Public Outpouring of Grief

Jack Layton, the leader of our country's opposition party, died on Monday. Since then, he has been given the honour of a state funeral, complete with lying in state in the House of Commons in Ottawa, and in the rotunda of the Toronto City Hall. Thousands of members of the public have lined up for hours for their chance to file past his coffin and write in his memory book.
What can it mean that so many people are expressing deep grief during these visits? Some, of course, are there to express respect, but many are finding themselves overwhelmed by grief. Can such a mass of people all be grieving at once? Watching the TV coverage, the answer has to be, "Yes."
In this public outpouring of admiration and grief, we can witness again how important it is to allow people to grieve individually and collectively. So often, we find ourselves in shock and disbelief when a loved one dies, and we don't always feel the deep grief at the time of the funeral. Public memorial services, whether for virtual strangers, or those designed by hospitals or funeral homes to mourn people who have died in a given year, give a social sanction to our need to mourn. Those times allow us to be in touch with our loss of hope, our fear for the future, our need to reconnect with the one(s) who has died.
This past week has been a living testimonial to the importance of allowing people to grieve. Grief is a universal and powerful emotion. It can bind strangers and separate loved ones. It can paralyze us, and motivate us. It can reinforce our beliefs, or tear those beliefs to shreds. Grief is the heartbeat of compassion.
Rest in peace, Jack, and may your family find the peace that passes all understanding.

I thought this was all over.

As I was working on my book today, I was recounting the funeral of my spiritual soul mate, Sylvia. I found that I had to take time out from the writing to sob, and sob, and sob. I felt like her death had happened yesterday. Or, perhaps, I found the freedom to feel all the grief I had needed to suppress in order to get through that funeral. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that such deep mourning indicates to me that I still have emotional and spiritual work to do that is somehow connected to Sylvia's death. Her death left me devoid of a spiritual companion at that time. Her death, and my grief led to the demise of my congregation and the loss of my ministry. So much is tangled up with the death of a beloved. I am still trying to figure out just exactly who I am in ministry without her. I am so thankful for Katherine, the love of my life, and our beautiful daughter, Anna. Sylvia never got to know Katherine well, or to see Anna. My life has gone on, and is a constant source of wonder to me. Yet, there still linger the shadows of grief and the work of learning to live fully in the world without the ones I've lost.

Guilt and Grief

When we've been waiting a while for death to come to a loved one, there can be a sense of relief when he or she actually dies. Our lives will no longer be ruled by hospital visits or home care burdens. We will no longer have to watch our beloved wasting away or listen to moans of pain. The death really is "for the best." Yet, we feel guilty for those thoughts, and if anyone dares to voice them, we feel a spurt of anger. The emotions of grief are so confusing.


We may feel, rightly or wrongly, that we are somehow responsible for the death. This type of guilt is especially present when death comes through accident or suicide. Surely there must have been something I could have/should have done to prevent this horror. Many of the grievers in these situations will be blaming themselves or each other. I strongly urge professional help for those suffering this type of bereavement guilt.


There is also survivor guilt - why am I alive when my beloved is dead? Again, this will be extreme if we have survived an accident in which another died. But in its lesser form, it is usually present as a normal part of grief. Death is no respecter of persons. It may feel to us as though the best, the brightest, the smartest, the most... has been taken away, while we are left to carry on. We may feel frightened and unequal to the tasks ahead. Why couldn't we have died instead? What is so special about us that we are alive when our loved one is dead?


Finally, there may be guilt involved in grief due to an unresolved aspect of our relationship with the deceased. We find ourselves endlessly wrestling with questions: why didn't I..? why did I...? what if I had...? When death happens there are always many things left unsaid, many acts left undone. We always have regrets. Now we will have to work out our own solutions without the one who has died.

Feelings of guilt are a normal part of grief. In most cases we manage to let go of the guilt, as we realize it has no point. If guilt becomes paralyzing during the grieving period, we probably need professional help. Talking things out in a safe environment can help us resolve issues even without our loved one's presence.

When You're not Supposed to Grieve

Sometimes we are forced to grieve alone, in silence, because no one knows the depth of our connection to the one who has died. Sometimes no one knows that we even exist. Sometimes we are known, but not recognized as part of the group of legitimate grievers. Perhaps we were a secret lover, an ex-partner, a divorced spouse. Perhaps we find ourselves excluded by homophobic families or churches when our lovers or friends die. Perhaps our loved one has "gone home to die," and we are left without an outlet for our grief. Or, maybe, we simply feel that no one knew how close we really were.
No matter what the circumstances that cause this, we are dealing with exclusion as grievers. Our grieving is compounded by a deep sense of isolation. We may even be forced to hide our grief entirely, crying only when we are sure of being alone. It is extremely difficult to do the work of grief in a conscious way when we can't even acknowledge that we are grieving. It becomes essential that we understand our own grief, and take special care to make spaces for it. Grief symbols and private rituals will help, and joining a bereavement group may lessen the intensity of our feelings of isolation. As with any grieving, it is important to be able to tell our stories over and over again. Finding a friend, pastor, counsellor or group is even more important when dealing with disenfranchised grief.
I want to say a word to those of us who are in ministry. When we conduct the funerals of our congregants, we are often disenfranchised grievers. We are there to facilitate the grieving of our people, but we are expected to be calm, composed and comforted by our faith. Our reality may be quite different. We, too, may have lost a loved one, a friend, a significant member of our circle of support. We may also have walked with this person through the dying process. The death may have been completely unexpected, or especially traumatic. We carry all of our knowledge of the person, the family and the situation into the worship service. We probably also know of other difficult situations being lived by other members of the grieving congregation. As pastors, we have to try to hold all of this grief inside, while staying emotionally open and present. This adds up to a heavy burden. And the load gets heavier with every funeral.
I strongly encourage my clergy friends to find a holy companion. Find someone who can listen to your grief stories. Find someone who will affirm your right to grieve. Give yourself permission to take regular time in your week to sit with those who have gone before, and to feel whatever you need to feel. Refusing to understand our own grief will ultimately lead to burn-out or compassion fatigue, neither of which will serve us or anyone else.