Trying to understand

I know that I have written about this before but it is a subject that certainly engages my attention – what, actually, is LIFE – that essence, that vivifying factor that makes something alive which is absent when something that was alive is now dead? This is the ultimate in pointless questions I suppose, as I don’t believe we will ever know. It may be that we are never supposed to know.

And yet I try. And I’ll keep trying. Always.

The various forms by which life expresses itself is astonishing. Take for instance the very small black ants that I find in my kitchen sometimes. They are no more than, possibly, a millimetre long and yet they are aware of danger and will scurry out of the way if they see my thumb, or the shadow it casts, descending on them. They are alive and sensitive to danger and aware enough to try and remove themselves from any threatening situation as quickly as they can.

I find this extraordinary – that something just one millimetre in length has (possibly) the same awareness of danger as I have. But that is Life. Yet it puzzles me still – it always has.

This, by a rather circuitous route, gets me to consider another aspect of Life - my feelings -my sense of loss and grief. This is certainly not a new topic for me but that doesn’t stop me from always seeking answers.

There is a difference, I believe, between mourning and grief. Grief to my mind is more than a deep sorrow. To me grief is similar to a deep knife cut. It hurts. But the wound can be bound up and healing will begin. The wound may heal but the scar will always remain.

There is also a time element associated with grief. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote about grieving and loss in his letters, “Time does not console, as people say superficially, at best it assigns things to their proper place and creates an order.” After the great stillness that accompanies death, life gradually becomes normal again. The hours and the days, that had been so disrupted by the death of my wife, Magucha, seemed to swing back, slowly, into their habitual rhythms. I had to eat; regain some regularity in my sleep; greet the world and its people. Life continues.

Mourning on the other hand has a connotation, at least as I think of it, with lamentation. Now I did lament, not outwardly but in my heart it was a different matter entirely. But no one can lament forever. Lamentation is necessarily rather brief. 

One deep lesson I have learned, however, is that death, and the realisation of death, especially of someone we love, never exceeds our strength to bare its burden. Death does after all “bookend” our life – where there is a birth, there will ultimately be a death. Just the way it is.

I am sure that through love and through death we, all of us, learn that Life entails the loss of others and the abdication of any ideas of “control” over events that we may think we have. A true awareness of this gives us a greater understanding of the pain needed to reconnect with the life we lead. We need this pain to explore, as difficult and confronting as this may be, in what specific way our loss has impacted our life. This can and possibly should be, a transformative moment. 

As always in moments of high emotion I resort to reading poetry and prose I find emotionally enriching. From a small book called “Fruit Gathering”, by the Bengali Nobel Prize winner, Rabindranath Tagore, I offer the following simply entitled “LIX” – 59 in Roman numerals:-

“When the weariness of the road is upon me, and the thirst of the sultry day; when the ghostly hours of dusk throw their shadows across my life, then I cry not for your voice only, my friend, but for your touch.

There is an anguish in my heart for the burden of its riches not given to you.

Put out your hand through the night, let me hold it and fill it and keep it; let me feel its touch along the lengthening stretch of my loneliness.”

Love in poetry and song

It is not often that I am at a loss for words. But now, today, three years after Magucha died, there is a numbness, a weariness - I am finding it difficult to find the words to express the inexpressible. I mean three years, in the great scheme of things, is but a blink in time. Not to me though.

My belief: It cannot be that courage, friendship, intuition, empathy are all the result of chance or chemistry alone. This just doesn’t make any sense to me!

My belief: I cannot hold to the theory that love is just the result of hormonal juices, or synaptic chemical transfer.

That love – and I don’t just mean the “boy meets girl” initial attraction. I mean that love, that friendship, that companionship, that unquestioning acceptance of the “other”. This is rare and worth holding onto with everything at one’s disposal.

  

I like to believe that we had this – Magucha and I.

As always in times of high emotion I turn to the poets. Their understanding of the frailness of the human condition; their unique use of words have a restorative power that I find brings me peace. 

The 19^thCentury American poet, Henry Longfellow, I can relate to – he married twice. Each time his wife died – one in very tragic circumstances. But he was a great poet and apparently a very kind and gentle man.

Amongst many he wrote the poem, “A Shadow” – the last lines of which are:-

“Be comforted; the world is very old,

And generations pass, as they have passed,

A troop of shadows moving with the sun;

Thousands of times has the old tale been told;

The world belongs to those who come the last,

They will find hope and strength as we have done.”

So be it.

Another day has passed.

Some things, like memories, are not easy to write about. I know that memory is a wonderful thing yet it can be quite frightening in its scope. My memories seem to be activated at random, as I presume happens to others. All of a sudden a memory is there without seemingly being called. While others have to be dragged from wherever they reside. 

While the time spent without Magucha has not been easy, time can be kind. It dulls the pain. Sort of. But the ache remains, as do the memories. They always will. 

But the curious in me wants to know so many things. One thing has bothered me, even though I think I have worked it out – why we/I grieve. Grief hurts in many ways but it’s all about me! It’s about my hurt; my loss; my feelings. 

I should be glad that Magucha no longer suffers; I should be glad that she is no longer burdened by the trappings and necessities of life, as we live it. I am - but it is not easy!

That her love; that her emotional strength; that her mischievous sense of humour; that her deep and sensitive knowledge of the needs of others; that all this has just disappeared into "nothing" is beyond my understanding. 

Of course it is a given that I have absolutely no idea what has "happened" to her. I have the strong conviction though, that when we die we still “exist”, obviously without the bodily form we used when “alive”. The essence that was/is us continues. That essence, that “Life”, has returned to wherever it came from.

All I know is that (in the words of the song) “Loving her was easier than anything I’ll ever do again”.

Can or should grief be medicated?

It is with dismay, bewilderment and some disbelief I read that grief has now been medicalised and been classified as a “pathological” condition. Grief is the most natural emotion or feeling experienced when someone they love dies. I mean even swans grieve (or at least show signs of loss) when their mate dies and will remain near the body of their mate.

Humans have suffered grief and have mourned since they first walked the earth – some 1.5 million years ago so why is it only now in the last few years that it is considered in the same category as a “mental illness”?

Now (as “defined” by the American Psychiatric Association – APA, in their Diagnostic and Statistical Manual version 5, DSM 5) there are Major Depressive Disorders (MDD); bereavement-related major depressions (BRMD); Later Bereavement Disorders (LBD); also - possibly - an Adjustment Disorders (AD) – adjusting to the now changed circumstances. Then there is also apparently research into the validation of intense lengthy grief to determine if this is a “pathology”, (in other words a biological “illness”) - a pathology called “prolonged” or “complicated” grief (PG or CG). Validation, I understand, rests on the risk of “future harm” – thus confusing the (possible) risk of a “illness” with an actual “illness” – if you get what I mean! Or even (gasp!) that grief has been “derailed” and become “frozen” or an “interminable” grief!   

Furthermore, apparently, those who determine these things have decided that grief should only last for two weeks. Any longer and it then becomes depression. Once it becomes depression antidepressants may then prescribed.

One is left to wonder if these “experts” have ever grieved or mourned.

It has been written that: “Grief is an automatic reaction, presumably guided by brain circuitry activated in response to a world suddenly, profoundly, and irrevocably altered by a loved one's death.”

There is one HUGE assumption in that statement; the presumption that grief is the result of brain function. But is this really the case?

In my case it was my “heart” that felt the pain of loss – a gut loss - like a wrenching, a tearing of something. My reasoning – my head – tells me that my wife is dead but it is my heart that feels it, that feels the emotion of the loss. Her love; her companionship; her emotional support; her intelligence; her sense of humour are all now absent.

And I still feel the loss – eighteen months after the “event”. But do I need to be medicated; am I depressed; am I suffering from a “frozen” or “interminable” grief?

Apparently, and totally unconsciously, I have adopted an ancient method of coping – writing and reading about grief and grieving. I certainly find this helps me.

But I know that I will always miss her.