Living Through Grief Tinged Mood Slumps

 

I don’t think anybody sets out to be an expert in grief, not even therapists unless they have suffered a personal loss and find themselves in the upheavals of grieving.

Last week, I found myself thrown out of my usual coping wagon, which is never a guarantee to stay on the rails in the first place.

Of course, it snuck up on me without paying much attention to the calendar.  By

Friday I was tearful off and on and felt fragile in general.

My son died on the 18th day of the month and due to the 7 hours ahead time difference got the call in the early morning of the 19th.

Even when I was sitting out overlooking the lake in Holland I found tears rolling down my cheeks;  thinking how much he would have loved to travel again with us.

He had visited Amsterdam with friends when he lived in Paris studying to be a chef at Ferrandi.

Last Tuesday and Wednesday were the 18 and 19, and though it wasn’t February, the month he died, I have noticed that when the 18 and 19 of each month rolls around, my mood takes a dive, some deeper than others.

I have written about death anniversaries, the yearly ones, but perhaps these monthly occurrences should be called mini death anniversaries.

I have often noticed the symptoms in patients who had experienced a death of a love one when they too would go through the same thing.

It is to be expected and that is just the way grief is.  The grieving ones don’t control grief nor the grieving process.

Grief has its own agenda,  with a lot of it riding in our unconscious like a submerged submarine that surfaces with the anniversary of death dates and at other times catching us off-guard.

Friday was also my deceased mother’s birthday, so perhaps it was an accumulation of grief for her too.

Grieving people don’t want to stay wading in their grief, but despite most peoples’ best efforts, the puddles of grief that we try so hard to avoid catches up with us.

Grief will do what whatever it will with you or take you wherever it wants you to be, despite what you do or don’t do. 

The bottom line is that it is basically out of your control consciously or unconsciously.

I do not think that is a bad thing, because as a therapist, feelings, whatever they may be need to be recognized, listened to and experienced.

Trying to avoid any feelings is not healthy, and only serves to give any feelings more power.

Resistance to any feeling magnifies the why you don’t want to deal with that feeling whatever it may be.

Feelings need to be seen as loving friends who come to you with kindness and truth for you to know truths about yourself.

The old adage that if you can’t feel, you can’t heal has a lot of merit!

Feeling an emotion is not the same as acting on it!  Feeling an emotion is understanding that it is a part of your psyche that needs to be recognized and expressed.   

As adults, we should have control about acting upon any feelings, especially those of anger or worse revengeful feelings.

Grief has no major agenda for us to deal with it, other than feel the loss, the sadness or whatever feelings we may have without trying to censor them.

Recognising and feeling sadness associated with grief is normal and healthy and it becomes a part of our earthly reality.

For myself and what I have encouraged my patients to do who are in grief is to take their sadness and grief with them.

Don’t waste energy to deny or bury your grief; allow it to come as it may.  How you deal with it is your business and no, I am not an expert on anybody else’s grief, not even my own.

When I say taking sadness and grief along with you,  I mean to stop pretending you are not having grief slumps.

I often describe it like a dark cloud that follows me sometimes, colouring my moods.

Dealing with it is a personal choice in so far as the grief is given recognition!  We all handle our grief in many different ways.

I often succumb to retreating and being isolated, which might be ok for a while, but not for very long.

By retreating, I become melancholy without any energy and become lethargic.  I have a need of wanting to be alone and just be immersed in my bubble of sadness.

That I allow for a while until the master sergeant within me comes out saying ” Ok, that is enough”.

I really am appreciative of my inner ” master sergeant” taking over sometimes when I need that more directive voice.

I like to see this internal kind but firm voice as a loving friend or parent who has much empathy for me, but also knows that I need encouragement to get out.

This voice becomes my encourager who is not willing to accept a no!  Grief there is,  but life is out there to be lived despite grieving and all.

I have found calling friends to be a good way to break that isolation.  I am much more interested in finding out about their lives, activities and family, than wailing about me.

So with much encouragement from my inner self, my daughter, friends and certainly from angels above, I get out like before, taking my dark cloud of grief along with a good measure of determination and courage.

A lot of very interesting events were happening in Paris this weekend that would be impossible to see them all.

Fête de la Gastronomie and Fête des Jardins offers loads of pleasant distractions that I always enjoy.

A major flower and horticultural show at a chateau prompted me to attend in search of replacing a plant that unfortunately took flight over the balcony when I was gone.

I wasn’t able to muster up enough energy Friday but did go Saturday.  Flowers and plants and all of nature are all beneficial to those who are depressed, sad, or in grief.

I walked along the various plants without much enthusiasm looking here and there for the same plant that I lost to no avail.

Only took two photos of a myriad of brightly coloured tomatoes,  hundreds of varieties and some strange pods, called devil’s horn that I never remember encountering in Louisiana.

Maybe, my horticultural genius friend, Isham can enlighten me about this oddity!

My lost plant was an Aeonium Schwarzkopt, with shiny black foliage that I had originally discovered in a garden in Lorraine.

The only plant I saw that tempted me was a Plumeria, which keeping alive in Paris is a challenge.  I had already failed twice from cuttings brought back from New Orleans, but was willing to try again.

Indigenous to Hawaii and Polynesia, they did well in hot and humid Louisiana, but obviously not here, without a sunny greenhouse during the winter months.

Sunday, Aimée and I went to the International Gastronomic Festival on the banks of the Seine at the foot of the Eiffel Tower.

By the time we arrived raindrops started and within a few minutes intensified to a steady downpour.

Our resolve to stay and go by each country’s stand endured, trying not to bump into others with my umbrella, nor be poked by theirs.

I felt sorry for the merchants, some of which had come from quite some distance to promote their countries and regional specialties.

Same for the dancers from Tchad, who danced with spirit despite the rain.

Some Sri Lankan crisp morsels caught my attention and both turned out to be delicious crisp spicy bites eaten standing up in the rain.

Sitting down on the rain-drenched bench was not possible unless you wanted a wet bottom as well.

Suddenly the wind came up with fierce gusts, making holding on to umbrellas difficult, quickly turning them inside out.

Soon the rain took a sharp slant that felt like wet needles hitting my face, making the umbrella rather useless as a shield.

Before long my mesh tennis shoes turned into little rubber pools, sloshing water at each step.

After making it to each stand, we finally gave up and left, chased by the torrential rains.

Crossing the bridge proved to be a hurdle as well, with huge straddles of briskly flowing water coursing along the curb.

My broad jumping wasn’t good enough to avoid a splash landing in the muddy water, so the rest of the walk to the metro I just gave up trying to keep the rest of me dry.

Paris is even beautiful in the driving rain, sopping wet with puddles and all!  In the end, we just ended up laughing looking like wet rats.

Actually, it turned out to be good therapy, and now I know why little boys delight in making huge splashes in puddles.

No big deal, no harm encountered, nor any loss incurred!  Enjoy the moment and beauty around you in times like this.

Back home after washing my shoes, and taking off my clinging wet pants and setting them to dry, I was glad that I got out, despite the torrential rains and gusting winds.

Rains are cleansing and storms are full of those negative ions that help lift our moods, so what a blessing in disguise!

I then set out making my Plum Galette, which is a wonderful rustique looking tart of buttery tender dough folded around a mound of sliced red plums, without worry to symmetry, making each one unique and different.

Strewn with some almonds and baked golden till the bright red juices flowed, my pastry likewise reminded of me of life, with all of its rough and imperfect edges.

We are like jewels in the rough that life polishes away our imperfections, whether we like it or not,  to reveal our inner beauty.

The whole afternoon mirrored life, the good and the bad and how we have to sail on through the storms that life throws our way.

Keep setting and plotting your course, even though you might get thrown overboard riding the rough waters of life from time to time. Get back in your lifeboat and keep going towards the horizon with faith, courage, and determination!