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Coping with the Hurtful Things People Say: Day 9 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 9, 2017

31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 9—The Well-Intentioned But Hurtful Things People Say

This is a month-long series to support persons grieving and those who love them. It includes content from “Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook” available through Amazon and wherever books are sold.

In a series of 7 posts I’ve written, called “BE-ing With Suffering” posted through HospiceTimes.com, I discussed the well-intentioned but hurtful things people can say to those grieving. It was written to help both professional care providers and friends and loved ones know how to show up well for those who are hurting. (It’s a condensed version of my next book due out later this year on The Art of Showing Up.)

As part of that series, I listed things to and not to say to persons in the midst of grief. Any time I speak to groups, this particular topic always has a LOT of energy behind it! Many have been wounded by people who don’t know what to say, so they panic and revert to the clichés, advice-giving, and theologizing they’ve heard their grandparents and parents say:

“Well, at least you had him for 87 years.”

“She’s in a better place.”

“You have to be strong.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“You have to focus on the positive.”

And so much more.

They may also tell us their own story, when we barely have the energy to handle our own. It’s as if they see someone playing in the grief sandbox and go get their own shovel and pail to join in, needing space to process their own grief. They don’t realize the boundaries of when it is and isn’t appropriate to do this. They may think of it as commiserating and making a connection to comfort the person, but it often just overwhelms them, instead.

So how do we take care of ourselves, protect ourselves from such well-meaning but crappy phrases and stories? We may understand that they’re just trying to be helpful, though their words are misguided.

We can presume good will on their part, not taking it personally since their words are more about their discomfort and lack of understanding rather than any intention to hurt us. We may be able to blow it off and move on, especially if we’re rarely going to see them.

Other times, the words may cut too deeply or may come too frequently from someone whom we see often to just let them go, and we find we must speak up and set boundaries for our own sanity’s sake. Not everyone is comfortable with assertiveness and confrontation and, when we’re emotionally and mentally worn down by grief, it can be even harder.

It can be as simple as saying:

“I appreciate that you want to help. Words that say this was a good thing actually leave me feeling worse. Could you please just tell me you love me?”

“I appreciate your trying to connect with me. I barely have the energy to live with my own story, and I don’t have room to hear anyone else’s right now. Would you just tell me about the best movie you’ve seen lately, please?”

“I’m betting when you say that, you’re trying to make me feel better. Saying anything that begins with, ‘Well, at least…’ feels minimizing of my pain. Please just tell me you’re sorry this hurts.”

Find the words that work for you. Say what needs to be said with an eye toward helping them show up for you in a better way. Remember, most often, you want to keep these friendships and, though your anger and frustration are justified, it may feel heightened by your grief and a disproportionate response is not fair to take out on others.

Those who care about you will either be able to hear your boundaries and requests for what you do need, or they won’t. You get to decide who feels good for you to be around during this time and who does not. Be kind, but also be kind to yourself by taking good and protective care of your tender heart. You deserve it!

Peace,
Carla

Rev. Carla Cheatham, MA, MDiv, PhD, TRT has served hospices as a chaplain and bereavement coordinator. She’s the Section Leader for the Spiritual Caregivers Section of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization and an adjunct professor at the Seminary of the Southwest. Through her Carla Cheatham Consulting Group, Carla provides training and consulting for professional caregivers nationwide. She is the author of Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life and its companion volume, Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook. Her next book, On Showing Up with Suffering: Others’ and Our Own, is set to publish in 2017.

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The Necessity of Exquisite Self-Care: Day 8 of #31DaysWithGrief

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January 8, 2017

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31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 8—The Necessity of Exquisite Self-Care

I speak a great deal about exquisite self-care to prevent compassion fatigue, but never is it more necessary than when we’re grieving. When we’re hurting, the time and energy it takes to nurture ourselves can seem impossible as we’re already having trouble mustering what’s needed to brush our teeth or remember, “Did I already shampoo my hair?”, while we stand dripping in the shower.

We can also feel selfish taking the time away to care for ourselves when others are clamoring for our attention. They may even be invested in our guilt keeping us jumping through their hoops rather than tending to our own.

Selfishness says, “I’ll care for me at your expense.” Self-care says, “I’ll care for me so I can bring my best self to you.” Exquisite self-care isn’t a luxury; it’s our greatest responsibility.

This is me in my hammock next to my favorite waterfall on my favorite hiking trail. Practicing what I teach isn’t always easy. But I’m grateful that saying these things out loud to others helps hold me accountable for actually doing them, myself! If I don’t make space for down time and silence, I quickly become a crispy critter not fit for human consumption.

When I begin to get sucked into the crazy idea that I can’t afford to take time off, I’m reminded that I can’t afford to NOT take good care of myself if I want to be of any use to anyone in my personal or professional life.

When grief consumes us, it can be even harder, but we MUST do good self-care in order for our hearts to fully heal.

I wrote yesterday about the ways we can isolate and avoid, well, life and the pain that can come with it when we’re grieving. Isolating doesn’t always look like staying under the covers and letting all calls go to voicemail.

Sometimes we run from our feelings by being overly busy, using time-fillers to numb and block our grief just as assuredly as if we’re mis-using alcohol, nicotine, or Ben and Jerry’s to get an endorphin rush and feel better. I’ve watched numerous persons throw themselves into the process of settling estates and divvying up belongings or working longer hours as a way to avoid grief.

The frustrating reality is that, once we finally slow down because the tasks run out or we hit a wall and can’t keep going, grief is still sitting there waiting for us.

So run a bubble bath and put on repeat the song that you know will help you cry.

Find a yoga class geared specifically toward those who are grieving (yep, those exist!)

Pull out his biggest and comfiest sweatshirt that still smells like him and snuggle up in it.

Pay for the professionals racecar experience and push the pedal down for the catharsis of the (safely experienced) speed.

Grab the dog or cat or iguana and cuddle up.

Walk that trail you’ve not been on in forever and smell the dirt and leaves and different air and feel the sun.

Crank up volume or find an empty field and scream your head off til you can’t anymore.

Sit under your favorite tree with empty pages and let it all come pouring out.

Get the full facial-mani-pedi—even you guys. Trust me! One 83 year old man in a group came back and showed off his purple-painted toenails and raved about the whole experience saying “Ladies, you’ve been holding out on us!! That was just wonderful to have someone pay that kind of attention to me. I haven’t been treated like that since I was a baby, and it felt good!”

Get a massage from a therapist who is comfortable with your crying the whole time.

Recruit the person who will sit with you in the theater and not be bothered by the same.

Stay in your jammies all weekend and binge-watch whatever you want.

Take yourself to a restaurant known for fabulous service and linger for hours over a meal. Tell the staff you’ll pay rent on the table (count the number of groups that come and go around you and multiply the tip by that number to compensate for holding that space) and enjoy being waited on and fed and watched over and tended to.

It doesn’t have to be extravagant. I love horses. The smell of leather and hay, the feel of the soft muzzle and powerful muscles, and the creak of the saddle and gentle snorts and whuffles can instantly calm me. I can drive out to the country, pull over, and spend a few moments stroking the forehead of a curious critter jutting over the fence at a nearby farm just to soak up a bit of that energy.

Simple things like lavender, hot cocoa, soft fabrics, weighted blankets, whatever works for you make time, take time, and surround yourself with the best care you can in terms of movement, hydration, nutrition, smells, sights, sounds, and textures–whatever else is good for your soul is fine. But do it. The hard edges of grief deserve gentle space to move and breathe. Give yourself that.

Peace,
Carla

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The Need to Withdraw: Day 7 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 7, 2017

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31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 7—The Need to Withdraw

One across-the-board warning sign that someone is not in a good emotional or spiritual place is when they begin to isolate themselves from others. Cutting oneself off from the support and accountability of community can be indicative of shame, fear, avoidance, and can lead us to lose perspective on the world as we ruminate on our own thoughts without the balance of others’ views.

In this place, we can forget to remember the whole story—we get stuck focusing on the negatives to the exclusion of the love and beauty and care and gifts that still surround us, even when life otherwise feels truly sucky. As many have said, the mind can be a dangerous neighborhood to walk in alone when it gets dark.

But I’ve learned that there’s a difference between isolating, which is hiding away from and avoiding life, and taking time away to care for our weary souls and fragile emotions. Whether we call the latter cocooning, nesting, or recharging, sometimes for the sake of balance we need times away; a break from all the external stimulation, distractions, requirements, and any form of expectations others may have on our time and energy.

As a raging extrovert who has learned to practice regular contemplation, meditation, and silent retreats, I’ve learned the gifts that can be found in such times. I’ve even come to, believe it or not, crave silence and solitude. It takes energy to be “on” and engaged. We can only drive for so long before we must refuel. No matter how good or healthy or strong we are, we’re also human.

When we’re wounded, mourning, processing trauma, seeking meaning in the seemingly meaningless, it can be that much more important that we a) avoid isolating in our grief and b) take time away to care for ourselves. It’s a careful balance we must strike. Here’s how I tell the difference;

If I find myself dodging the people closest to me because I don’t want them to know what’s really going on with me, I’m isolating, and not in a good way.

If I find myself ruminating on and nursing my resentments against and anger with others, refusing to consider the possibility I’ve played a part in a situation, I’m isolating and perpetuating my suffering.

BUT…

If I’m emotionally exhausted and simply don’t have it to give to be around others, make small talk, and pretend to be ok, I’m doing good self-care to take quiet time to renew and recharge.

I once heard a rabbi tell a story of the life cycle of lobsters; when they outgrow their shell, it becomes uncomfortable to be inside it anymore. So, they cast it off and go hide under a rock for protection, since they’re now completely exposed and defenseless. They stay there until they’ve formed a new and larger shell that can hold their growing body comfortably.

Grief can consume our emotional and mental, and therefore physical, energy and resources; it can give us much thinner skin. We can walk around feeling exposed like a nerve or raw like an open wound.

I’ve come to learn that sometimes when I begin to chide myself for “isolating” what I’m actually doing is taking time to rest under the protective shelter of a rock until my outer shell, stripped away by the struggles of life, has regrown. That’s not hiding or avoiding or isolating or anything pejorative; that’s wise, natural, and healthy self-protection.

So if you, or others, are pushing yourself to get out and about and engage, get still and quiet and listen to your own inner wisdom—are you hiding, avoiding, or isolating in a detrimental way or are you nesting, cocooning, lobster-ing away temporarily until you have what you need to safely re-emerge?

Trust yourself. Don’t let anyone rush you or, even worse, coerce and shame you into going against what you really need. Except in extreme cases of clinical depression or complicated grief, which I’ll discuss later in this series, when we are ready we will naturally emerge like the chick from the egg, the child from the womb, the butterfly from the cocoon, and the lobster from the rock.

After all, there is life out there calling to us to return and not follow the one we love to the grave, forever. In time, we’ll hear its song and re-emerge. Until then, may you find comfort in knowing that others across the world join you there and, ironically, you are not alone.

Peace,

Carla

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The Many Faces of Grief: Day 6 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 6, 2017

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31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 6—The Many Faces of Grief

It’s important to clarify something as we discuss grief—It isn’t only about the pain of missing someone we love when they die. Grief comes in many forms, for many reasons, and can look very different in many ways; all of it deserving of support.

Persons may mourn the loss of:

relationship(s)

community

a job

status

an ability

youth

a belief

safety

financial security

a childhood

possibility

potential

future plans

connection

hope

and much, much more.

In one grief group I facilitated there was someone processing multiple losses related to a war; another grappling with loss of ability and career after an injury; another grieving the loss of companionship as her spouse’s dementia left him less and less emotionally available to her; another grieving her own decline in health, loss of independence, and pending death; and yet another grappling with a child’s addiction and all the grief that comes with that dynamic.

Each person struggled with a unique grief, but they still worked well as a group because they could relate to the emotions of sadness, guilt, fear, anger, confusion, uncertainty, etc. and the loss of hope and future possibility and meaning.

They knew what it was like to feel alone in their feelings and even judged, by their own or even others’ misconceptions about grief. They were hungry to be heard and validated, affirmed and joined in their pain and they readily gave that to one another.

Victims of trauma, in all of its various forms, may naturally experience various forms of loss. Grieving the emotional, physical, societal, sexual, and spiritual damage they suffered and the resulting loss of innocence and safety is no small or easy matter. I’ll write more about the relationship between trauma and grief in a later post.

Even the experience of one person’s death can vary depending on the relationship, whether it was healthy and whole or broken and contentious. One parent can have that vast of a difference in their relationship with one child vs. another, even when the children were raised in the same household. The grief of those two children may look incredibly different when that parent dies, and be hard in their own ways.

The point of all of this is 3-fold:

Don’t judge your grief, or another’s, as less than important if it isn’t related to a death. Pain is relative. The worst pain you’ve experienced in the worst pain you’ve experienced, and it hurts. Loss is loss and change is change and it’s a schmuck-y move to judge the way someone handles their pain.

Don’t compare your pain with another’s in any other way, especially if doing so encourages you to minimize your experience (or theirs). See #1.

Find what works for you in all grief material, even this series, and translate the language to fit your circumstance as much as you need. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it can be a helpful skill to adapt information as much as necessary to suit your particular needs.

Whatever face your grief carries, I hope that you will find for it the compassion and space it deserves, from yourself and from others.

Peace,

Carla

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When Time Stands Still: Day 5 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 5, 2017

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31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 5—When Time Stands Still

I so appreciate your comments and messages and sharing of your tender stories with me in response to this series. The need for support is tremendous, as the stunning nature and weight of grief and loss can immobilize us, leaving us looking for something, anything, to which we can cling.

A gasping and grasping desperation can characterize those early weeks and months when time seems to stand still. For us, it does. To move forward, away from this moment, even away from the pain, can feel like walking away from them, and we can’t bear the thought.

We can’t seem to find space for any thought outside of our grief.

We need this space, this stunned time of wrapping our heads and hearts around what is happening, as much as it bluntly sucks to experience. The wind has been knocked from us, and we need the time that it takes for our emotional airbags to slowly deflate, the adrenaline of the impact to subside, for our systems to begin to take in the enormity of the situation.

It would be impossible to experience it all at once; nor would we want to feel that much pain, though it’s hard to imagine any greater pain than we already feel. That stunned, surreal feeling is a natural protection of the mind to help us cope. Sometimes, we can’t stand the thought of leaving it and facing the reality we know is on the other side.

If it feels like breathing is too much effort, and you can barely remember to do so, you are not alone, and you are not crazy. There will come a time when you will hear more than the muffled static in your ears, when you’ll once again be able to see colors and notice smells and tastes, once again.

For now, give yourself space to just be with the swirl, if you can. Do not panic. It will pass. Be slow. Be gentle. Find people who can let you be how you are, where you are, as you are with no need to put on a false front to make them feel better about your discomfort.

You are not broken; you do not need to be fixed. Do not let anyone rush you. Of course, sometimes there is no room for grief to sideline us because the children must still be fed, the personal time off has run out, and the lights must be kept on. But, as much as possible, give yourself room to just be.

There are no shortcuts. As Tim Lawrence has written, “Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.”

When we try to rush through, run from, brush over, or numb out this portion of the pain, it can have a boomerang effect and only delay the inevitable. Let the swirl be. I promise you it will not consume you forever.

A friend once invited me to a movie when I was sitting with an all-consuming swell of grief. I admitted I wasn’t certain I could pull myself together enough to be good company. She replied, “If you don’t want to do so, I understand, but if you want to come and sit next to me in the theater and cry through the entire movie, I’m good with that.” Friends like that are invaluable.

Be that friend to yourself, and invite others to also give you that space. The world has dealt you a crappy blow, one that we can expect to happen, but for which we are never as prepared as we think we will be.

Until you hear the ticking of the clock and beating of your own heart once again, just breathe as well as you are able, and trust the wisdom inside of you to take care of the rest. It will unfold in time.

As you sit and wait in this liminal space, my peace surround you and hold you close.

Carla

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Finding Safe Space: Day 4 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 4, 2017

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Thirty One Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 4–Finding Safe Space

In the last post, I encouraged you to find safe spaces to be vulnerable and share your grief. I get it that this can be easier said than done.

When we’re exhausted from the mental and emotional strain of mourning, which also drains our bodies and brains of energy stores, having the bandwidth to go on such a search seems impossible.

Whatever type of grief we are walking with—death, illness, the end of a relationship, or another type of loss—we often find that support is readily available in the beginning. Folks show up, offer condolences and shoulders and hugs, bring practical support and leave Facebook messages. Colleagues and neighbors and long-time friends may come to the funeral en masse.

But after the initial stages following a loss, life returns to normal—for them. They get to go home and back to their lives. They get to go back to their desk and resume work with a full head of brain cells unencumbered by the sub-routine of overwhelming grief that consumes the entire cache…I probably just made my techy friends cringe by botching that metaphor, but you get the idea!

After the last casserole dish has been washed and returned, now what? Friends and even loved ones can’t carry the griefs of all the people around them about whom they care. Their well of compassion can only last for so long before they, who aren’t living with the constant reminder of something having been ripped from them, move on while we are still drowning in sorrow.

Some may have more ability to walk with our pain than others. Even then, it is important to not drain any one individual source of support, since this is a marathon and not a sprint. Some may turn to a therapist for support, others a faith leader, many will turn to a spouse or other loved one or best friend.

Years ago, when facing a potentially fatal medical crisis, I waited 3 days to tell anyone. I wasn’t ready to answer questions for which I yet had no answers and I also needed time to process it on my own. When I finally called a trusted mentor, poured out in a tearful rush what was happening, and asked what I should do, she who had been through her own cancer journey said quietly, “Find safe spaces to cry.”

It was the single most important piece of wisdom I received during that several-month journey of fear and uncertainty. And so, I did. I contacted those friends whose boundaries I trusted and asked them to honestly tell me if they had space to let me call up when needed and come sit beside them with my head on their shoulder while they patted my head and let me cry.

Some did, some didn’t, and all were honored I asked. Those I did call upon and went to sit with respected my request to not try to fix me or talk me out of my feelings, to not try to chit chat, and to say nothing more than, “It’s going to be ok”, because at that time it’s what I needed to hear.

It was the best thing I ever did for myself.

I wrote about this process and even more ideas about finding and sharing our grief with others in the introduction to Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook. It’s designed for persons to either walk through on their own or with a group.

Group work is powerful as we get the opportunity to not just be helped, but also help others merely by our presence, listening, and offering of camaraderie. While scary for some and seemingly weak to others, I would argue that any defenses persons have against group are merely that, defenses against vulnerability. Granted, groups may not be for everyone, but if anyone scoffs at the idea, or if you find yourself doing so, consider this:

The psychologist, Herbert Adler, wrote of the power of listening as analogous to hemodialysis, such that the pain of the speaker flows through the “compassionate equanimity” of the listening and comes back to the speaker dialyzed of a bit of the pain.

More than whiney people who need to get over it, grief groups offer safe space to speak and feel without being judged, without being given unsolicited advice, and without anyone trying to talk you out of your feelings or in any way try to alter your process.

Whatever you choose to do for your own journey of walking with grief, here are some suggestions of things to consider when choosing persons to ask to walk with you. They’re take from page 13 of the Sharing Our Stories workbook, ((c)2017 SCIE Publishing) and I hope you find them helpful.

“Look for persons who can:

Protect your confidence
Sit comfortably with you without needing words
Feel comfortable providing a hand or a hug of comfort if needed/desired
Listen only without giving feedback, opinions, advice, or trying to fix how you feel
Be a place to safely bounce off thoughts and ideas without fear of judgment
Listen and give feedback IF you do ask for that feedback
Let this be about you and what you need, without inserting their own story unless requested
Pray or meditate with or for you, if requested
Other things I’ve missed ______________________”

One last option I’ll offer for sharing your story and finding support in hearing others is to share your personal or professional story of walking with grief on my HospiceWhispers website Forum, designed specifically for such sharing. You may share your story anonymously or you may share your name, whichever feels right. (Please remember, if sharing a professional story, to change the names and identifying details to protect privacy rights.)

Whatever is right and works for you, I encourage you to just find something. Hopefully, these tools and suggestions will be a starting point, even if they aren’t an exact fit. You deserve nothing less than love and support and safety to be exactly where you are.

May you have peace as your journey unfolds. I’m glad you’re on mine.

Carla

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Tags : #31DaysWithGrief, bereavement, caregiver support, carla cheatham, counsel, Death of a loved one, end of life, grief counsel, Grief Support, Grief Workbook, Hospice, hospice whispers, Loss of a loved one, palliative care, series, sharing our stories, support

Sharing the Journey: Day 3 of #31DaysWithGrief

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January 3, 2017

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31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 3—Sharing the Journey

Vulnerability is not my strong-suit. Given what I do and have done for a living as a therapist, pastor, chaplain, and grief counselor, reciprocal relationships aren’t a natural part of my day. My job is to be there for others, not have others be there for me. Sharing my journey of pain with others in my personal life has not always come easily.

What can be easy is to hide behind our roles and use them to avoid making ourselves vulnerable to others, which we fear places us at risk of being let down, judged, misunderstood, or perceived as weak. That may be true, if we’ve not yet learned how to choose persons whom it is truly safe to trust. I’ll write more about finding such safe spaces in the next post.

We may even be concerned that once we do let ourselves lean on another, we’ll fall apart and not be able to pull ourselves back together. That’s rarely the case; it’s just territory we’ve not explored before, so it’s scarier in the beginning to speak up and step out, especially when we already feel raw and exposed with only minimal resources guarding our frazzled emotions.

But we cannot give what we do not have. Teaching what we do not practice is only manageable for so long. Besides, folks can smell a fraud a mile away, and we don’t want to fall into the trap of “do as I say, not as I do” or of believing the rules don’t apply to us; that we’re somehow above them and others.

We also must consider what messages we’re teaching our children about grief. Are we modeling for them that it’s healthy to ask for help, or sending them the message that the stiff-upper lip, I mentioned in Day 1 of this series, is the way to grieve?

For many, sharing their story helps them integrate and even re-story their experience as they find meaning and come to terms with it all. Others find that being able to support others in a group, just by listening, lets them feel still useful, and even gives some tiny bit of meaning to their own pain—that it can be used to help others feel less alone.

One of the most consistent struggles I hear from those grieving is the isolation of it all. We have joined a club to which no one wants to belong, and few are willing to visit. Walking with grief can feel lonely, but we don’t have to be alone.

What’s holding you back from accessing the support you deserve?

Hospices, faith communities, and grief counseling centers regularly offer grief support groups or have lists of places in the community that are offering them. On-line forums and private Facebook groups can be a safe space to first dip one’s toe into the water. Blogs written by those who’ve faced similar grief and loss (death of a child, death of a loved one by suicide, death of a spouse, etc.) can also be found to let us know we are not crazy and we are not alone.

I hesitate to offer a list of resources because what works for one person may not work for another, and groups and resources can change all the time. But I’ve started a list of books, articles, blogs, and websites I’ve come to trust, which you can access through my hospice whispers website.

I’ll be adding to that page with even more resources over time and I welcome your suggestions.

Whatever works for you, I encourage you to find something, some place to get support, some place to share your pain, somewhere that you won’t have to be alone with your grief. Do it for yourself. Do it for those whose stories also need to be shared. Do it to honor the memory of the one who did not want to leave you alone. But please, do it.

I’m glad you’re with me on the journey, and I hope you’ll continue to share it.

Peace,

Carla

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Why “Walking” with Grief? (Day 2 of #31DaysWithGrief)

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January 2, 2017

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We face a huge temptation to see grief as something we can work through and get over, but it usually isn’t that easy. When I face anything challenging and get impatient to be done with it, my mentor will remind me, “It’s a process, not an event”.

To get myself through hard times, I’ll often remind myself of what a former pastor used to tell me when I was in grad school, “Remember, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s not a train.”

When I find myself wanting to take shortcuts through any emotional struggle, I get to slow myself down with the words, “There is no shortcut. The only way out is through.”

But each of these imply there’s an endpoint. With grief, that’s not necessarily the case; it’s the new story with which we get to live. The fact of the loss, and all the change that comes with it, doesn’t go away.

In the early pages of Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook, I wrote the following about this concept:

We often speak in terms of a grief journey, as if there is a hypothetical endpoint we can reach. Even theoretical models intended to help us understand and explain what happens through grief use words such as ‘tasks’ or ‘stages’ or the ‘process’ of grief, as if there’s something we are required to complete or overcome in order to be happy again…

I may use these words, as well, because language is, at times, limited. It is not my intention to imply that there is a destination to get to, an end in sight, or that this workbook will help you get there and be done with grief. I can’t in good faith promise you that.

As my friend, Janie Cook, writes:

“The journey is our story. There is no destination, no resting place to reach, no final answer. There is simply the journey we take and the story we live with our feet, with our heart. We may stop along the way to rest—not because we have arrived, but to take this part in a little more deeply. We may pause to listen or savor a threshold, but the journey is our story, The Story. Each obstacle we overcome, each companion treasured, each grief suffered is a sacred moment along the way.”

Grief doesn’t necessarily end for everyone. In fact, many would argue that it never ends, it just shifts and changes over time and gets a bit easier to live with as we gradually find ways to integrate such a major change into our lives. We find ways to honor the life we miss; hold onto the good memories; make peace with the not-so-good ones; build a new relationship with the person who is no longer physically there; and find ways to continue living our lives.

Often, because our relationships help define us—as grandchild, child, sibling, spouse, parent, friend—we must go through the process of re-imagining our own identity when that person is gone. While all of this is a process, it is far from formulaic. There are no linear, prescribed formulas for what grief should look like.”

So, I write in terms of walking with grief because sometimes that’s our only option. I also want to acknowledge that, at times, the grief we walk with isn’t our own; we walk with another as they live with theirs.

All of it can be scary and overwhelming. Even if we have gone through it before, each circumstance and individual experience is unique and we wonder if we’re doing it right; we wonder what to do, what to say, how to be.

My hope is that this series will lend a little insight to let you know that you are not crazy, you are not alone, and that you will find your way.

I’m glad you’re with me on the journey.

Peace,

Carla

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Tags : #31DaysWithGrief, bereavement, caregiver support, carla cheatham, counsel, Death of a loved one, Grief Support, Grief Workbook, Hospice, hospice whispers, Loss of a loved one, palliative care, sharing our stories

Sharing Our Stories

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November 21, 2016

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I originally thought persons who had experienced their own grief would avoid the book Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life like the plague. Thankfully, I was wrong!

I received communication from an overwhelming number of persons describing the various ways in which these 38 short stories of my work as a hospice chaplain had helped them process their own grief story.

As a result of this outpouring of feedback, I wrote Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook with reflection and discussion questions based upon the grief concepts that arise in each story fromHospice Whispers: Stories of Life, additional information about grief, and quotes by and for those who are grieving.

The workbook has just published through Amazon as a paperback and eBook, and I’m excited for it to launch out into the world to hopefully help many who are grieving and the professionals who seek to support them.

Below is an excerpt of the workbook with the questions related to the story, “What Better Place?” (from the Hospice Whispers book). The workbook (Sharing Our Stories) DOES NOT include the actual stories, only the workbook questions, though I have included “What Better Place?” here to help you understand the questions excerpted here.

Please feel free to share this resource with whomever you believe may find it helpful. Together, we can help make certain those who are grieving are reassured that they are not crazy, are not irreparably broken, and that they are not alone.

Peace, Carla

Download What Better Place

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Tags : caregiver support, Death of a loved one, Grief Support, Grief Workbook, Hospice, Loss of a loved one, palliative care