Archive for support – Page 3

Primary and Secondary Losses: Day 21 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 21, 2017

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

Day 21—Primary and Secondary Losses

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.

“So much of my time, energy, and identity has been wrapped up in being an architect. After my injury, I’m legally blind and can’t see to do the work that’s been my life’s calling, and I was GOOD at it. Who am I, now? How do I adjust to suddenly not going into work every day with my colleagues who are also my friends? Who am I now that I’m not the breadwinner and provider? How do I feel like I’m taking care of my family, now?”

“So much of my time, energy, and identity has been wrapped up in being Evelyn’s son. Caring for her after dad died and after her stroke has consumed our lives. Though we were tired, the family of folks here at this facility are now part of our everyday routine. My wife comes on the way to work to say hello and bring her laundry. I come and help her eat lunch and visit with the staff and her friends, and we come 3 nights a week to watch television and listen to music with her and the other residents and even their families. This is our second living room. We all supported each other. I don’t know how to say goodbye to not just her, but this whole community of people we’ve come to love. Where am I supposed to eat lunch during my break? It’s just so weird to lose it all at once.”

“So much of my time, energy, and identity was wrapped up in being Scotty’s mother. Now that he’s dead, I don’t know who I am any more. My nest isn’t supposed to be empty, yet and, when he did leave, it was supposed to be to go excitedly to college and figure out who he wanted to be, to fall in love and find his life’s passion in his work. Then I could watch proudly from the sidelines and cheer him on. He was supposed to have children and I was supposed to get to see him be the fabulous father and spouse I knew he would be, and I would adore the person he loved and their babies were supposed to come and fill the empty space on my lap. Now ALL of that’s gone.

When we experience a loss of any sort, it usually involves not just the primary loss of the thing, ability, relationship, or person we’re grieving but also the secondary losses of identity, routine, security, provision, and so much more.

We often do not recognize these secondary losses and realize their impact until they are already sorely felt. Others around us also fail to notice them and therefore forget to care for that part of our grief, as well. Because they don’t quite get it, they may not be as sensitive to these secondary losses as is deserved, so we can feel even more isolation and shame.

Caring professionals are, or should be, trained to predict and notice these secondary losses and help persons prepare for and cope with them. When I ask the questions, “What are you going to miss the most about your dad when the time comes that he does die?”, I’m not just inviting them to process their grief, but listening for cues as to the secondary losses they are going to experience.

So often, loved ones respond that they are going to miss just being able to pick up the phone and call them. Those grieving often tell me how many times they pick up the phone or think, “Oh, I need to tell mom about that, she’ll love it!” just to realize she’s not there to call anymore.

Many of us have a routine; we call her every Sunday afternoon and Thursday evening to check in and visit every other Tuesday when we take a half day off work. Or we have an empty seat at the table we aren’t sure what to do with. And what about their things?

One woman woke up, made coffee, and cooked eggs. “I was fixing two plates before I realized, he’s not coming downstairs to join me for breakfast anymore.”

We help persons think through what routine they want to adopt next. What have they wished they had time for but did not? What’s on THEIR bucket list? How could they perhaps honor the memory of their loved one by picking up something that would carry on their legacy?

Who is that loving friend who will agree to take a phone call every Sunday afternoon, Thursday evening, and have lunch every other Tuesday to listen to you tell stories about mom until you find a new normal in your life?

Who is willing to be your new “go to” person to call for a while to feel connected and share good news or when you’ve had a bad day or just need to pick up the phone and call?

Without skipping over your grief with busyness, how about taking that art class or joining the choir or signing up to be a reading mentor at a local school?

The goal isn’t to replace or forget about the person or relationship or ability or thing you’ve lost, but to find some sense of meaning for yourself, perhaps even in a way that helps you remain connected to what’s been lost.

“Mom was a teacher. She would like that I’m helping kids read.”

“My son loved nature. Volunteering at the community garden helps me help others enjoy what he most loved.”

“We used to dance wherever and whenever, just for the heck of it, before I found out about the affair and we divorced. I signed up for dance lessons. He’s taken enough. He doesn’t get to take that away from me, too.”

And the man who was an accomplished architect? His colleagues dragged him kicking and screaming into teaching, and he wound up loving every second of it for two more decades!

You’re not filling up a hole, you’re filling up your life. You’re not replacing them, you’re finding a way to find meaning in the midst of your loss and maybe even connect with them, or yourself, in a new and different way.

Whatever you choose to do, find ways to acknowledge what else has been lost and find others to be sensitive to these secondary losses. Grieve them, care for them, and find ways to heal them in time. As overwhelming and impossible as it may seem, there is still hope for finding a new normal, perhaps one you never wanted, but maybe one that contains joy in ways you never could have imagined.

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.

Uncategorized

Compounded and Collective Grief: Day 20 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 20, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 20—Compounded and Collective Grief

This post is a bit longer than most in this series, because I’m touching on several topics—compounded grief, collective grief, compassion fatigue, and adrenal fatigue. I hope something in this is helpful for you and for those about whom you care.

It’s been a tough year…

Each year, I look forward to the nostalgic retrospectives on television that review the world’s major news stories and honor the celebrities and other national figures who have died. But this year, I couldn’t! There’s just been way too much.

Beloved musicians who gave us the soundtracks of our youth or helped us have hope during hard times; gentle-faced tv moms who served as a surrogate and role model for many; those who made us laugh and believe in chocolate-coated dreams; villains of stage and screen we couldn’t help but love; newscasters whose calm voice helped us feel safe during challenging times; and even sci-fi heroines who reminded us that even princesses could be, well, badass…the grim reaper has been working overtime in 2016.

Add to this the killings of both black and blue and brown, world crises, acts of terror, and one of the most contentious political seasons in recent history, and we’re all more than a little wiped out.

We often don’t recognize Compounded Grief…

What many are dealing with, but don’t realize it, is not only compassion fatigue, but also compounded grief.

Compassion fatigue, in short, is when our caring muscles are worn out and need rest and care to heal and recharge.

Compounded grief is the phenomenon of facing multiple griefs that come faster than we can process them, so that 1 plus 1 no longer equals 2, but instead multiplies exponentially until our grief muscles simply can’t carry them all.

Another thing to consider is that the exhaustion that comes with stressful times doesn’t always hit us during the stressful event. Our adrenals kick into high gear to take care of us and keep us going. It’s a normal and adaptive response to stress.

Eventually they give out, like anything else, and need time to rest and recover. This is known as adrenal fatigue, and is common, but what most don’t realize is that they don’t tend to conk out in the middle of our stress, but wait until the stressful time is over and THEN decide to go on sick leave.

That’s why many are caught off guard that they initially feel better after a period of stress has passed, only to hit a wall and crash hard on the couch a couple of days or weeks later. The adrenals have quietly gone on strike and said, “Yay! Now we can nap for a while”, leaving us even more worn out that even before.

Collective grief can add to the challenge…

Compounded grief takes a toll on us emotionally and physically, yet we’re rarely prepared for or aware of this and think something is wrong with us, that we’re being wimpy or weak or dysfunctional. With so many in this country experiencing compounded grief from this challenging year without even knowing it, we’re also subject to the impact of collective grief, where those around us are also grieving. Just being in the proximity of so many who are suffering can take an even greater toll on us.

In some ways, collective grief is helpful because we may have more space to process with others who are just as ready to talk as are we. It also helps to not feel alone when we’re mourning. But just like different members in the same family can grieve a loss in very different ways, so too do we see various coping styles from those around us. Some get quiet and pull away while others get loud and angry, with every other type of coping in between represented.

Being around that much grief expressed in that many ways can be more overwhelming than helpful. We must be careful with our exposure to conversations at gatherings and on social media, even in the news, and take in only what seems to be helping us cope and process and turn it off or kindly walk away when it’s counter-productive for our sanity, health, and relationships.

When we’re already tired…

For those who are already dealing with grief in their personal lives, any additional stress can be more than they can bear. Being around this compounded and collective grief many in our country are experiencing and expressing may be intolerable to add to their already heavy load. Remember, our compassion muscles are already overloaded and fatigued, so we have less to give others.

We’re so weary from walking with our own stories that we can’t carry anyone else’s.

This may lead our defenses to kick in and offload being around others’ grief, which can look like being impatient with or shaming of others’ pain and frustration. We can’t do that! We must learn a way to take grief out of the shadows and release it from the added burdens of disconnection and shame. The only way we can do that is together.

This is a natural response to inordinate circumstances…

So if you’re struggling more than you think you should, if you’re exhausted more than seems reasonable, if you’re cranky and crabby and not fit for human consumption because of your impatience and overload, please hear me—you are crazy.

Words exist for what you’re feeling and going through. You are not weak or too emotional and you definitely are not alone. You are simply a normal human being going through an abnormal time of compounded and collective grief that is far greater than what we’ve experienced since 9/11 and its aftermath.

The most healthy and tough and mature and boundaried of persons will crumble when pushed far enough. Often we hold ourselves to such a high standard that we are shocked and caught off guard and can’t figure out what’s wrong with us when we’re experiencing a natural response to an unnatural compilation of events.

Be gentle, with yourself and each other…

Be extra protective of your emotions. Be aware of the music, television, post casts, news casts, and social media to which you’re exposing yourself. Your ability to filter out harsh or negative words and sounds and images is probably weakened and your already heavily overloaded emotions can’t handle as much these days, nor should they!

I was at the blessing of twin babies last night. It was happening earlier than was probably wise for these two preemies, whose immune systems are still developing, but it was the only time many family members could see them before they traveled back to their home state.

The daddies held them closely in chest wraps and pulled the soft cloth back briefly so loved ones could catch a peek and say hello to the newest members of the family. Some loved ones stayed home from the party because they had a cough, most likely due to the awful allergy season we’re facing, but they didn’t want to take any chances at having something that might drift to the babies.

No one complained that any of the group was being overly protective. Love doesn’t make everything about us, but wants what is healthy for the other. No one judged the infants for not having a strong enough immune system, yet. Love doesn’t shame or rush another’s process.

When did we decide that taking good care of grief and being tender with tender hearts was weak? Take just as good of care of yourself as you would the most beloved persons in your life.

Soft fabrics, quiet space, yummy foods (though be mindful of the ways that alcohol, sugar, and caffeine can dehydrate and depress our systems), sunshine, puppies and kitties or your pet iguana—surround yourself with whatever you need. Move a little, even just 10 minutes, to get oxygen to your brain, but don’t overdo it; those adrenals and your brain and body need all the resources they can get to recover and process the stress of grief. Give them that.

Be slow. Be safe. Pay extra attention. Your brain can be fuzzy-brained and distracted, processing grief in the background of your mind as you go about your day, often behind the wheel of 1-ton machinery going 80 miles an hour, surrounded by others who are also grieving and wiped out.

Whatever you do, simply be gentle and tell any shame gremlins that start to bite at your ankles that there is no shame in being normal and everything right about being human. After all, if we can’t sit with and have compassion for our own pain, how can we even begin to be able to be with others?

May we all find our own ways to care wisely for our grief and be compassionate with ourselves and each other as we all seek to heal and recover.

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized

Don’t Let Anticipatory Grief Rob You of Today: Day 19 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 19, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 19—The On-Going Pain of Anticipatory Grief

One of my favorite lines of writing comes up often from one of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott. In describing a situation in which she is waiting for the other shoe to drop, she remembers…

“But I think God only has one shoe.”

I lived with this feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop even after a health crisis passed (I’ll write more about this in a later post). It so permeated my days that I finally looked up the origin of the saying.

The expression came from a common vaudeville comedy show in which a person checked into a boarding house late at night in an upstairs room. After noisily letting his first shoe clunk heavily to the floor, waking the patron below him, the now awake man below wanted to go back to sleep, but couldn’t because he knew the other was coming at any moment to just wake him, again.

When the tension of waiting finally stretched to its breaking point and comedic climax, the man in bed finally yelled to the ceiling, “Well, whatcha waiting for?! Go ahead and drop the other one!”

It’s funny because it’s universal. We all know what it’s like to anticipate the tickling fingers of an older sibling who’s playfully teasing us, the butterflies before a first kiss, the “what the heck was I thinking” stomach swirl as the roller coaster clicks in a painfully slow way up the hill just to pause before dropping us to massive speeds over the other side, or the first steps up to speak for a major presentation. Those are the fun ones we choose.

Others aren’t so fun. Sometimes, we wait to see what his mood is going to be like today when he comes home, to hear what the boss has to say when we’ve been called into her office during layoffs, for the doctor to call with the results, for the day to finally come when dad doesn’t recognize us.

We hold our breath without realizing it (which science tells us triggers our bodies to register even more anxiety and fear, so we need to keep belly-breathing!). We freeze or we pace or we prattle or we get busy or we numb to try not to feel the dread.

We just want to get it over with while simultaneously wanting that moment to never come.

The stress this whole process of anticipation puts our minds and bodies through can do great damage. We’re not designed to live under constant threat with on-going cortisol flooding our systems and hyperarousal pushing even our amygdala to enlarge and overwork even more. It takes a toll.

For some, this time is received as a bit of a gift, in that, by the time the shoe finally drops they’ve already grieved and prepared so much that the impact isn’t quite as traumatic as they expected. It’s like an emotional forced savings account that makes it a bit easier when the loan is called to not have to make the payments all at once; we’ve been paying little by little, day by day.

Certainly, that’s not always the case, but when it is, it can surprise us to realized we’ve already cried out all our tears. Some even feel guilty when they have no more tears left to cry and, instead, feel a flood of relief that it’s over. But when “it” is the death of a loved one, the relief can feel weird to experience. We in healthcare spend a lot of time reassuring folks there’s nothing wrong with being relieved that suffering, our loved ones’ and our own, is over.

Until that time comes and the shoe does finally drop, it can be easy to miss those moments as we are distracted by the dread of what is likely to come. In fact, we can so dread tomorrow that we lose today. Finding a way to cope with anticipatory grief is important. We’re already being robbed of enough and deserve whatever time we have to find some connection and peace.

One gift, again hard-earned and one we don’t really want, of working with persons who have dementia is the constant invitation to be present with what is in each moment, since things can change and vacillate so quickly and often. It’s definitely a practice to sit and breathe and be with what is, while working to accept each moment. Sometimes, it’s the only way to sanity.

The waiting, the dreading, the anticipating are all natural and understandable. You aren’t crazy. You aren’t alone. You will get through this. And, it will likely suck. Take good care of yourself and find ways to cope with the stress of waiting so that you can soak up the moments you have left.

As always, find those who can walk with you as you walk with your grief. No one should ever walk with grief alone.

More information about this topic can be found on the fabulous site, What’s Your Grief, which I highly recommend and respect. I hope you find it helpful.

Until tomorrow…

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized

Disenfranchised Grief Shouldn’t Be Missed: Day 18 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 18, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 18—The Isolation of Disenfranchised Grief

In the Sharing Our Stories grief workbook, I had this to say about disenfranchised grief:

“Disenfranchised grief is that which is not known, acknowledged, or understood by society. When this occurs others do not know to oﬀer support (i.e., when a secret relationship ends) or they do not oﬀer adequate support out of a lack of understanding (i.e., after a miscarriage, death of a pet, or any time others begin to feel that someone should be over their grief within a certain period of time).

When a deceased loved one was challenging or even abusive to live with, most others around us will not know the private story. As a result, those who have been victimized may be reminded painfully of the original trauma, and the secrets that surrounded it, as others praise the one who perpetrated the abuse as a wonderful person, not knowing the damage he or she also caused.

Others may not realize the extra triggers and confusion that can occur when a person with whom we had a challenging relationship dies. As a result, they may not oﬀer us adequate support. What, if any, has been your experience of disenfranchised grief? What healing might you still be in need of that you could receive from others about this now?”

This was written as part of the reflection on the Hospice Whispers story, “Your Mom Is So Sweet” ©2014. It details one well-meaning volunteer who gushed about how sweet a patient was to the patient’s daughter, who had lived her whole life with her mother’s on-going abuse.

I don’t know your story (that’s what the sweet but inexperienced volunteer learned from this situation), but whatever it is it’s important to notice if any of your grief is in any way being sent, by you or others, underground. Is there any way in which your grief can’t be adequately processed through because it’s not sufficiently recognized, supported, or given safe space to be heard?

When I was a teenager, a close family member suffered from mental illness and saw enemies everywhere she turned. I was not allowed to openly demonstrate grief about the deaths of a friend and later a family member because she held so much against them that my grieving appeared to her like a betrayal and she squelched my tears harshly.

Others did not know this was happening. So I grieved the deaths largely in private and grieved the emotional abuse of the whole twisted circumstance completely in silence for many years.

It wasn’t until I began working with those who grieve (funny how we find what we need…) that I realized my need to go back and mourn these two deaths. Ugh! And yet, the relief and freedom I found on the other side of finally grieving all of this were well worth the price of admission.

Trust me. Find places to not be alone anymore with disenfranchised grief. It may be hard, but I promise, it’s worth it.

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized

Don’t Pathologize the Anger of Grief: Day 17 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 17, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 17—Don’t Pathologize the Anger of Grief

I’ve previously written for my guest blog on Hospice Times a post encouraging professionals not to mistake or write off the anger related to grief as dysfunction.

It can be a lot easier to recognize and respond caringly to grief that involves quiet tears rather than loud rants. As a culture, we’re not comfortable with death and grief, but I would argue that our relationship with anger is even more unhealthy, no matter what the anger’s source. The grief that comes out in anger may not be warm and fuzzy, but it’s no less deserving of support.

Most of us would not fault parents for raging at the injustice of the death of their child. But how many of us could sit in its presence without feeling a little freaked out and, as a result, wanting to find some way to calm that anger down?

Many do not feel comfortable expressing their own grief, much less being around others’. Sometimes, however, in the midst of our grappling with our frustration and helplessness and angst over what seems so unfair or unjust, there is no putting a muzzle on grief. We must find safe spaces and ways to get it out lest it fester inside of us and cause further damage.

Think about how anger was/is handled in your family. Consider how the significant grownups who raised you expressed their anger and responded to others expressions of the emotion. Was it loud and scary, quiet and underground, passive aggressive and harsh, avoidant and rejecting? Of the methods of handling grief that you were raised under, which ones did you adopt? Which one is the hardest for you to be around?

The more we understand our own relationship with and perception of anger, the better we will be able to navigate it when it arises during grief.

It’s an understandable and even adaptive response to anger. Think about it, the energy behind anger can be the only thing getting us up off the couch when the depression of grief wants to permanently imprint our butts there! It can keep us going and moving and push us to find answers and make meaning out of the meaninglessness of loss.

So, if you love or care professionally for those who are grieving, explore your own comfort level with anger. Spend some time reflecting on ways to unhook from getting triggered, taking it personally, and moving into a flight or fight response so that you can comfortably give it safe space to be expressed.

Let only affirmation, normalization, and validation as your response. Those grieving get enough pushback from others and need somebody to finally just GET it and not push back. Saying, “Of COURSE you feel this way” can be one of the greatest gifts you can give. Top it off with, “This sucks” or “No, this doesn’t make sense to me. I wish it did” or “I wish I had answers, and I’m so sorry I don’t.” And always end with, “I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

If you are grieving any type of loss, take a moment to check in and see if there’s any residual grief you’ve blocked, shut down, or explained away. Look around you for those who can handle sitting with you in it without having a reaction that makes you feel like you have to shut it down to take care of them and their discomfort.

Find persons who will not quietly or openly shame, judge, or dismiss your anger. Like it or not, it’s all part of it and it all deserves space to just be until it passes through in its own time.

Till then:

Breathe.
Remember that this will pass.
Remember the different between venting to and venting at another person.
Exercise to give your body some relief. The science shows that this helps.
Commit to not harming yourself or anyone else as you express your anger.
Let the scribbling of your pencil help you physically and emotionally process your feelings (again, there’s science behind this).
Write letters to the deceased, family members, G-d, the universe, or whomever else you need to tell all about it that you do not intend to send.
Burn these, shred them and cast them out onto moving water, or read them a professional or friend who can caringly listening without interjecting or trying to talk you out of how you feel.
Allow yourself to re-story the event in the way you wish it had ended. Look for your own sense of meaning in the story.
Do whatever you need to do that is safe and feels right.
Don’t forget numbers 1 and 2.

I’ll end here, but the struggle continues, and our need to respond well to anger remains. If you have insights or suggestions around this topic, I would value hearing them. Together, we’ll get even better at showing up for ourselves and each other when grief, understandably, pisses us off and draws our wrath.

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized

The Pain of Long and Short Goodbyes: Day 16 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 16, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 16—The Pain of Long and Short Goodbyes

We who counsel mourners regularly encourage persons to not compare experiences. Doing so can minimize one’s loss as being less significant than another’s, shutting down one’s willingness to grieve openly and receive the support they need and deserve. That serves no one.

This holds true for the varying time-frames over which a loved one dies.

Sudden, unexpected death can rock our world, leaving us feeling stunned in disbelief as we struggle to wrap our heads around what we do not want to accept as true. It reminds us that life can be capricious and that bad things do happen to good people, which can challenge all our existential beliefs and leave us feeling angry and afraid.

Having little to no time to say goodbye can significantly complicate our grief, as well, as the shock can take time to wear off.

The long, slow goodbyes of a protracted illness bring their own heartache and difficulties. Getting the chance to say goodbye is a gift paid for with weeks, months, or even years of watching someone you love suffer and go away bit by bit.

This prompts a series of griefs as we deal with the anticipation of waiting for the other shoe to drop, mourn each new loss, while exhaustedly and guiltily begging the universe to let it all be done.

Which would you choose?

Each person answers differently. It’s always interesting to hear both those who wish for the grass that looks so green on the other side and those who acknowledge how hard their circumstance is/was but accept it because of the gifts they find in their experience:

“I wish we could have said goodbye, but I’m glad he didn’t linger and suffer”.

“It wore us out in so many ways, but I wouldn’t trade a second of the time we had with her.”

Still others grapple with their lot:

“I can’t get over not having a chance to say I love you one more time. It haunts me, still.”

“Watching him suffer day after day was the cruelest thing I could imagine. It haunts me, still.”

We’ve no idea how someone views their situation, so we do not assume and we do not judge. We accept that pain is relative—the worst pain you’ve experienced is the worst pain you’ve experienced. There is no fair way to compare, and why would we? We let them be where they are and grieve exactly as they need.

What challenges did you find in your circumstance? What gifts did you come to see? What, if anything, remains for you to resolve for your own peace and sanity’s sake? What would it look like to be free from the things that hold you back? What would it take to get you there?

Whatever your grief looks like, however you answer these questions, I hope you find deep comfort and on-going support, exactly as you need it, and I truly hope this series is at least a small part of that which helps you.

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized

“What Better Place?”: Day 15 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 15, 2017

· No Comments

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

“What Better Place?”–Excerpt of Questions from Sharing Our Stories

I wrote previously in this series about coping with the hurtful things people say to those grieving. One such common phrase is, “They’re in a better place.”

While we are grateful our loved one is no longer in pain, and may even have a believe in an afterlife, that’s often of little comfort in the moment when we ache to hold them, see their face, hear their voice and laughter, and smell their unique scent just one more time.

No matter how deep our gratitude and faith, our pain is also deep and deserves to be heard, never minimized. The humorous and poignant story, called “What Better Place” from Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life (c)2014, addresses this issue.

As promised, I’m providing free excerpts from Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook in this series, so I’ve also included the reflection questions from the workbook related to”What Better Place”at the end of the story.

Please feel free to share this with anyone who might be interested in a grief workbook so they can see if Sharing Our Stories is right for them or their group!

Bulk orders (7 copies or more) are eligible for a 25% discount by contacting me through my website.

All you need to do to access your free sample is to follow the link, type in your email address (I’ll never share your info and only send out 1 newsletter a month), and download your free sample of Sharing Our Stories.

I hope you enjoy this story and find it and the Sharing Our Stories reflection questions helpful!

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized

“No One Ever Says Her Name…”: Day 14 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 14, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 14—”No One Ever Says Her Name…”

Once while speaking at a conference in California, I met a woman named Dev from an advocacy organization that promotes healthy conversations around end of life care. We spoke about a variety of topics and swapped stories related to the industry and work we both love.

Our talk turned to the ways persons are often left isolated in their grief after the death of a loved one, and the things we encourage others to do, and try to do ourselves, to show up well for them.

I shared about the importance of always asking the name of the deceased by asking, “What IS their name?”.

The temptation is to ask, “What WAS their name?”, but just because the person has died does not mean they’ve lost their name or the essence of who they are to those who love them. They are still very much present in the hearts and minds of those who miss them, so there’s nothing wrong with speaking of them in the present tense.

When I do this, they tear up sweetly and thank me for asking. They smile through the tears as they speak the name of the person who still means so much to them.

My new friend nodded in agreement then told me the story of a woman she heard speak at a conference about the death of her daughter, Katrina. The mom said that as heartbreaking as the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina in 2005 was, part of her was also thrilled to suddenly be hearing her daughter’s name everywhere she turned.

On every television station, in every newspaper, and in every casual conversation, her daughter’s name once again filled her world. “No one ever says her name…”, Dev quoted the mom’s speech.

We stood there quietly as those words sunk in for us both. We’ve heard countless parents and other loved ones say this, but something about the Katrina story helped it resonate on a deeper level.

Dev spoke of the hundreds of times a day she heard her own daughter’s name, “Is Mackenzie awake?” “Kenzie, don’t forget your backpack.” “Kenzie, I’ll pick you up from cheerleading practice at 5.” She spoke of how impossible it would be to get used to her name disappearing from her ears if suddenly it was gone.

Persons fear bringing up painful memories by mentioning someone who has died, though most often the bereaved say NOT hearing about their loved one feels far worse. So, we teach persons to ask, “What is his name?” and, “Would you like to tell me about her?”

Even if they aren’t up for talking about them and say, “No”, the simple gesture of being asked is often touching and healing enough as it openly acknowledges their pain and allows another to share it, if even just for a moment.

I encourage this as practice with those around you: ask their name; ask if they want to tell you about them, what they were like, what they miss most about them. If they aren’t up for it, they’ll tell you, but by simply asking, you may offer a far greater gift than you could ever understand.

If you’re the one grieving, find a way to ask for what you need from persons who’ve earned the right to your precious trust. Say their name, yourself, to model for others that it’s okay to talk about them. Ask questions of others about them.

They may feel a little uncomfortable, at first, but it can quickly become a new normal as you overcome the taboo of speaking of the dead. Allow them to live from your mouth and not just hidden away quietly in your heart. There’s nothing morbid about it, so long as it feels helpful, and not harmful, to you.

Peace to us all as we remember those we love, and share them with others.

Carla

Uncategorized

When Questions Have No Answers: Day 13 of #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 13, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 13—When Questions Have No Answers

Grief often involves questions. Loss can challenge our foundational beliefs about the way we think the world should be, leaving us looking for something solid on which to stand.

We want things to make sense. When they don’t, we feel out of control, and that triggers our anxiety. We want the world to seem orderly and predictable, once again, so our brains work overtime to try to find meaning in situations that often make no sense.

German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche’s, quote, “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how”, comes to mind. Our brains look for that “why”, even though oftentimes one is not readily available.

Meaning isn’t something anyone else can spoon-feed us. Meaning is something we must find for ourselves, and what works for one may not necessarily work for another.

I spend a great deal of my time teaching professional care providers and even lay people how to be present with the suffering of others without trying to fix it by giving pat answers or trying to impose their meaning onto the other’s crisis.

Those are the cheap seats, far removed from the main actors where we don’t have to actually be touched by their pain. That simply lets us feel good about ourselves for thinking we’ve helped, so we can then move on, un-phased. The hard place to sit is on the front row, up close to the pain and misery where we can feel it, see it, and touch it, which we really don’t want to do.

When others hear the questions of grief, they often feel they must answer them lest they be seen as unwise, weak, or uncaring. This discomfort can lead them to shy away from grief. Anyone who has experienced grief can attest to the feelings of being a pariah as some persons avoid this discomfort.

So I train others to practice sitting in the midst of those questions while noticing their discomfort and avoiding the urge to run away or provide answers, even when persons plead with them to do so. To say, “I don’t know”, in the face of pain can feel unbearable, but it can be the most compassionate thing we can do.

Sometimes, we simply must sit with the discomfort of the unknown while those suffering find their own answers. The meaning we find can mean far more to us than that which is imposed upon us by others.

As desperately as we may want to demand that another tell us how to make sense of our loss, when we are ready, the answers will come. Anything said to us before then will find no solid place on which to land; the words will bring us no solace if we are not ready to accept them.

So we breathe and we sit and we wait, and often must accept that there simply are no answers. Meaning? Yes, we can find such gifts in time, but answers about why those whom we love or those things dear to us go away, often are never to come.

Perhaps the most challenging thing is waiting until we find peace with this absence.

Yours in waiting,

Carla

Uncategorized

Are Questions Counter to Faith?: Day 12 in #31DaysWithGrief

Posted by Carla Cheatham on

January 12, 2017

· No Comments

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

Day 12—Are Questions Counter to Faith?

I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve been asked some form of, “Am I a bad (enter faith tradition here) for having questions/doubts/anger about this?” As a pastor of a faith community, I’m allowed to answer this question and others, and am even expected to offer teaching and counsel according to my religion.

As a chaplain or grief counselor, however, the boundaries and expectations are far different as we respect others’ beliefs and values while avoiding the opportunistic promotion of our own. That’s not why we’re there, nor what we’re getting paid to do. We reflect the questions back to the person, normalizing and affirming their feelings, and walk with them as they find their own answers within their own belief and value system.

There’s a subtle risk of assuming that I know the answers to another’s questions, or that what works for me will work for them. To treat others as if I know better than do they how they should direct their life is hubris on my part and disrespects their autonomy and dignity while elevating my own importance. That’s a trap against which I always want to guard.

So often, I’ll answer by saying, “What rings true for you? Do you believe you’re allowed to ask questions/have doubts/feel anger?” What follows is a dialogue during which they speak aloud their thoughts and I reflect back to them what I hear them saying.

Most often, it seems that they don’t really feel guilty or wrong for expressing their struggles, but fear that I will shame or judge them for having them. When I don’t gasp in shock and condemn them, but instead lovingly and gently ask them their thoughts and beliefs, it seems reassuring to them.

When I normalize and affirm their struggles, “Of COURSE you feel that way! Many people in your situation do”, their shoulders sink and their faces relax in relief as they say hopefully, “Really?!?!”

If their theology does NOT allow for these things, they will tell me that, and I follow them through finding peace according to their belief-system, but it’s not exceptionally common for persons to hold a hard and fast belief that G-d will judge them for being honest and real and human.

When I am NOT in the role of chaplain or grief counselor, I have more freedom to speak what I believe. These are a few of my thoughts, and I invite you to take what fits for you and blow off the rest. For those of you who call a higher power or deity by a different name, or who are non-theist, I trust you to adapt this in whatever way works for you. I’d also love to hear all of your views:

G-d gave us our emotions, so why would G-d begrudge our having them, especially in times of grief?
G-d gave us the capacity to love this person in a big way, so how could G-d be mad at us for being angry and grieving in a big way?
My G-d is big enough to handle our honest questions and struggles, and isn’t petty enough to be offended by them.
As a therapist, when a couple told me they weren’t arguing, I knew to worry! Either they weren’t being genuine and honest with each other, or themselves. If they were stuffing their feelings or too insecure in the relationship to argue, it did not bode well for the health of their relationship. Arguing with a loved one can actually be healthy to some degree. Doing so clears the air, helps us understand each other, and even ourselves, better, and strengthens our relationship. I believe our relationship with G-d is no different.
The issue isn’t whether we have questions/doubts/anger but what we do with them.
In the Judeo-Christian scriptures, Jacob wrestled all night on the top of the mountain with G-d (or an angel of G-d, depending on your translation) and refuse to let go until he received a blessing. Afterward, his name was changed to Israel, meaning one who wrestles with G-d, and he was told that through him all nations would be blessed. Wrestling with God was not condemned, it was blessed.
From the Christian New Testament, in I Thessalonians, the Apostle Paul writes, “We would not have you ignorant, brothers and sisters, about those who are asleep, so that you would not grieve as those who have no hope.” (4:13). He did not say, “Don’t grieve”. He assumed that we WOULD grieve, and just encouraged us to have hope when we do.

I once visited with an associate minister of a faith community who spoke with a hardened face and voice, “I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back to services since my son died.”

My immediate response was, “Of COURSE you haven’t!” He looked at me, stunned, and said, “What?!”

“I can’t imagine the triggers and memories, the expectations of you when you’re there, the dozens of people who want to come comfort you and swamp you with love and even well-intended but not helpful cliches and phrases, let alone any questions or anger or doubts you may be grappling with. Many people would be struggling to still be on speaking terms with G-d after the death of their child. I don’t know your reasons, but whatever they are, they wouldn’t surprise me.”

His whole countenance relaxed as he said with a sigh of relief, “You’re the first person I’ve met who hasn’t wanted to fix me. Thank you!”

It was as if, suddenly, without someone pushing back against or judging his grief and anger and pain, it could relax and finally move. He told me later what a tremendous difference it made for him. And he eventually got back on speaking terms with G-d…but not because someone scolded or judged or shamed him into it. He needed time to heal in all respects. His spiritual healing was no different.

I don’t know your story, your beliefs, or your thoughts on this. Whatever they are, please hear someone affirm them, and you, and state clearly that you get to find your way in your time with your own answers, and it is all good.

Peace,

Carla

Uncategorized