by Lucy Hone
NON-JUDGEMENTAL ACCEPTANCE OF THE MOMENT-BY-MOMENT EXPERIENCE? THAT’S MINDFULNESS.
In the work I do with organisations, I often find the best way to introduce the concept of mindfulness to a new audience is to consider it as the opposite of living mindlessly. Instead of running round like headless chickens, with our thoughts and attention scattered everywhere, living mindfully requires us to be aware of our thoughts and live our lives more intentionally. That doesn’t mean we can never blob on the couch and zone out to watch TV again, just that we are consciously engaged with what we are choosing to do in our lives.
Mindfulness is a supportive tool for helping you live and in this sense it follows that it may be helpful during bereavement. Mindfulness will not make your grief disappear—no tool suggested in this book will do that—but it does ‘provide a greater basket for tenderly holding and intimately knowing’ pain.9 In this way, mindfulness helped me accept my grief by allowing me to focus my attention on what I felt in any given moment, and to acknowledge that feeling in a non-judgemental fashion. In fact, it was only through grieving that I finally understood the non-judgemental aspect of mindfulness. To explain: instead of thinking ‘Oh shoot, I’m crying again, in the middle of the supermarket, I’m such an idiot that I can’t control my emotions, so weak for not being able to hold back the tears,’ a more mindful me coaxed myself to think, ‘Wow, here I go crying again, that’s okay, it’s just tears, the tears reflect the immense sadness I feel at Abi’s loss, that’s okay, it’s just what they are and what you are feeling in this moment doesn’t mean it will be forever, it’s just here, right now.’ Non-judgemental acceptance of the moment-by-moment experience? That’s mindfulness.
Mindfulness also helped me overcome the fear of losing another child that threatened to consume me in the months after Abi’s death. As we have seen, people who experience traumatic life events they could not control or prevent often report an increased sense of vulnerability. In the weeks immediately after the accident, as people came to the house to say their final goodbyes to Abi and surround us with love, a trickle of stories penetrated my protective cocoon. I heard of one friend who’d lost two siblings. Unthinkable. His mother had been fighting depression ever since. Another relayed the tragic story of his brother’s loss, and while I’m ashamed to admit that I have forgotten the details of that death, I vividly recall reeling with dread at a follow-up comment describing how his other brother had been missing for many years now, presumably gone AWOL as a result of the tragedy. The thought that there might be more tragedy ahead tortured me. My knowledge of statistical probability didn’t help: I was well aware that being unlucky once did nothing to reduce the likelihood of it happening again. Probability doesn’t work like that. Every time I thought about it, my head swooned and I felt nauseous.
Looking back on it, I know that dealing with that vulnerability was one of the toughest challenges. To make matters worse, these were the months when our eldest son passed his driving test and was let loose on the open road. Unaccompanied. Oh, the agony. I knew I couldn’t keep him back, and that worrying wasn’t going to reduce his (and my) vulnerability. The only answer was mindfulness. And I found that continually drawing myself back to the present moment worked. Is it happening now? I’d ask myself. No, I’m fine, he’s fine, we are all fine. If it happens, I’ll deal with it then, but for now I’ll keep in the present moment and deal with life experience as it unfolds before me. In my most anxious moments, this type of informal mindfulness and mindful breathing exercises like the ones set out below were the only things that kept me sane. Some of the new meditation apps, such as 1 Giant Mind or Headspace, are also a good way of getting into the habit of meditating. These apps offer guided meditations which can help restore peace to the mind, and can be used very easily—even in the office at work (with headphones) or in the car.
MINDFUL BREATHING
Dr Elaine O’Brien acknowledges that she’s struggled since her father died a few years back. ‘One morning after a particularly rough bout of frustration,’ she told me, ‘I realised that my mouth was sore. I had been clenching my jaw overnight, possibly for hours. As a kinesiologist, looking at human movement psychology, I tend to be pretty attuned to my body; this was a completely new behaviour, which needed addressing immediately. One practice that has helped me minimise stress around my mouth is around mindful breathing.’
Outlined below are the breathing techniques that Dr O’Brien teaches and found useful for reducing the physical symptoms of her grief.
Begin with a neutral spine: crown of the head to the sky, ears over your shoulders, shoulders down and over your hips, tall neck, rib cage lifted, abdominals pulled in and up, knees slightly flexed, and the feet grounded into the earth.
Concentrate on:
• Your breath as it goes in and out of your nostrils—try not to breathe through your mouth.
• Your belly as it expands and contracts with the breath—you can put your hand on the belly to make it more real.
• Other parts of your body. This is an in-the-body rather that out-of-body experience. It is designed to make you aware of all bodily sensations.
• Sounds around you.
• Sights around you.
• A favourite mantra or word pair to utter to yourself silently as you inhale and exhale. Say one word to yourself slowly, the whole time you inhale. Say the second word to yourself slowly as you exhale. (For example, inhale and say, Here, exhale and say, Now.)
• All breaths are executed with excellent posture, form, eyes open or closed, honouring the self and others.
Dr O’Brien suggests 5 Methods of Breathing. Start with a deep exhalation; then breathe in fully through the nose, and out through the mouth, adopting the following patterns:
1. Complete breath/diaphragmatic breathing. Place one hand on your abdomen and the other on your upper chest. Slowly, and while visualising the lungs as three chambers, breathe in, and fill your belly, chest cavity and then the top of your lungs (by your collarbone, expanding the shoulders) with air. Exhale and repeat.
2. Rhythmic breathing and sigh of exhalation. Breathe in for a count of 4, hold the breath for a count of 7, and exhale audibly for a count of 8. Relax and repeat.
3. 1:2 ratio. Breathe in and out fully. Then breathe in for a count of 4, out for a count of 8. With practice, you can change the count to 5:10, or 6:12.
4. 5-to-1 count. Say and visualise the number ‘5’ as you take a full deep breath in and out. Mentally count and visualise the number ‘4’, saying to yourself, ‘I am more relaxed than I was at 5.’ Continue the countdown until you get to ‘1’, and are totally relaxed.
5. Concentration breathing. Breathe in for 7 counts, hold for 7 counts, and exhale for 7 counts. Relax and repeat.
Dr Elaine O’Brien, personal communication, 10 November 2015.
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Chapter 10
Relationships (and what friends and family can do to help)
AS HUMANS WE ARE hard wired for relationships, for connection with others.
Years ago, I was watching American TV show Touch and was sufficiently struck by the following words to rewind and write them down: ‘Human beings are not the strongest species on the planet, not the fastest or the smartest. The one advantage we have is our ability to cooperate: to help each other out. We recognise ourselves in each other, we are programmed for compassion, for heroism, for love. And those things make us stronger, faster and smarter, that’s why we survive.’
In grief, as in so many aspects of our lives (and particularly times of traumatic and adverse events), our relationships with others are vital. A large body of research has accumulated over the past three decades to indicate how important supportive relationships are for resilience. Numerous studies have shown that social support reduces psychological distress in the aftermath of trauma. For example, children who have best survived child poverty or abuse have usually done so because they found a supportive adult to help them through;1 and adults exposed to t
rauma such as natural disaster, war and assault fare better if they are well supported.2 Similarly, several studies have shown that people with strong social support networks are more unlikely to become depressed than those without such networks. Having even one supportive confidant reduced the risk of depression in half the research subjects following other painful events such as divorce or job loss.
SOCIAL SUPPORT REDUCES PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS IN THE AFTERMATH OF TRAUMA.
Researchers at the Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University had this to say about resilience: ‘There is no “resilience gene” that determines the life course of an individual irrespective of the experiences that shape genetic expression. The capacity to adapt and thrive despite adversity develops through the interaction of supportive relationships, gene expression, and adaptive biological systems. Despite the widespread belief that individual grit, extraordinary self-reliance, or some in-born, heroic strength of character can triumph over calamity, science now tells us that it is the reliable presence of at least one supportive relationship and multiple opportunities for developing effective coping skills that are the essential building blocks for the capacity to do well in the face of significant adversity.’3
As we have seen in Chapter 3, Charney and Southwick’s interviews with American soldiers imprisoned during the Vietnam War reached the same conclusion. Very few individuals who have managed to demonstrate resilience in the face of trauma have done so alone. ‘Everybody needs a tap code to get through tough times,’ says Charney, referring to the POWs’ habit of tapping through the alphabet so they could communicate even when detained in solitary confinement. ‘You get enormous emotional strength from relationships and organisations such as MADD [Mothers Against Drunk Driving]. We know lots of advocacy organisations that help patients face cancer—these are incredibly important social networks that can be a safety net during times of stress.’4
A growing number of studies have indicated the importance of social support for successful grieving specifically. Even more sophisticated research methods have shown that certain types of social support are more useful to the bereaved than others. For instance, by studying the emotional wellbeing of recent widows, Toni Bisconti, Cindy Bergeman and Steven Boker revealed that widows seeking ‘emotional support’ adjusted more quickly to the loss than widows seeking ‘instrumental support’.5 In other words, in the early stages of bereavement, lending a sympathetic ear proved more helpful than mowing the grieving person’s lawns.
Charney and Southwick’s studies have indicated the tremendous influence role models can have for resilience. Several bereavement organisations have picked up on this, and now offer online and personal support for those who are grieving. For example, MotherLOVE connects newly bereaved mothers with those further down the track (www.motherlove.net) and the Modern Widows Club (www.modernwidowsclub.com) offers mentoring for widows. When I consider role models, I’m reminded of some lines from the reading my sister picked out for our mum’s funeral. It comes from Albert Schweitzer, a German theologian, musician and medical missionary who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952: ‘I always think that we live, spiritually, by what others have given us in the significant hours of our life. These significant hours do not announce themselves as coming, but arrive unexpected. Nor do they make a great show of themselves; they pass almost unperceived. Often, indeed, their significance comes home to us first as we look back, just as the beauty of a piece of music or of a landscape often strikes us first in our recollection of it.’6 I am reminded of this when I see people who were so significant during those life-changing hours of our life but now have resumed their normal roles. I know I’ll never forget the kindness, compassion and generosity they demonstrated, on our behalf, at that vulnerable, terrible time. A tender connection exists with them that, even unspoken, acknowledges what we endured together.
The short story on resilience is that, in the words of one of my favourite professors, the late Chris Peterson, ‘other people matter’. He used this phrase to summarise the findings of decades of research. Bereavement is something to be shared: we need others to discuss our feelings with, to talk openly with, to offer the veritable shoulder to cry on; we need others to keep memories of the dead alive; we need them to listen to us, cook for us, drive us places we cannot be bothered to go.
Our family, friends and wider communities have done so much to help us survive the grief. Living in a small coastal village, having struggled together through two years of successive earthquakes and the countless disruptions and losses associated with them, with our children having been through the local school, we, and Ella and Sally’s family, were held, nurtured, and emotionally and practically supported throughout the weeks and months that followed the girls’ deaths. This started the day after the accident, when our dear friend Victoria suggested we gather the girls’ friends and families down at the beach so that the kids could comfort each other on hearing the news, and continued with a nightly roster of home-cooked meals for four months. Only when I was feeling stronger was this reduced to two nights a week for a further three months. All those meals, cooked and delivered with love—the women who organised it even developed a system for collecting and returning dishes. All we had to do was eat. Thank you, Kerm and Charlie. There was so much practical help: people lending cars for guests staying for the funeral, lots of visitors put up overnight or longer, a camper van delivered to our driveway for spillover guests, and the whole gang who stood up and made the funeral happen when it was something we could not even begin to contemplate. The emotional support is ongoing. I realise how lucky I am to live in a family-focused community where people feel the pain of our loss acutely, and inherently understand that it isn’t something we will ‘get over’ soon. Their patience and willingness to come with us on this journey has been astonishing.
Being able to discuss concerns, losses and fears with people we love and trust can help lift us out of despair, as well as foster deeper connections. I read a piece in the Guardian online in 2015 in which a mother described the loss of her 36-year-old daughter, Kate Gross, to colon cancer, which Kate called ‘the Nuisance’. ‘It has helped to have the love of family and friends, and the kindness of strangers, the thousands of messages we have received. Because of the Nuisance, we became a much closer family. We bridged the distances that grow between parents and their adult children and came to know and admire Kate and Jo, much more than we would have otherwise. We became part of Oscar and Isaac’s daily lives instead of occasional visitors. And we were—and still are—overwhelmed at the way Kate’s friends and our own have responded to her illness. I’ve learned that there is more love in the world than I ever knew and that perhaps all we need to do is learn to ask for what we need,’ wrote Jean Gross.9
WAYS THE BEREAVED CAN HELP OTHERS TO SUPPORT THEM THROUGH GRIEF
Tell them what you need
Don’t expect people to be mind-readers. You know they can’t possibly understand what you are feeling. Imagining your friends and family are mind-readers is known in psychology as a ‘thinking trap’, and is recognised as a significant barrier to resilience. Fortunately, it’s relatively easy to overcome. All we have to do is assist our friends by (gently) telling them what we need. Most, with a little steering in the right direction, will prove worthy companions and supporters if given a nudge in the right direction. Tell them if you need a hug, don’t want to be hugged, need air in your car tyres, could do with someone to attend the school play with, to babysit your kids, to help you make decisions about your loved one’s clothes. Ask yourself, have I made my feelings or beliefs known directly and clearly? Am I expecting the other person to work hard at figuring out my needs?
Tell the truth
Try to be as open with your feelings as possible, even if they are hard to articulate. Even if they change every minute, tell those closest to you. Explain to them that when you say you are fine, you’re not, but that it’s hard to know how to encapsulate the torrid emotional journey that is gr
ieving in a one-line answer to the question ‘How are you doing?’ In the book she wrote in response to her daughter’s death, Sandy Fox suggests we say, ‘I’m doing the best I can.’7 That seems a reasonable goal and a succinct reply that doesn’t claim we’re sailing through.
Don’t feel guilty/ashamed about laughing in front of others
Some bereaved people have expressed concerns over this, feeling that their loved ones may take laughter as a sign that they a) have recovered or b) do not respect the dead. In fact, people who do manage to laugh and display positive emotions around others cope better with grief. As explained in Chapter 7, sharing good moments with our friends helps keep those connections with others healthy.
Address the elephant in the room (particularly at work)
While we may think that avoiding discussing the death at work is the best plan, my conversations with the bereaved indicate that it rarely is. Sheryl Sandberg, Chief Operating Officer of Facebook, says that on returning to work after the death of her husband, she felt compelled to address the elephant in the room. ‘Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. I realised that to restore the closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing . . . Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.’8 Allowing people to talk about your loss seems to let everyone behave more normally.