Misty Fog Of Grieving in 2021
With the death of a parent (and really, of any close family member, or best friend), a strange silence, or 'a heavy misty fog', may irresistibly descend upon, and eerily engulf, one's thinking and perception. Life is no longer viewed nor experienced in quite the same manner--when the dust eventually settles, a town may assume a different hue. It can't be the same--a major life reference point, and grounding, has irretrievably vanished. With the crashing reality of the demise of one's parent--the person who was biologically responsible for one's own existence (forging fixed blood-ties)--the surviving member may feel a disturbing sense of abandonment and disorientation, as well as emotionally uprooted and disconnected, with perhaps, a vague sense of mild meaninglessness assaulting the mind. As Thomas Mann astutely observes, "A man's dying is more the survivor's affair than his own."
The survivor's first acquaintance with life, his parent/s--the one responsible for imparting that initial sense of belongingness and feeling of security--is now gone, never to be seen or heard again. The foundations have not only been rudely shaken, but irredeemably shattered. That may leave a gnawing feeling of anguish and vacuum, a startling sense of stark loneliness and emptiness, perhaps mixed with a chilling separation anxiety.
The survivor's mind may slam into the relentless existential wall that life has irrevocably changed, old patterns and routines never to be repeated nor revisited, lost in the yesterdays. They are accessed now only through partial and misty memories. Because relationships comprise the very essence of what it is to be human, the loss of a significant loved one leaves one painfully torn, a little shrunken, and perhaps in a sore and surreal suspension.
If one is to emotionally survive, he or she is thus forced to make intellectual and perceptual adjustment in order to conform and relate to the new irreversible reality which must now persist and inform one's future engagement with the world and life. A life 'final chapter' demands the commencement of a new book. A redefining of some of life's former patterns and habits demands unavoidable scrutiny. The center beam of the cabin has been pulled down, and now a new one must be raised up. The old familiar (perceptual-emotional) paths have been sodden over. New ones must now be trod, which initially may feel a little foreign, strange, restrictive, and uncomfortable. Such is the calling, and appointment, of being human and of being mortal.
This internal adjustment, if it is to be a healthy one, involves a full conscious acceptance of the present reality--void of regret, guilt, and the remorse of 'missed moments'. One must humbly surrender to life's heartaches--without reaction or resistance--and bravely embrace the pressing 'Now'; being thankful for past opportunities, and consciously cherishing the past good and pleasant times. Furthermore, this adjustment, to be healthy, demands a determination to be consciously engaged and intentionally open to the future, not getting lassoed by an illusive past, morbidly dwelling on, and thus getting stuck in the muck and maze of former days. The survivor must really awaken to 'a new day', though continuing to hold yester-moments and yester-years as sacred and dear. One must now choose to forge ahead into an anticipated bright and prospective future, while maintaining a healthy respect for the precious past. Moreover, this internal adjustment requires a fresh kindling of hope and expectation; and for the truly spiritual individual, specifically speaking, there is the blessed hope of future fellowship and eternal reunion.
We must continue to carry and pass on the spirit and wisdom of our forebears, but we do so with renewed vision and involvement. As the ancient sacred text states, putting "new wine... into fresh wineskins" (Luke 5:38), not forgetting those heroic and treasured folk who have gone, and passed over, before us, both the famous and the obscure, but who now serve to continually inspire and encourage us to press on triumphantly in hope. Then the dark misty fog of grief will be lifted.
John T. Catrett, III
ONHL Hospice Chaplain
918.352.3080
john.catrett3@gmail.com