24 Dec 2023
Having any sort of meaningful discussion about death is something we should be encouraging more, as Laura Bill discovers…
More than two decades ago, shortly after my dad died I was given a little card with a poem which starts with the phrase “Death is nothing at all…” In some ways I found it comforting. It goes on to say things like “I have only slipped away into the next room” and “whatever we were to each other that we still are”.
Recently, after more loss, I asked myself if this poem is reductive – after all death is definitely a big deal for most people and certainly not nothing.
As someone who has something to say on everything I thought I’d try out a death conversation group – this one was through an arts-based project ‘Fevered Sleep’ but there are many others around.
Due to reasons of confidentiality, the fact I did not attend in my capacity as a journalist and the nature of the session being a “one moment in time and then gone” type of situation, I won’t be writing in much detail about the actual event, which was held in St Albans this month.
What I do want to share is what it was like talking about death for a sustained period of time with a group of strangers and my reflections from the session.
To set the scene: we were in a city centre location in a room tucked away behind the main building. There was space for 12 people but seven attended and there was also a facilitator who was not a qualified therapist but knew what he was doing and made everybody feel safe and included.
He introduced himself and explained that the idea was to provide a two hour safe space to discuss grief and dying. There were chairs in a circle and coffee and an urn – hot water not ashes – on a table to the side of the room. Which is kind of how you would imagine it to be. No biscuits either which was a surprise.
I felt a bit nervous as I arrived, maybe a similar sort of feeling to one I have experienced before a counselling session. I suppose maybe slightly afraid of what might come up or out. It is definitely the longest period of time I’ve stayed on the subject of grief and dying.
Usually it would be an “I’m sorry to hear about your mum” two minute type of exchange with a friend or colleague.
Even at actual funerals, people don’t really discuss the matter in hand, do they? It’s more of a catch-up with people you might not have seen for ages but while looking solemn at the right times. A bit of a sing, perhaps. Then a warm ham sandwich in a pub somewhere.
This was a deeply reflective opportunity to open up on mortality, wishes, feelings, memories…anything you wanted really.
The first thing that struck me early on in the discussion was that there is a linear expectation of recovery socially. People say “I only lost my mum in May” to justify why they are still sad about the person who brought them into the world being cruelly taken by cancer, for example.
As if the space of time between the loss and today gives them a top place in the hierarchy of grief.
I found myself saying “My dad died when I was only 24” so even though it is a long time ago, my ‘justification’ might be that I was super young to lose a parent.
What I am trying to convey is that an invisible graph seems to exist around loss that shows that the sadness reduces with the length of time passed.
We talked about this in the group. I shared that until about two years after my loss, I was skipping around almost on a high of adrenalin and busy. And love from others. Immediately afterwards I felt so much support and kindness from those around me yet it was two years into the grieving process that it really hit me.
My conclusion here, if you like, was that there should be no time period or status or hierarchy around WHEN you experienced the loss.
What was also mentioned around this is that workplaces seem to stipulate that only X, Y or Z family member merits paid time off for grieving or funeral arranging and attending. People expressed how odd and difficult that can be. We also talked about the fact that some of us are not at all close to the people perceived to be the ones close to them.
(I know of people who have been deeply affected by the death of a great auntie for example. Or a cousin.)
That policy – while understandable for those
trying to run a successful business – could probably do with being more flexible.
The next take-away for me from this opportunity to talk and think in more detail about loss was that avoidance is rarely a positive response.
Participants spoke of how hard it can be when friends and family don’t acknowledge a recent death. Grieving people generally love to hear the name of their loved one and to be asked how they are doing.
Sometimes they may worry that they will put a damper on the day by reminding them but those who have lost somebody close to them know that you don’t forget it.
A friend of mine had a daughter who died of cancer. She loves it when people wish her happy Mother’s Day because she says she has not stopped being a mother. It shows that nobody has forgotten her daughter and makes her day brighter.
This leads me on to the realisation that loss and death do not always have to be sad all the time.
Some things are happy. Memories. Pictures. Stories. And also, making space for the lost one can be better than enforced joy “because it is Christmas and we have to be happy”. This time of year seems particularly hard for
adults who have to organise festivities. How can they hold it all together? How can they make it a happy day for their children? The real question might be do they have to?
Some people might have come to the session to seek practical advice. They might want to learn how to grieve. One participant talked about feeling like they were ‘doing it wrong’. At one point I shared a thing about the diversity of things that can trigger a moment of intense loss or sadness. I remember once that cutting up a piece of Cheddar literally had me in floods of tears. Yet I can hear the Dire Straits song we brought my dad’s coffin in to and feel totally OK.
What should I do with her laptop and phone? Should I read letters or is that too intrusive? Should my children go to the funeral? Is it selfish to want to spend time on my own?
The most poignant question “Where did you feel it?” one asked another regarding the physical sensation of grief. Some said they felt it in their throat. Others in their stomach.
Of course there is no right answer here. No right way to grieve.
My overall experience was one of solidarity. And empathy. And a sort of spiritual energy as people got raw with each other. And laughter. It does seem that talking about death is still a taboo in our society. There is still a sense of awkwardness around it.
What is that saying about two things being certain in life: death and taxes? Maybe we should shelve our tax return small talk and be free to discuss the things that matter most.
What can you do to support others or yourself if you are coping with grief?
The team at Rennie Grove Peace Hospice Care have some suggestions on to offer support at this sensitive time of year:
- Focus on listening, and let them tell THEIR story;
- Try to understand it from their point of view, seeing the world through their eyes and how it feels to them;
- Communicate that understanding to the person, by affirmation, reflecting and summarising any conversations;
- Use their language and do not be afraid to mention the name of the person who has died;
- Don’t judge – there is no ‘right’ way to grieve, we each mourn in our own way and in our own time;
- If someone wants to be silent and not talk, then respect this;
- If they want to be alone or have space, even on Christmas Day, acknowledge this is OK;
- Encourage them to identify things that they enjoy and can immerse themselves in, either as an individual or in a group, such as a walk, listening to music, watching a film;
- Encourage them to acknowledge, not to shut down their emotions so that they can process their feelings;
- Grief can sometimes feel overwhelming but there is extra support out there, so do encourage or refer someone to specialists if they need additional help.
Compassionate Cafés are running in five locations across the city over 2024:
* Cottonmill Community & Cycling Centre, last Tuesday of the month, 12-1:30 pm. From January. In partnership with Leeanna’s Wish.
* Cross Street Café, second Thursday of the month, 10-11:30am, already running. In partnership with Cross Street Centre.
* Jersey Farm Café, second Friday of the month, 2.30-4 pm. From January. In partnership with Ridgeway Church.
* St Saviour’s Church Hall, second Tuesday of the month, 2-3.30 pm, already running. In partnership with St Saviour’s Church.
* Café on the Corner, third Saturday of the month, 10.30-12pm. From January. In partnership with Camphill Village Trust.
