A landscape of grief, or, everyone’s grief is different (duh)
CC Image: 'In the Shade...' by Rajesh, on Flickr
I was contemplating the statement “everyone’s grief is different”. I hear this with a similar frequency to the number of times a week I want to get the family out the door only to find Harry or Cara can’t find their shoes. The number is more than you would think!
Similar to the shoe sagas, I find the statement frustrating. Not because it’s not true. But because it tells me nothing. Surely no-one for a second believes anything other than that our experiences are different, that our genes are different, that our personalities are different. Why then bother to say our grief is different? It adds nothing.
It’s a problem because, in my experience, it’s used by people as a closing clause. It finishes the conversation. Here I am thinking that maybe there’s an interesting discussion about to happen, and then… “well everyone’s grief is different”. As if there was a debate going on and it was closed down with “let’s agree to disagree”.
To me it should (sorry) be the start of the conversation. Why is your grief different to mine? I’m not challenging you, I really want to understand. What is it about my grief that affects me in this way and but you’re affected in another. Whether your experiences are with death, divorce, or some other trauma, if we don’t have this conversation then it seems to shut down the potential for me to learn something from your experiences and visa versa.
I’ve thought a lot about metaphors for grief. One that appeals to me in this context is a mountainous landscape. Our traumatic experiences spawn us in the valleys and crevices of the landscape. Intuitively we know the only way is up and as part of the process of accepting and dealing with life we pick out a path, and begin to climb a likely peak. Some people seem to find lofty mountains. For some the path to the top of a small hill is treacherous with tracks that double and switch back. Others find Everests that seems to provide them with a view of life that opens up greater possibilities.
We’re all climbing these mountains, we just didn’t all start from the lowlands and we haven’t all reached the top. The truth, if there is one, in the reminder that our grief is different is that we each grow attached to our own mountain. Other peaks on the landscape are always further away and it’s easy to convince ourselves that our peak is the highest. My mountain looks like the biggest and best from where I stand. We retain a moral high ground in understanding.
But I don’t think understanding each others’ grief, is different to understanding each other in any context. In order to really see what you are seeing, I have to accept that my mountain may not be optimal point on the landscape, that actually there are multiple high points, and that none of them are optimal, they just are what they are. I have to climb down from my mountain and start to ascend yours. In doing so I’ll travel a similar (not the same) path. I’ll have to listen and understand how to climb your mountain.
That the mountains are different was always obvious. But understanding the ways they are different, understanding how others have climbed their mountain, what they can see and what they have learned; that’s important I think. The conversation doesn’t have to end with the statement everyone’s grief is different. That’s where it starts.
I’m a dad to the awesome Harry and Cara, a widower, and a learner; slowly attempting a fools errand to make sense of the world, and writing about the thoughts and ideas that pop into my head along the way.
Trent,I have never experienced the depth of grief that you are living each day, but it think people mean well when they use this expression. My interpretation is that there is no right or wrong about grief – no time limit, no explanations. The emptiness, the void, the wondering, the questions, ongoing and forever, limited or squashed. You’re right – it probably should be the beginning of the conversation but maybe people can’t or don’t know how to discuss mortality, grief, pain. Grief counsellors would be particularly trained to discuss such issues, but once again it’s finding the soul that meets that need. As a society, we’re too attached to living and don’t pay much heed to the alternative and it hits so hard when our loved ones are suddenly gone.
Contemplate ‘The grief landscape where everyone’s grief is similar”.
Grief / loss experiences generally follow a pattern. Stages of grief. (The elements are constant but they can come and go over time with different durations and rates of intensity.)
However, while the landscape is similar, the “navigating” can be different.
How one goes about handling and the managing the grief experiences, (climbing and moving around the mountains) can be influenced and determined by a range of personal and environmental factors. Including levels of support, values, beliefs, etc. etc. Hence different reactions to loss / grief. But does that suggest everyone’s experience of grief is different? No from my perspective, it is the reactions to grief that are different.
So “why” is it common to hear the words “Everyone’s Grief is different”?
Trying to guess the “why” in these words sends me in many directions from “let’s not talk about grief anymore” to “you couldn’t understand my grief” to “you wouldn’t expect me to understand your grief”. Is it used mainly as a door closer to further discussion on the topic?
But then these are guesses and it would be interesting to learn what the underlying messages are in such comments. “Tell me more about the differences”, may open a door of discussion.
Dialogue on and about one’s grief is an important block in the rebuilding life after loss / grief.
Looking forward to more thoughts on your stuff.
Love
Peter