as we become able to be involved in an activity without being plagued by painful memories and images, as we find ourselves more able to reach out to others, and not be afraid to have fun and even to laugh again; you will be reassured that healing is being reaffirmed.

But it does take time. As one lady put it:

“A year was a big event for me. But once I got through that, I felt like I didn’t have to look back. Now I could look forward to see what I could do with what I had left. So I asked myself “What am I going to do with the rest of my life?” I want to do something significant but I’m not exactly sure what just yet. For the first time in my life I can do whatever I want and I plan to make the most of it.”

And why not?

How are we to understand bereavement?

Over the years, there have been numerous attempts to explain it. Perhaps the most influential and well-known theory has been that of Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, who in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying” focused on an emotional transition through five stages, beginning with denial and progressing through anger, bargaining and depression before arriving at acceptance. The “stage theory,” as it came to be known, quickly created a paradigm for how people die in our western culture, and eventually a prototype of how we should grieve.

The trouble is that stage theories of grief that make loss sound so controllable turns out largely to be fiction. Though Kübler-Ross captured the range of emotions that mourners experience, more recent research suggests that grief and mourning rarely if ever follow such a checklist; the process of grief is often complicated, untidy and unpredictable, more of a process than a progression, and one that sometimes never fully ends.

Even Dr. Kübler-Ross herself, towards the end of her life, recognized how far astray our understanding of grief had gone. In her book “On Grief and Grieving” (1995) she insisted that the stages were “never meant to help tuck messy emotions into neat packages.” If her injunction went unheeded, perhaps it is because that very messiness of grief is what makes us all so uncomfortable.

The implied suggestion of many traditional grief models seems to be that the person suffering a loss simply has to go through the inevitable process, wait it out, “see it through,” on the assumption that “time heals all wounds,” and that eventually “in time,” they will “get over it.” This would seem to suggest that in the emotional aftermath of a loss, bereaved individuals are essentially passive, having to simply submit to suffering through a series of stages or a certain structured grief system over a defined period of time and incidentally over which they have little or no control and in which there is not much choice. 

But this is not what people actually experience after bereavement. We cannot understand the grief process ONLY by some “timeline” system or “set formula” whereby a person goes passively through certain emotions, stages, phases or reactions in order to somehow eventually arrive at this destination we erroneously call acceptance.

So, consider this foundational fact: 

We cannot understand bereavement and every individual response to it unless we appreciate how each bereaved person’s world has been forever changed by the loss.

I am suggesting a different paradigm, another way of thinking about our topic. The main focus should not primarily be (as it so often is) on a person’s emotional reactions, or on their behaviours or manifestations of grief, and more specifically how we can “control” these in order to get things “back to normal.” Those who focus on these considerations are trying to “fix” a situation that simply cannot be fixed; trying to get “back to normal” something that has changed forever.

Losing someone we love is often likened to an amputation. But even this analogy tends to be too clinical. The word bereavement comes from the root word “reave” that literally means being torn apart. Losing a loved one has been described as being like a branch that is torn off a limb, not in some nice sanitized surgical way, but literally being ripped away. The emotional and behavioural reactions of the grieving person should be seen as symptoms of this unwelcome change.

I am suggesting that we serve people better if we focus on the significance of this bereavement to the individual rather than on the substance of their specific reaction to the bereavement. Rather than concentrating on the reactions of grieving people and then quantifying their responses, we need to ask the “why” of these reactions. We must understand the meaning of the loss to this individual, which I suggest is being “expressed” through their specific emotions and uniquely individual behaviours.

In other words, the emotions and reactions of grief should be seen symptomatically as behaviours in response to and in protest of the need to search for meaning in what has become a new and unwelcome world. This is the crucial point in understanding bereavement, one which many people do not recognize, understand or perceive. The task is to help the bereaved and grieving person locate themselves in a world that they know nothing about, and that they, and indeed WE, cannot fully understand.

Put simply, instead of trying to get people back to normal by seeking to resolve and rectify their emotions and behaviours, we should rather regard these reactions as a symptom of the much deeper issue, namely, “My world has changed … and I don’t like it.” Grief is a protest against something I didn’t want, don’t like, but can’t change. And the challenge for the helper is in enabling them to come to terms with this new albeit unwelcome reality by beginning to form appropriate new patterns of emotion and behaviour.

We would probably all agree that, in one way, bereavement is a “choiceless event.” Few if any would choose to lose those they love, or suffer through the other life losses that inevitably affect us. Even when the death is “by choice” such as a suicide, the incident is usually “choiceless” for survivors who wish they could have “done something” to change the outcome and feel guilt and regret because that option was not made available to them. Thus, bereavement is an unwelcome intruder in our lives, one which refuses to retreat despite our impassioned protests.

But, from another perspective, while the loss may be a reality we are powerless to avert, the experience of grieving itself involves hundreds of concrete choices that the bereaved person is invited or forced to make, or indeed avoid. It is in another way a call for us to change. To go with it, or to resist the process. We have a choice of whether to attend to the distress occasioned by the loss or to avoid the pain by “keeping busy” or “trying not to think about it,” which is an impossible task, by the way. We have a choice as to whether to feel and explore the grief of our loved one’s absence or to suppress our private pain and focus instead on simply trying to adjust to a changed external reality. Loss may be inevitable, but what we DO about it is optional. We may not have a choice in what has happened, but we do have a choice in what we do about it.

Foundational Fact: Grieving is something we do, not something that is done to us.

We need to gain a better understanding of not only “what” people experience after a loss, but also “why” grief affects people so uniquely and individually. We have come to realize that people do not passively and inevitably go through a series of stages or tasks. Rather the grief process involves many choices, with numerous possible options to approach or avoid the situation at hand.

In other words, any good paradigm of grief will not simply propose some futile attempt to re-establish pre-loss patterns of emotion or behaviour, expressed in comments like “getting back to normal.” Life has changed and will never be the same again! But that does not mean it cannot be good. The challenge is how we can support the person in integrating these changes into their life as it now is.

Perhaps we can illustrate it this way. We all write a script for our lives. I remember writing the screenplay for my life when I was a teenager. As the main character in the production, my draft scenario included going to school and university, having a career, meeting and marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. As the plot progressed, we would work hard, have children, do things as a family and when the kids were grown we would travel, then retire, and ride off into the sunset together. Think about YOUR script… most of us have one.

Every human being constructs a unique world of meaning. We all make assumptions about “how life is going to be” in the course of daily living. We are sustained by the network of explanations, expectations and enactments that shape our lives with ourselves and others. These assumptions provide us with a basic sense of order regarding our past, awareness regarding our current relationships and predictability regarding our future.

And most of us, at the end of the script, whatever the final details, add the words … “and they lived happily ever after.” Because that is what most of us would like to think is going to happen. While the particulars may change from time to time, we all want to think that life will be orderly, predictable, and go “according to the script.”

But sometimes life does not go according to the script. Not everything works out the way we planned. And then we find ourselves struggling to come to terms with “the grief of unmet expectations.” Any loss can be interpreted as disrupting the continuity of this assumed narrative. When this occurs, we have one of two choices: either we revise the plot by rewriting the script and assimilating the loss into pre-existing frameworks of meaning, ultimately reasserting or justifying the viability of our pre-existing belief system; or we accommodate our life narrative to correspond more closely to what we perceive as a changed reality in the violation of our assumptive world. 

It is vitally important to realize that “who we are” is determined not just by genetic makeup, but also by our experiences and how we allow them to affect us. In this statement we find an important key for life and living. We do not have a choice in how we are born and our genetic or cultural influence. We may have a choice over some difficult events and negative experiences that affect us. Stuff happens! But while we may not have a choice over certain circumstances, we do have a choice about how we are going to allow them to affect us. The key is in enabling people to make good choices about what they are going to “do” about what has happened.

So, we need to place the loss in a context of meaning. We can do this in one of two ways. First we can reaffirm what we formerly believed about life; or secondly, we can establish a new belief system about the meaning of life. In other words, does this experience make sense according to what I believed about life before or do I have to adapt my way of interpreting how life can be meaningful. The challenge is to find ways to integrate the experience into life as it now is, and to adopt new assumptions about our world which has been shaken and even violated by the loss.

The implication of this idea for caregivers, families and those seeking to support grieving people is that we need to recognize the unique and personal meanings of loss which will take us beyond clichéd expressions of support or preconceived ideas of what a particular loss “feels like” to any given griever. The particularity of any loss should prompt us to listen intently for clues as to the unique significance of the bereavement experience for each individual. 

Thus I contend that helping people through the grief of bereavement is not simply a matter of understanding the emotions that they may be expressing. Rather it involves supporting them through a reinterpretation of “how life can be meaningful even in the light of loss,” and empowering them to define life as it now is and to find ways to make the most of what they have left.