Death, Be Not Proud:

Literary Lessons on Death and Dying

Rituals like funerals, now less common, used to help us deal with death.

For over three decades, Reverend F. Washington Jarvis served as headmaster of Boston’s Roxbury Latin School, the oldest school in continuous existence in North America. During this time, Jarvis delivered a series of addresses to the student body, the best of which were collected in “With Love and Prayers: A Headmaster Speaks to the Next Generation.” For a number of years, I taught “With Love and Prayers” to high schoolers and found that both parents and students valued the book for its wisdom, wit, and moral lessons.

In his chapter “The Spiritual Dimension,” Jarvis relates this anecdote to the young men in his charge:

The celebrated headmaster of Eton College, Cyril Alington, was once approached by an aggressive mother. He did not suffer fools gladly.
“Are you preparing Henry for a political career?” she asked Alington.
“No,” he said.
“Well, for a professional career?
“No,” he replied.
“For a business career, then?”
“No,” he repeated.
“Well, in a word, Dr. Alington, what are you here at Eton preparing Henry for?”
“In a word, madam? Death.”

As Jarvis then points out, the principal mission of Roxbury Latin is to prepare its students for life. “And,” he goes on, “the starting point of that preparation is the reality that life is short and ends in death.”

These few lines bring much to consider. Do we aim at getting our young people into “good” schools while neglecting to instill in them the classical virtues? Do we recognize that “life is short and ends in death”? If so, what outlook on the world should such a truth inculcate?

Before seeking answers to these questions, we must recognize that our ancestors were more familiar with death than we moderns. They lived among the sick and dying in ways we do not, and were forced to deal with circumstances that today are the domain of our health professionals. Victorian poetry, for example, is a thicket of verse about death and dying.

We are more distant from the dying. Low infant mortality rates have thankfully removed many of us from witnessing those tragedies, and though a majority of Americans want to die at home, only 20 percent do so.

Lacking this intimacy with the death of earlier generations, we may, if we wish greater familiarity, turn to literature, Victorian or otherwise. Stories and poems can give us intimate portraits of the hope and the despair, the joy and the sorrow, the courage and fear of the dying and those who surround them.

Let’s look at four novels in which the characters exit this earth in dramatically different ways. Each of them offers a lesson on death.

‘The Death of Ivan Ilyich’

Portrait of Leo Tolstoy, 1887, by Ilya Repin. Oil on canvas. Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow.

In “The Death of Ivan Ilyich,” Leo Tolstoy’s novella and perhaps the greatest of all fictional meditations on the debt we owe to nature, Ivan Ilyich lies on his deathbed wondering whether he has lived a good life.

As doubts fill him, and as death creeps ever closer, he suddenly realizes that “though his life had not been what it should have been, this could still be rectified.” In his last hours, he is flooded with sorrow and pity for the son and wife he has neglected, and though they cannot understand him when he begs their forgiveness, he dies “knowing that He whose understanding mattered would understand.”

Ivan Ilyich goes to his grave in peace, knowing the truth of Katharine Tynan’s lines from “The Great Mercy”: “Betwixt the saddle and the ground/was mercy sought and mercy found.”

Here Tolstoy reminds us that even on our deathbed, we may yet clear our conscience and set right those things that we have done or failed to do.

‘Kristin Lavransdatter’

Sigrid Undset as a girl. The Noble Prize-winning novelist wrote a trilogy called “Kristen Lavransdatter.”

In Sigrid Undset’s trilogy of medieval Norway, “Kristin Lavransdatter,” we discover the importance of ritual in death. The Christian injunction “To bury the dead” means more than tumbling a corpse into a grave, covering it over with earth, and moving on. During the long death of Kristin’s father, Lavrans, the neighbors visit, the priest performs the last rites, a vigil is held after Lavrans breathes his last, and later there is a feast to celebrate his memory.

From Kristin and her kin, we moderns might learn once again how to “bury the dead.” More and more, I hear of people and know a few of them who when a loved one dies, conduct no ritual of passage, no funeral, no memorial service. An obituary may appear in the paper, or not, but otherwise the survivors put the deceased into the grave or columbarium without ceremony.

With this practice, we fail to realize that we have cheated ourselves of the comfort of a formal farewell and have tarnished our humanity in the bargain.

‘A Tale of Two Cities’

In “A Tale of Two Cities,” Charles Dickens puts Sydney Carton, a barrister, an alcoholic, and a cynic, onto the platform of a guillotine after Carton nobly takes the place of another man sentenced to die by execution. Carton’s thoughts before the fall of the blade bring him solace: “It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”

From Carton, we receive a lesson in courage when faced with death.

‘Little Women’

Of course, as Louisa May Alcott notes in “Little Women,” “Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions, or depart with beatified countenances …”

In describing the passing of young Beth March, whose “end comes as naturally and simply as sleep,” Alcott shows her readers that, like Sydney Carton, those who die possess the power to bequeath gifts to the living. Before she slips into the shadows, Beth reads some lines written by her beloved sister Jo. And she realizes that her illness and impending death have caused Jo, her caretaker, to grow and mature, and to take from her lessons in bravery and her “cheerful, uncomplaining spirit in its prison-house of pain.”

Like in these novels, the loved ones with whom I have sat while they closed their eyes and faded away have given me instruction. Perhaps the best of these teachers was my mother, who died from cancer 30 years ago. In her final lesson—perhaps her greatest lesson—she taught me and my brothers and sisters by way of example how to die with grace and courage.

If I find myself in my mother’s circumstances, with time to bid goodbye to those I love, and if I possess even half of her strength, I will die a fortunate man.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 10, 2019August 10, 2019

‘I’ve six months to live’ – the words that turned my life upside down

Rachel O’Neill knew her mother had terminal cancer, but there was never a timeline put on it

Rachel O’Neill with her mother Marie: ‘No matter what happens, a mother’s love lasts forever’

by Rachel O’Neill

I’ve six months to live.”

Five words that turned my life upside down.

I always knew that terminal cancer was something I would have to deal with. But because there was never a timeline put on it, it was something I didn’t have to think about. Sure, Mum had incurable cancer, but it wasn’t something that was going to affect me right this second.

And then suddenly it was there, affecting every part of my life.

In the time it took to say those five little words, my entire status changed. I was no longer someone whose mother was sick, I was someone whose mother was dying. Life as I knew it was officially on pause.

Suddenly, the “how’s your Mum doing?” questions become a lot harder to answer. I’m a very open person which means everyone tends to know everything that goes on in my life. I’m also a terrible liar. If someone asks me how Mum is doing, I will answer it very honestly. So honestly, that it can make people uncomfortable. I’ve had people squirm after I’ve told them that Mum is dying. I’ve had people shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot, desperately thinking of something to say that won’t upset me or them.

Now I’ve adopted a very simple tactic to counteract the awkwardness. I minimise what’s going on by joking about it instead.

Minimise, minimise, minimise.

Never let people see how badly you are struggling with it. I must never drop the facade that I’m managing to hold it together when in reality this is the worst thing I’ve ever had to face.

To make people comfortable, I tell them that my mother is dying and follow it with a quick “it’s fine”. I’ve joked about how I might finally be able to get on the property ladder with the inheritance. I quickly change the subject when I can feel people getting nervous, even if I’m bursting to talk about what’s happening. I’ve done everything I can to make people feel more comfortable around me because if I can joke about it, it means they can relax a little.

Nobody is truly comfortable with death.

Despite the fact that we “do death well” in Ireland, it’s still a subject that many of us won’t talk about. Confronting the fact that someday, we will cease to be here is something we’ll spend a lifetime trying to come to terms with. Many of us never do.

Knowing that myself and Mum have so little time left together is hard. I am terrified of regret, of saying the wrong thing, of not asking the right questions, of not making enough of our time together. It now feels like every conversation feels like it has to be meaningful in some way. I feel like if a moment with her isn’t memorable, I’ve wasted it. It’s a suffocating pressure to be under.

What has stood out to me is the endless kindness I’ve experienced from every corner of my life

The pressure manifests itself in many ways. For example, I’ve been in a perpetual state of anticipatory grief for the last few months. I’m grieving the life we won’t have together. I’m grieving that she won’t see me get married or meet her grandchildren. I’m grieving the advice she won’t be able to give me, the questions I won’t be able to ask her and the adventures she will never get to have.

That is a very painful process which your body does everything to protect yourself from. I’m constantly tense because I’m bracing myself for an impact that I know is coming, despite not being sure when it’ll hit. I feel like if I can process this pain now, it won’t be as painful when the inevitable comes. It’s the only way I know how to prepare for what’s coming.

Some people struggle to understand my approach. Some have even said to me that I need to move past the grief. They’ve said that my mum needs me to be upbeat and strong for her. To me, that feels fake. Anxiety and depression are in my DNA so worrying about the future and being down about it are things I’m very used to doing. It’s a coping mechanism that some people just don’t understand. They feel that I’m doing Mum a disservice, that I should pretend to be okay when in reality I am struggling badly with everything that’s happening. What I say to those people is that there’s no “right” way to grieve. It’s a uniquely personal process, best left to those undergoing it.

What has stood out to me over the past few months is the endless kindness I’ve experienced from every corner of my life. People offering food, time, shoulders to cry on and a kind ear to listen. People encouraging me to open up when I can and who treat me like a normal human being when I can’t. The empathy and kindness have been utterly overwhelming but serves as a reminder that people really do care. It gives me hope that when I come out the other side of this, I’ll have people who will help me build myself back up again.

Having discussed with Mum what happens when this is all over, she told me something that I’ll hold dear to my heart forever.

“Just let yourself be loved. It’s no more than you deserve and always carry with you that you are my beloved child. Always and forever.”

No matter what happens, a mother’s love lasts forever.

Of that, I am absolutely certain.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 9, 2019August 9, 2019

Working Too Hard For A Good Death

Has Competitive Dying Become A Thing?

By Howard Gleckman

We Americans love to compete. We bet in March Madness office pools on who will win the annual college basketball championship. We pay a pretty penny for the best manicured lawn in the neighborhood or the biggest flat screen in the condo. Some of us will pay bribes to get our kids into the best colleges.

And, now it seems, there is a growing need to compete over who will have the best death. You know, the one where we are at home, pain-free but alert, surrounded by our loving families, singing our favorite songs, fully at ease with our last moments of mortal life.

For many of us, the reality will be quite different. Despite everyone’s best efforts, we may die in a hospital. The kids may not make it in time from their homes in LA or Chicago. The medications that relieve our pain may also slow our thinking. And we may not have resolved all those family issues that lingered inexplicably for decades.

More guilt

What’s troubling about this drive for a good death (or, perhaps in our competitive world, the best death) is that many of us never will achieve it—often for reasons out of our control. And that may leave our surviving loved ones with an even bigger sense of guilt than they already have. And paradoxically, those who cared the most may end up feeling the most guilty and depressed.

Failing at some ideal of death may even make dying more difficult. Dr. Andreas Laupacis, a palliative care physician and professor of medicine at the University of Toronto, shared this concern in a wise 2018 essay about the idea of good death: “I worry that the term makes people who die with pain or psychological distress think that it is partially their fault…. They haven’t tried hard enough or aren’t tough enough.”

He even suggests it may add to the psychological burden of their doctors: “I worry that health care practitioners who have provided their best possible care will feel inadequate.”

A good life

Just as troubling: An excessive focus on the last hours of life shifts attention from the months or even years before that. Many older adults will die after living a long time with chronic conditions. It would be nice, as we focus on a good death, if we also think about a good life, especially during the time when it may include some level of disability.

The idea of competitive dying may be counterproductive in part because there is no true good death. Or rather, there are millions of them. For decades, clinicians have tried, and largely failed, to establish some agreed-upon norms. And researchers have no real idea how many people do in fact die a good death, by whatever measure.

Physicians and surviving family members, it turns out, often have different ideas of a good death than those who are doing the dying. For example, family members are much more likely than patients to say that maintaining dignity is important at the end of life.

But this uncertainty isn’t slowing us down. Google “good death” and you’ll get 1.97 million hits. Search Amazon, and you’ll find dozens of books. Bloggers blog on their own impending deaths or that of their relatives. A 2016 literature review turned about three dozen peer reviewed articles on what constitutes “successful dying.”

Better to watch a sunset

One Amazon reviewer wrote that she had read 60 books on a good death to prepare for her own passing. I don’t know if she was living with a terminal disease or just thinking way ahead. But I can’t help but wonder if her time would have been better spent watching a sunset, going to a concert, or having dinner with friends instead of being so focused on how to do death right.

This trend is by no means all bad. We are thinking—and talking—about a topic that for too long has been taboo in the US. But like those parents who were bribing college officials to get their children into the best schools, we may be going overboard. And we may be setting unrealistic, and counterproductive, expectations for ourselves and our families.

We absolutely should be proactive when it comes to preparing advanced directives, choosing health care proxies, and talking to one another about death. Especially talking. But we also need to recognize that, sometimes, circumstances mean that many of us will die alone, or in some pain, or with unresolved family issues. All we can do is our best. And nobody should be keeping score.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 8, 2019August 8, 2019

What’s healthy dying?

6 steps on the path for doctors to know

By Timothy M. Smith

Most Americans die in hospitals, but acute care settings are by default focused on saving lives and therefore struggle to deal with death as something other than the unfortunate outcome of having no interventions left to try. An expert in end-of-life care notes that death is an essential part of life for patients and their families and suggests several steps physicians can take to make death a “healthy” experience.

For starters, Chapple said, one should acknowledge that the aim of acute care settings is to rescue patients, to avoid death at all costs.

“If there is an intervention to try, that’s what we’re going to do,” Chapple said, noting that this urge is reinforced by health care payment mechanisms, as well as by family members’ anguish. “So, it’s very difficult to move in a different direction. It’s like a train that you can’t jump off of.”

Trying everything, however, can undermine our cultural and clinical capacity to acknowledge the importance of dying, Chapple said. She suggested taking the following steps to reinforce the concept of dying in a healthy way.

Focus on patient safety and autonomy. “I worry that patients are overmedicated or undermedicated, that we’re not reacting to what’s really happening to the patient,” Chapple said. “Healthy dying is when patients themselves get to choose the agenda and get to take their own time—as long as they’re not suffering at all, or they appear not to be suffering—and we all just take their timetable and let it happen.”

Acknowledge death as a part of life. This begins with making the most of what Chapple called the “critical present” by suggesting that family members take time to reflect on the patient’s life. “It’s sort of antithetical to the way acute care is set up, which is doing all the time, rather than being, rather than existing and noticing the existential significance of where we are right at this moment,” she said.

Reset loved ones’ expectations. In critical care, Chapple often tells families, “This person has never died before, and this is our chance to make it the best dying they can possibly have.” She suggested preparing family members for what might happen logistically, such as transferring the patient to a step-down unit, and noting that the active dying phase can last several days.

Encourage family members to talk to patients. Hearing is thought to be one of the last senses to go in dying patients, so it may help to share memories. “Families may not talk to each other because they think the family knows all the stories,” she said, so members of the care team can help initiate this by asking about significant events in the patient’s life.

Note the importance of religious rituals. Ceremonies, prayers and songs can help make this time meaningful too.

Suggest loved ones say goodbye in their own ways. Let family members know the following, Chapple suggested: “If you want to … say to the person something that you’ve always wanted to say and never had the opportunity or you certainly want them to know before they die, this is the time to do that.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 7, 2019August 7, 2019

Obituaries are the only redemptive news anymore

By Philip Kennicott

Toni Morrison is dead. So are D.A. Pennebaker and Aretha Franklin, and Philip Roth, Stephen Hawking, Ursula K. Le Guin, Milos Forman and too many others to name, even when limited to artists and writers who have perished in the past few years alone. By some accounts, two people die every second, thousands every hour, tens of millions every year. But at this moment in American life, the death of our best people has become a collective lifeline and refuge for our anxieties. It sometimes seems that the obituary is the only news that makes us feel whole.

Morrison was our essential conscience, a writer of narrative brilliance and moral clarity. The magnitude of her loss, at this moment in our descent into barbarism, is incalculable. But to spend time today with her work, with memories of her life and the testimony of those who knew her, is infinitely more rewarding than reading about all the other terrible things that have happened in the past few days. The deaths of artists and other creators make us reflective, and we live at a moment when looking back is much easier than looking forward.

We also crave the reassurance that we are not, as a species, entirely spent. Morrison died only days after two mass shootings, which are not only a regular fixture of American life, but also a recurring reminder of our political paralysis and the corruption of our democracy. We are in the midst of a trade war, markets have plunged, Greenland is hemorrhaging ice and our president tweets racism to inflame a hungry audience of white nationalists who dream of a world without people like Morrison in it.

Death and remembrance, at least, come with the customs and norms that have been shredded in most of the rest of public life. If nothing else, death still inspires a pause in ordinary life and, in the case of artists, a respectful consideration of their habitually ignored accomplishments. The reflective look back on a life and a body of work such as Morrison’s is ultimately celebratory, a chance to think the best of another person and, by extension, ourselves. Artists, performers, scientists, writers and other creators rarely “make news” in the same way politicians do, even though their influence on our culture is greater, deeper and more meaningful. The obituary is a belated observation and acknowledgment that people like Morrison, in fact, made news every day through their work. They formed the deeper part of the minds that our pollsters seek to measure and quantify in the frenzied haste of the news cycle. They are the atmosphere of American culture, while all else is merely weather.

Obituaries are a paradox of sorts, a distraction toward meaningfulness, a diversion to what really matters. The response to the rest of the news is often an impulse to escapism, a turning away. But while Morrison shares space with the usual firehouse of bad news, her passing offers at least one impulse to go deeper, to read more, dig in, think more critically and disconnect from the ephemera. Obituaries like the ones that have been written about her in the past day are even better than the usual “good” news, which is often little more than a reminder that somewhere, somehow, someone has done an unnecessary kindness; obituaries are redemptive on a grander scale.

We seem capable of only two modes of existence: panic and sadness, the former fast-paced and full of collateral damage to the world around us, the latter at least sometimes constructive and reflective. America has experienced periods of intense reflection around death in the past, as when the last remaining veterans of the Revolutionary War were dying in the middle of the 19th century, leaving people to wonder whether there were any steady voices and clear heads to steer us away from, or through, the accumulation of civil strife and political violence. The deaths of those who fought in World War II offered an occasion to think about the fraying of the old 20th-century social contract, the dissolution of the bond between the generations enshrined in key social-welfare programs, and the extinction of American optimism — that we might live in a society without poverty, without unnecessary suffering, with genuine opportunity and social mobility.

But the death of an artist is different from the loss of political leaders, no matter how wise or benevolent, or the larger passing of a generation, which has continued since the beginning of time. Morrison’s work remains with us, intractable, urgent and uncompromising, and it is no less effective today than it was on Monday. It is curious to listen to people on television debating the effectiveness of this policy or that plan, often arguing themselves into the absurdity that because nothing has yet worked, therefore nothing new should be attempted.

Meanwhile, the work of artists outlives them, operating on minds too young to be cynical. Politicians die and, if they’re lucky, are memorialized for having fixed something in the broken world they inherited. Artists die, and we flock to what they left behind, reanimating it, refreshing its meaning and reincorporating it into the body politic.

If you want to change the world, authentically and for the better, would you live your life like a politician, or a businessman, or a pharmaceutical executive or Donald Trump? Or would you live it like Toni Morrison?

August 6, 2019August 6, 2019

What Airplane Conversations and a Grieving Brain Have in Common

By Cara Martinisi

On a recent flight home after visiting family in Florida, I sat in between my two boys with my eyes closed. I knew as soon as I took out a book someone would need something so I just sat and listened. Admittedly, I enjoy people watching and conversation eavesdropping anyway.

As I listened to a woman and man in the row across the aisle, I conjured up their personal stories in my head. At first I thought they were a couple. Quickly and succinctly I realized I was wrong due to my honed in eavesdropping skills. While everyone was preparing for take off I learned that the woman was married and had two little girls. I was unable to tell if he was married, but he did have an older son. The engines whirred to life, safety demonstrations were given and my son’s ear started to bother him. Not very productive in the people watching and eavesdropping department. Things did calm down and I settled back in.

With my eyes closed, I put all my energy into listening. The background noises, however, made it difficult to hear anything other than random words mixed with the lilting of their voices. I was unable to decipher their full conversation.

The feeling was so familiar to me. It took a moment to place why the feeling was so reminiscent, but once I did it made sense. Only able to hear bits and pieces of conversations prevented me from being able to process the entirety of their stories. Much like when an individual is grieving and their brain is consumed with grief.

For the first year, at least, after losing my son my brain was on constant overload. People would speak to me and I would listen, but was only able to grasp bits and pieces of what they said. The distractions — my sadness, pain and grief — prevented me from processing in its entirety. Oftentimes at night I would dream about what I had spoken to someone about that day. The next morning I would revisit the topic with them, able to process it slightly better because my subconscious had worked it over while I was sleeping.

The concept fascinates me. My brain simply cannot handle all of the stimulation. To this day, I become overstimulated much easier than I did in the past. Multitasking is much more difficult for me. Furthermore, my dreams have always been extremely vivid but now they are so vivid I have to ask others if it really happened. These changes are undoubtedly due to the trauma.

Specialists and therapists have said that the brain is a self-healing organ. In my experience this is true. It will continue to heal, but will never go back to being what it once was. There will likely always be “airplane” conversations when I am overstimulated. The daily grief that will forever be a part of my life is not as persistently intense as it once was. When the waves of grief wash in, however, they knock me right down.

My processing abilities have changed, but so has everything else. It would be a wonder if these abilities were not affected. Healing doesn’t mean that things go back to the way they were, but rather the changes are not as intense anymore. In the nearly five years that have passed I have learned nothing if not to adapt to change.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 5, 2019August 5, 2019

Self-Care While Grieving The Death Of A Loved One

by Shoshana Berger

“Next to birth, death is one of our most profound experiences—shouldn’t we talk about it, prepare for it, use what it can teach us about how to live?” So begins A Beginner’s Guide to the End, a new book that provides insights on how to move through every part of the dying process as a patient or a loved one. In this excerpt, authors BJ Miller, M.D., and Shoshana Berger reflect on the stigmas surrounding heartache and grief, and how we can move through these emotions while honoring our own mental and physical health.

Grief can be isolating.

Rebecca Soffer, a cofounder of the Modern Loss website and community, was 30 when her mother was killed in a car accident. Soffer took two weeks off after her mother’s death and had barely started to grieve before returning to her job as a television producer. Three years later, she received a call from someone asking her to arrange to get her father’s body picked up; he’d had a fatal heart attack on a cruise ship while traveling abroad.

Stunned by the trauma of losing both parents within a few years of each other, she again dove back into work shortly thereafter. “Honestly, after each loss I felt like I was dying inside myself, and so few people knew what to do with me,” she says. “Unless you’re an incredibly empathic human being, if you haven’t gone through profound loss yourself, it can really be difficult to effectively connect with someone moving through it. I felt like a pariah because this topic felt so taboo. If someone asked where my parents were, I’d say, ‘In Philadelphia.’ I didn’t clarify that they were, in fact, underground there. It was just so much easier to be vague.”

When she did come clean to people who asked about her family, it felt as though the space around her was getting sucked into a black hole. “There are few better ways to silence a conversation than to say, ‘My mom just died,'” she says. “All I wanted was to feel like I could comfortably talk about my reality, not like people felt I might be contagious just because I’d used the word dead.”

Taking care of yourself.

You never “get over” the death of a loved one—that’s not the goal. Living on is. Here are a few ideas that may help:

1. Take time off work.

Sadly, businesses are not required to offer paid bereavement leave, but many do provide three to five days off for the death of an immediate family member. Talk to your HR department about what’s possible for you.

2. Seek out clergy, chaplains, and faith-based services.

Faith traditions have time-tested practices around death, dying, and mourning. Chaplains and clergy are trained to counsel those in bereavement. Hospital chaplains in particular are intimately familiar with supporting people of all faiths and of none. And many churches, synagogues, mosques, and other houses of worship have free programs and groups for grief support.

3. Contact your local hospice provider.

They are required to offer bereavement services to the community, whether or not your loved one was enrolled with their program. Despite the legal mandate, the funding for bereavement programs is paltry, so the services may not be robust, but they’re a good place to start. Hospice agencies are terrific local resource centers as a rule and will often keep a list of psychotherapists and grief counselors in the community who may be of further help to you.

4. Attend support groups or find them online.

Being with others who are working through grief can bring relief (no more pretending everything is OK). These are generally facilitated by mental health care professionals or other counselors. Less formal peer groups can be wonderfully helpful as well. The common thread is a safe place, real or virtual, where you can air your thoughts and feelings and be with others who are in a similar place. Here you are more likely to be seen and heard, not judged. Inquire with the hospice agency or your clinical team or hospital, or search for local groups online.

5. Try psychotherapy.

If you’re prone to clinical depression or anxiety or are experiencing suicidal thoughts, don’t mess around. It can be difficult to tease out grief from depression, so err on the safe side and get help. Therapy can work wonders, even if you’re not depressed.

6. Ritualize.

American culture has largely lost touch with the grief rituals of the past and the wisdom behind them: hanging crepe in the windows, wearing black, wearing an armband, to name a few. These physical symbols buy some space for you and everyone around you. People are more forgiving and respectful; expectations of you adjust. With traditional rituals, you’re tapping into a time-tested collective understanding of what you’re going through.

With these tracks already laid, you get to step away from your swirling mind and follow an old pattern of action without the burden of thought. If, however, you don’t want to follow tradition, you might gain an important but different power by creating your own ritual, a touchstone whose meaning you will always understand.

7. Journal.

Each day before you go to bed, write down one thing you’ve managed to do (even if it was just waking up). Or just write about your experience. There’s no need to keep what you write; just get it out and throw it away if you like. Writing, much like talking with other people, is a way to understand and process what you’re going through, and it can also help you not take your thoughts too literally; your mind in grief might suggest all sorts of odd things to you.

8. Get fundamental.

Since grief is discombobulating, it pays to remember the basics of life. Try taking your shoes off, and feel the ground beneath you; take slow, deep breaths; drink water; eat good food (and really taste it); sleep.

9. Make some new “family rules.”

If you’ve lost a central part of your nuclear family, it can shake the very foundation of the unit. Writing down some family rules in a place where everyone can see them is one way to introduce much-needed stability.

Things such as forgiveness, getting plenty of sleep, respecting one another’s feelings, working together to get things done, and remembering to ask for help when you need it are great reminders that you are all in this together.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!