GRIEVING

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

Preface......................................................ixIntroduction.................................................xiiiPART I—THE RETREAT.....................................1Fighting the Inevitable......................................3The Process of Grieving......................................9Stages of Grieving and Our Relationships.....................12The Power of Grieving........................................17An Improbable Mission........................................19From Retreat to Pilgrimage...................................20PART II—THE JOURNEY....................................23A Moment in Time.............................................25Destruction..................................................30My Retreat...................................................35Choices......................................................39Sanctuary....................................................43Currents.....................................................47Coming Home..................................................52Surrender....................................................57Conclusion—We Continue.................................61References...................................................63About the Author.............................................65

Chapter One

For all of us, at one time or another, life presents situations that are beyond our control. We are confronted with obstacles and sometimes, these obstacles bring us face to face with realities we cannot comprehend. How does one cope with the death of a child, the loss of health, the debilitation of aging? How does one cope with losing a house, a salary, a position of respect in a profession? Like others who have suffered and struggled through such crises, these painful and sorrowful experiences dug deep into my own being. And I fought them—valiantly! Where was my faith, my trust in the Lord?

In prayer, I began to travel that road of grieving, unprepared and unwilling, mourning a life I never imagined I would leave. Even though my faith told me differently, I knew I would be walking alone without the security I had come to assume. As different as this new life would be, I knew that I could only move ahead, onward to a life that was at once frightening and beguiling. The agonizing choices I had to make were deeply painful. Living with changes in my routine and watching as others distanced themselves from me was distressing. I was still a person, but I was treated like the damaged part of a whole. Whom did I have to blame?

I suffered the results of this choice: the anger and hostility, the blaming and the sorrow, the severed relationships—this world that was so foreign to me. I also began to wonder at this person I was becoming. I was a life coach, I held an advanced degree. I was well-versed in relationship skills. I supervised others learning these skills. Yet, these very skills I knew so well were absent in my life.

With many years of experience in the field of life coaching, I felt like I was a stranger to myself turning away from the life of predictable and promised routine I knew, to face a life of loneliness. I had lost much in this decision—security, comfort, and stability—in a society meant for families and not for singles. More than anything else, I had lost my known self. Our Lord's words to St. Faustina, "Jesus, I trust in you," sounded profound, yet echoed in me, hollow and meaningless. Instead of providing me with reassurance, these words, a true profession of faith, uttered so frequently in the past, challenged me to find my connection to a God I felt had left me. What had once been a habitual prayer became an echo of the past.

I was disappointed in myself for allowing things to happen and frustrated by a situation that was so alien to me. My friends' lives seemed stable, yet mine fell apart. They continued to celebrate family traditions while I was propelled into a life I read about in novels—one of searching and stumbling to find a new identity. I was harder on myself than anyone else could be. I could barely face the grief. I was exhausted by the daily rush of tears from a lost life that plunged me into a state of seeking. I was awakened by the piece of paper declaring me an individual once again. Shadowed by the few who could help me, I could only focus on the ones who deserted me, including my God Who had suddenly become quiet, distant, and seemingly unwilling to provide guidance for me on this journey.

Blind and deaf to the possibilities, I became angry at the reality. My time was spent seeking a place where I would be accepted as half of the whole, as a remnant of what was. I searched for meaning in a world that was meaningless. I needed a safety net, a haven for my soul that struggled through decisions and crises that eventually wore me out. I became someone who went through the motions, lacking desire or feeling because I was, as an afterthought, numb from the pain and trauma I experienced.

But, like others experiencing trauma from death, accidents, and health issues, the safety net did not exist as I imagined. The friends I wanted quickly disappeared as the reality of this new life emerged. Their silence was piercing. My memories of friendships were solidified into a past that would remain frozen in time. The laughter and friendship that formed from a couple's relationship became estranged when the couple was non-existent-only a pair of individuals. It was like being born into a past state of life—one I had imagined was gone forever.

Some colleagues I expected would rally to my side chose to walk parallel to me, perhaps questioning my choices and misunderstanding my decisions in light of my faith. Every attempt at making meaning would crumble—no explanations could satisfy me, no reasons for this change could calm me and no individuals could promise me that life would one day, be right again. My attempts to succeed would cause me to stumble—in finding a new home, a new purpose, and a new environment. My family would be redefined from those with whom I lived for years into strangers—now neighbors—now those with whom I share my memories, dreams, and sometimes, despair.

Could this truly be my life? Why was I in this place in time, alone and suffering? The more I sought to make sense of my failing relationships, the more I realized I had no control over anything. My prayers were empty, echoing in my heart and remaining unanswered, at least in my mind. Detachment began to define me—I clung to it in order to find myself. It has remained. In fact, it has defined me as a new person—one who is able to move forward without allowing the pains of the past to crush me. I pray it has evolved into love and gratitude for the gift of relationships. Gratitude places one in a position of humility awaiting the gift of presence. It does not seek response or commitment but lifts the many gifts of relationship to the Lord. In this state of gratitude, we seek the Lord's kindness and generosity to those who have gifted us with their friendship and trust asking for peace and joy for them without seeking selfish motives. Looking toward tomorrow, the memories do not shape my responses, but they draw me toward different possibilities in life.

For anyone with a death, a change, a new pathway, holidays can be paralyzing. Past memories of happy times distantly remain while one forges future memories with different faces in a different time. Clothing in a new closet; pictures on a new wall provoke a longing for happier moments and former haunts. Songs evoke sad memories; familiar scents throw one back into the past for which they long but not the past they knew—the past they created in memory. This created past tends to forget many of the issues and sorrows and instead, focuses on the good times, the pleasant moments that we wish could have lasted forever. We try to rekindle those memories and touch them in different ways. We hope they will not continue to elicit pain.

However, visiting familiar places and driving familiar roads could not ease the pain of the past. I pretended that life was fine and was just continuing at a different address with an unfamiliar environment. I fought thoughts of failure. I fought the sorrow. I fought the embarrassment and shame. I fought because I was sure that God would never want me to suffer. But I suffered. For years. I will continue to suffer in some ways—for God has shown me, in dramatic ways that I am not who I imagined my self to be. Suffering not only helped to reshape me, it defined me.

The way I thought I would deal with events was totally different from the way I actually responded. "For I do things that I do not understand. For I do not do the good that I want to do. But the evil that I hate is what I do," (Rom. 7:15). This verse had new meaning for me. How easily I would question others' actions. "How can they do this? What kind of a person would ...?" Now, people were asking those same questions of me and I had no answer for them. Those questions hurt. I had no control over people's interpretation of my experience, their sideward glances, their muttering comments. I realized that my words and explanations were meaningless to them. They already had tried me and found me guilty. Since that time, and with great thanksgiving in my heart, I have learned that I, too, have no right to judge others. It is a lesson that continues to create opportunities for me every day.

Humiliation was a constant companion. Rejection and pain surfaced everywhere. It was difficult maintaining a presence in a community in which I was no longer accepted. I eventually decided that I had no strength to continue conserving and maintaining what I had developed with others and myself. I had to let go. For any of us, letting go of our reality is never easy—we try to find meaning in meaningless relationships. We strive to find fulfillment in achievements that bring little satisfaction.

Eventually, and through many miles of biking, driving, and wandering aimlessly, I was able to give up the dreams and instead, accept the fact that some things are not meant to be. Although it was not an easy task it was one that required intense focus on accepting reality. The image of my self was once again challenged. The strength I thought I had disintegrated before my fragile ego. I learned that I am nothing on my own and can do nothing on my own. I can do nothing without Him and will never be anything without Him. And to my great surprise, I finally discovered that He had answered prayers in ways greater than I could ever imagine, fulfilling places of need that I never knew existed—teaching me how narrow my concept of life truly was. Edith Stein said, "The Cross is not an end in itself. It is raised up and points above itself," (1960, p.11). Reading that phrase during the early struggles of my life change made little sense. Now, however, I realize that the preparation for our eventual glory in strength and love does not always define itself in anticipated joy but rather in difficult struggles.

This was an important discovery for me—it would help me to recognize the weakness of my spirit by watching my attempts at managing life fail miserably until I surrendered to someone greater than myself. Seeing my failings in so many areas, I slowly began to find the strength I would need to continue on my journey. One of these areas of strength came from clutching rosary beads. They provided a sense of hope as I shared my grief with a Mother who was always present, always ready and willing to comfort me. I was so wrapped up in the pain I was feeling that this physical reminder of a spiritual Mother helped me to experience a beautiful unfolding in my life. Those beads were a constant in my pocket, working, training, even as I lay trying to sleep. I sought out chapels for prayer and days of meditation that became sacred to me. Having time to just rest in the presence of Our Lord and Our Lady at sacred spaces was a treasure for my soul. Reinforcing this knowledge, that I am surrounded by a presence that defies my comprehension, those beads still accompany me everywhere—and the moments for connecting with my Mother remain blessed and special to me.

Grieving can be a positive movement for all of us who have suffered a deep loss. Grieving as a process helps us to accept and integrate the sorrow and memories and dreams into meaningful elements of the future. It is more difficult to view another's response to life and say that they should or should not have done something. Through humiliations and losses, we do learn our dependence on the Lord. The one lesson I must continue to learn in my stubbornness is this: only by the grace of God, can I accomplish or become anything. All else that I struggle to maintain or secure are wasted efforts. And the path that I took was one of grieving for so many losses and so many dreams that would never materialize.

At one of my darkest moments, a friend shared a passage from The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton. "I will give you what you desire ... I will lead you by the way that you cannot possibly understand, because I want it to be the quickest way. Therefore all the things around you will be armed against you, to deny you, to hurt you, to give you pain.... Because of their enmity; you will soon be left alone. They will cast you out and forsake you and you will be alone," (1948, p. 471). Alone. These words of Merton could have been written just for me! They helped me to realize that people worldwide suffer in profound ways and feel alone. Could this pain ever be healed in the wake of the fear that seemed to encompass my life day and night—fear of failure, disappointment, and loneliness?

The Process of Grieving

Our losses in life are many. They differ in time and circumstance and each one affects us uniquely. Although they shape our being individually, they touch us universally as well. Through the understanding of loss, we recognize that some experiences have no boundaries. Grieving is one of these unbounded experiences—it cannot be limited by time or space. Tears are the same from continent to continent, year to year. A grieving mother in Kenya will understand the pain of a grieving mother in California. The tears of a Chinese child find themselves etched on a Canadian child. Loss penetrates every culture and at one time or another touches everyone. Although other cultural expressions of sorrow may not replicate ours, their source is a shadow of our own pain. Watching a commercial for starving children or news clips of an earthquake and the desperation of people searching for familiarity in their life touch us all no matter where the disaster occurred. We can relate because fear and searching for the familiar is a common experience that roots us in our family, community, and world.

Watching another's loss may produce uncomfortable feelings—ones that may actually reflect our own feelings of loss and the fear of experiencing loss. Our sorrows may also echo the same sorrows of a previous generation. Our sadness may move us to contemplate the meaning of one's presence or circumstances. The sadness that permeates the spirits of many shares the universal call of "Why?"

Suffering emerges from many sources and surrounds us throughout our journey of life—from the loss of a beloved pet, to the incarceration of a sibling to the loss of our belongings in tragic circumstances. Perhaps a dream unfulfilled occupies our thoughts or the child that we could not conceive remains present. The disappointments in life may have been too frequent or relationships stale and meaningless. Suffering can be seen in the humiliation one experiences when passed over for a promotion or the loss of income when a job change occurs. If others have gained prestige while we have remained in the background, if recognition was not given for an achievement we attained, if opportunities were not offered to us but to others, we have experienced loss. Pain is experienced as a result of our own dignity and pride when someone proves us wrong or we have become unable to defend our selfish behavior toward another. Loss may be disguised as health that deteriorates—dementia, mental illness, or the ability to move. It is felt in the violation of a life once lived in safety but now lived in fear through the robbing of innocence and security in a family.

Through such suffering and loss in life, whether anticipated or traumatic, we are presented with the reality of the life we may not have chosen or ever imagined. We are shoved onto a road with no signs to guide us; we are saddled with an experience that may have chosen us instead. The sufferings of St. Paul as he journeyed endlessly while he was being imprisoned, reviled, and hated can guide us if we will look at them as they were—roadblocks that could have had him throwing in the towel and becoming frustrated with his efforts. Instead, he consistently praised God for the anger and hatred he experienced. Perhaps it was his realization that he was not in control—that he was not the one calling the shots. In Romans 5: 3-5, Paul says ... "but we also find glory in tribulation, knowing that tribulation exercises patience, and patience leads to proving, yet truly proving leads to hope, but hope is not unfounded, because the love of God is poured forth in our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from GRIEVINGby J. Catherine Sherman Copyright © 2011 by J. Catherine Sherman, PhD.. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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