Sadness, of course, is a natural and normal reaction to loss, and the loss of a child is the most profound of losses. But Jim was unwilling to experience sadness, because sadness requires acceptance. Feeling sad means that the tragedy actually happened and cannot be undone. To Jim, sadness meant that his sons were gone. The sadness, and Jim’s inability or unwillingness to acknowledge it, supported by his use of the guilt and shame to help him avoid the sadness, eventually developed into what we call PTSD. Again, for Jim to heal, he had to remember, feel, and express in full detail what had happened.
Express: Let the Water Flow
There are many different and effective ways to express emotion. I asked Jim to write a detailed account of what happened that day. If you remember the story at the beginning of the book, the ice skates had been early Christmas gifts for his sons. His boys falling through the ice and Jim diving under the ice to try to find them were among the details that Jim wrote about. I needed to know the whole story of what had happened that day. Knowing the whole context of what had happened provided me with the information I needed to help him reframe the trauma, remove the guilt and shame, and eventually say goodbye to his boys.
I asked Jim to purposely remember the worst day that ever happened to him for the first time in his life and write it out in detail and then tell me about it. Not surprisingly, Jim did not like this idea. He told me that he “can’t and couldn’t.” He told me he was incapable of recalling these details for fear of “having a mental breakdown.” I assured him, “If you’re going to have a heart attack, it’d be best to have one at the hospital, and if you’re going to have a breakdown, it would be best to have it at your psychologist’s office.” He laughed. I wondered if he would complete the writing assignment before our next session.
At 4 p.m. the next Friday, I walked out into the waiting room—no Jim. I proceeded to call him. He answered, gave a generic “I’m sick” excuse, and scheduled for the following week. My “Mr. Avoidance” alarm was ringing. He knew I expected him to complete the assignment. I suspected that he’d cancelled his appointment because he hadn’t done it. Shame was operating again, and since he hadn’t completed the assignment, he’d struggled with showing up that day to say so to me directly.
He did come in the next week. When I asked him if he had completed his homework assignment, he told me he had “tried but couldn’t bring [himself] to do it.” He had spent forty-plus years avoiding this, why would he stop avoiding it simply because I asked him to do so? In my many years of trauma treatment, clients often balk at the idea of purposely remembering the worst thing that ever happened to them. Jim and I then spent time exploring his difficulties completing this assignment, and I gently reminded him that this was in fact avoidance, and that avoidance was the culprit. After an hour of encouraging him and explaining that he’d tried his way, so he ought to try mine, I asked him, “Have I convinced you yet?” To which he replied, “I guess so, doc.”
The next session, Jim returned with several pages detailing the exact events that transpired the day of the tragedy. I asked him to read what he had written aloud so that we could share it. He told me about the excitement of that day, sneaking away with the new ice skates, the sound of the cracking ice, the horror on his sons’ faces, the paralyzing cold of the river, and the anguish of uncertainty. Local police from the county he lived in, police from neighboring counties, and hundreds of his friends and their families, along with local churches and their entire congregations, had all come and volunteered for the search party. For three days, they searched.
At this point, Jim had gone through about two-thirds of a box of tissues. Jim cried in my office like his boys had died yesterday. Though a great deal of sadness was evident, his primary emotions were guilt, because it “was [his] fault,”—and shame, “because [he] deserved misery.” Though the guilt and shame were not ideal, through expressing his story to me, he and I became aware that these emotions were the barriers to the sadness and were blocking his completing the grieving process. The reframing step of the Fritz would need to be completed before he would be able to say goodbye to his boys.
Reframe: Reclaim Your Present Life
One particular problem for people who have lived through trauma is their interpretation of events. Depending on the individual, reframing must occur before sadness can surface. Jim was one such individual. Self-blame, guilt, and shame became barriers to healing. Blaming oneself for events that befall your children is easy. Jim’s story was full of “should haves” and “could haves.” He believed that he should’ve been watching his boys more closely, even though they were only several yards away. He believed that they shouldn’t have been outside playing, even though they had played outside safely hundreds of times before. He believed that he shouldn’t “have been on that damn ice in the first place,” even though they had played hockey there since the boys could walk. He believed he should have found them, even though he nearly drowned himself trying to do so. He believed he should have searched harder, even though he spent three straight days without sleep.
In forty-four years, he never questioned all the things that he “should have” done. As a result, all the blame belonged to him. Jim prided himself on being a good parent. In his mind, he had committed the ultimate sin of “letting” his children die. Jim’s reason for existence was to provide a better life for his sons. And he’d let them die. He believed he was “evil, lazy, immoral, and destined for Hell as a result.” Once this line of thinking began right after the accident occurred, it solidified because Jim didn’t allow anyone to question these beliefs. This is how and why Mr. Avoidance can be devastating for the trauma sufferer. Reading all the things Jim “should have” done, it is easy to say, “Jim, you did everything that you could have.” But Mr. Avoidance prevented that discussion from ever happening. Self-blame became a fixed belief.
When Jim finally expressed what happened, we were able to explore the entire context of the drowning. Then we went a step further to explore his relationship with his sons overall. After his sons fell through, about thirty seconds had passed before he was under the ice as well, looking for them.
We went on to talk about the “rule of threes” in a survival situation. An adult can survive for three minutes without air, three hours in extreme weather, three days without water, and three weeks without food. An adult who is underwater has three minutes to be saved and resuscitated before drowning. As children, his boys had even less time (due to smaller lung capacity). In ice-cold water, they had maybe two minutes at most (and even that is a generous estimation). Despite his heroism, Jim lost his boys that day. Nevertheless, Jim’s belief that it “was [his] fault” was simply not true.
Jim went on to tell me about their relationship. He told me of fostering a love for motors and driving in his sons, envisioning that one day they would restore vehicles together. He built a small 50 cc bike from the ground up for them. His wife was not happy about that, but he and the boys “enjoyed the hell out of it.” He spoke about the joy of wrestling on the floor of an evening well past their bedtimes. He told me that “even though they didn’t have much money, the boys never wanted for anything.” Jim and I spoke about how the boys had played outside hundreds of times before, how they had played on the river every winter, and how they were well-behaved, would come back when called, and were respectful of each other and adults.
Jim loved his boys and that his boys loved him as well. I told Jim, “There is no doubt in my mind that you did everything you realistically could have, and I believe that still, today, if you could trade your life for theirs, you would.” He tearfully agreed. “And it is a fact that your boys are gone from this plane of existence; and while this is sad, it is also a fact that this was not your fault, not your responsibility, it was simply an accident.” Jim, due to the influence of Mr. Avoidance, had never questioned whether it might not be his fault. His thought process of self-blame, guilt, and shame had solidified. Taken as a
fact, his conclusion was never disputed.
In Jim’s case, the important thing to remember is that reframing the event doesn’t entail changing the event. Reframing means changing one’s perception of what has occurred. For Jim, it meant aligning his perception with reality. Since Jim wasn’t responsible for the accident, there was no one to blame. Moreover, since the accident was not his responsibility, the guilt and shame he was feeling didn’t belong to him. And while removing the barriers of guilt and shame was helpful, the sadness was still there and needed to be released.
Release: Release for Peace
I saw Jim again two weeks later to ensure that the guilt and shame had stayed away and that only sadness was left. Releasing is one of the most challenging parts of treatment because it is about saying goodbye and accepting what has happened. After we talked about the options for taking this step, Jim agreed to write a letter to his two boys telling them that he loved and missed them and that he was saying goodbye for now. Jim appeared to again be reluctant, in the same way he had responded when I had asked him to purposely write about the tragedy; Mr. Avoidance was at work again. He and I processed these concerns, and with some encouragement, he agreed that letting go would be helpful. It didn’t mean that he was forgetting about his boys. Again, we agreed that he would do this before our next session.
The next week, he again told me he hadn’t completed the letter and that he just wasn’t ready. We again spoke about how avoidance impedes healing, and I encouraged him, reminding him that this was the final step. “Not saying goodbye to your boys is mowing 90 percent of the lawn and then stopping, it’s not putting the final piece in a puzzle, it’s reading the whole book except the last chapter. Following this goodbye will be closure, peace of mind, and getting your life back.” Again I asked, “Have I had convinced you?” and again he said, “I guess so, doc.”
The following week, he came in with the letter completed; it was short and sweet, but it hit its mark.
Dear Kevin and Jim,
I don’t know the words to say how much I miss you both and how much I love you both. I’m so sorry to you both. Not that I caused what happened, I know that now what happened wasn’t my fault. I’m sorry that I haven’t let you go and rest sooner. I am ready to do that now. I want to just have the happy memories of you without the sadness that followed, and I think I know how to do that now. So, I am saying goodbye to you for now. I am looking forward to seeing you again one day.
Love always,
Dad
As you can imagine, reading this aloud was highly emotional. Forty-four years of grief and sadness came rushing out when Jim finally said goodbye to his sons. We again worked through about half a box of tissues. I congratulated him for completing this task, and I asked him, “Do you feel like you’ve said goodbye?” He said, “Yes.”
Following Up
I saw Jim at monthly intervals following that session. Having completed all five parts of the Fritz, Jim told me that his quality of life had improved greatly. He told me while he was at work, two young boys had come in. He was able to interact with them, joke with them, and laugh with them, all without the punishing guilt or sadness. Jim said he had been working to reestablish communication with some of his old friends, friends who were around when his boys passed. He told me that he had avoided people “who knew me at that time.” Recently, however, he had reconnected and been able to “talk about my boys and the past without becoming a babbling mess.”
His third son, Michael, noticed the changes, too. Michael told Jim that he “didn’t really understand what was going on with you and mom when I was younger. All I knew is that I had two older brothers who weren’t here anymore. But as I got older, I started to understand what happened.” Jim told me that Michael had been “praying for me to get help for years.” Jim said, “My wife says I’m much easier to deal with, which is the closest I’m going to get to a compliment. So you’re her best friend now.” Jim reported that he felt “unburdened,” like a great weight was lifted off him. He noted that he has better focus and concentration and that he felt “like [he had] more mental space available.”
Jim had let go of the pain in the past, and for the first time in a long time, he was able to really enjoy the moment and look forward to the future.
Thoughts on Jim’s Story and the Fritz
As I noted at the start of the chapter, my goal here was to provide a single story from start to finish that demonstrates how the steps of the Fritz are put into action.
I’ve also told this story in order to illustrate how Mr. Avoidance will creep into the healing process at every possible opportunity. Be aware of and vigilant for Mr. Avoidance. In Jim’s story, you see avoidance at every step of the process. When remembering, Jim tried to forget through excessive drinking, not seeking treatment (despite his wife’s doctor’s insistence that he should), and his motorcycle death wish. Jim avoided sadness through his use of guilt and shame. Sadness needed to be avoided because sadness was admitting that his boys were gone. He stopped communication and even moved away from the people who were aware of what had happened to his sons. Even with me, when I asked him to write about what happened, he became “sick” and pulled a no-show for his scheduled appointment.
By not reframing his thinking, he was able to avoid the entire context of what had happened (he had done everything in his power to save his children) and wasn’t able to release the pain. Whenever he was reminded that his boys were gone, he’d immediately go into self-blame, guilt, and shame and ruthlessly beat himself up for the horrible tragedy he had caused. But when he finally expressed his emotions stemming from the events of that day, he realized that he had not done anything “wrong” and in fact had done everything humanly possible to save his sons. This reframing was only possible because he had completed the Fritz. Before reframing the loss, he could actively avoid the sadness. Reframing required him to accept that his boys were gone. This acceptance was the most difficult part of the Fritz, as it usually is for people with trauma or grief. Just as when he was asked to purposely remember and when asked to say goodbye, he missed the appointment. Eventually though, with some encouragement, he confronted the sadness, felt it fully, and released it. Avoidance really is the archenemy of healing, and I hope that Jim’s story communicates how it can have a negative impact on your own healing.
Chapter Eleven
Finishing Your Unfinished Business
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“Yesterday… All my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they’re here to stay.”
—The Beatles
“The Six-Pack” and What to Do with Other Unfinished Business
While the majority of this book has focused on trauma (most of which would qualify as PTSD) or grief, the process that these severely traumatized individuals used is applicable for people who are dealing with a wide range of less catastrophic situations. Trauma is trauma; and it doesn’t matter whether you want to heal from a parent who abandoned you or friends you’ve lost, you can use the Fritz to achieve your goals. I’d like to share the story of Jeff, who in order to make peace with the final days of his life, needed to address unfinished business from his past.
Jeff was seventy-one, and his traumatic event was the Vietnam War. It was so many years ago that Jeff was certain he was finally free of its chokehold on his happiness. Well, sort of. But he had lost three friends in six months, two of whom had been in-country when he was. Jeff wanted to cry for each one of these friends, but feared that if he did, he might never stop. He knew the reservoir of emotional tears flows like a mighty river, and he could only hope that the dam would hold up for the rest of his days.
Jeff didn’t attend the funerals of these friends for fear of being overly emotional. He meant no disrespect to their wives and families—in fact, he sent enormous floral arrangements in lieu of his appearing personally. He just couldn’t trust himself to maintain his composure.
Jeff and his wife, Carol, were having some communication issues—nothing too bad, really. She had benefited so much from therapy over the years that she insisted that he join her for a little lightweight couples’ counseling to improve their relationship. After fifty years of avoiding “damn shrinks,” he heard me speak at a local fundraiser and thought, “Why not give it a try, at least we’ll have some laughs.”
And laugh we did about the insanity of Vietnam, politics, the aging process, etc., until Jeff found out that he really wanted to cry about so many things. In fact, it didn’t take him long to realize that there were sensitive areas in his life that aroused a very sad sentiment and embarrassed the former Marine by repeatedly reducing him to sobbing. Any one of these topics could render Jeff speechless, tears flowing, stammering about how he hated “being a seventy-one-year-old crybaby.”
There were at least six issues in his life that we quickly dubbed, “the six-pack” that he had never finished, all of which had the power to instigate sobbing. Curiously, none of them were combat-related. In fact, none of the six were what we might label a “trauma,” but each event (or Jeff’s perception thereof) brought him into a place of deep sadness and brokenness. The totality of this six-pack had the capacity to bring forth tears, with the Kleenex box in one hand, several tissues in the other, evidence of the unfinished pain in his life.
Keep Pain in the Past Page 17