The immediate needs of the bereaved
You may have just been informed that someone you love has died. Shock and disbelief are usually initial reactions. It is difficult to acknowledge this information, let alone fully understand or believe what you are hearing. You may feel faint, weak and overwhelmed; the words ‘dead, dead, dead’ playing over and over in your mind.
Every part of you may want to respond with ‘No! No! No!’ Everything seems surreal.
In the midst of this unfamiliar and confusing reaction, someone, perhaps a nurse, doctor or relative, may say, ‘Would you like to see his/her body?’ On the inside you may say, ‘No, I don’t want to see him/her dead, he/she can’t be dead.’ On the outside your response might simply be ‘No’, meaning ‘I don’t want to see him dead, I’d rather see him alive’. If you have said ‘No’, and others have taken your reaction at face value, you may have deprived yourself of important time to spend with the person you love. It is understandably a very difficult decision for most people to have to make at this time.
If we don’t get to be with the person who has died, we may find it harder to integrate the truth of their death, leaving us in partial denial, perhaps permanently. This denial may or may not cause problems, the outcome often dependent on the degree of intimacy in the relationship.
An example of partial denial can be found in the death of Harold Holt, former Prime Minister of Australia, who disappeared while swimming, believed drowned. His body was never recovered. At the time of his disappearance, and to this day, rumours abound asserting that he was not really dead, but had been picked up by a mini-submarine from Russia or the CIA, that he was a spy for China and had returned there, and many other variations on the theme. We have no way of proving or disproving the rumours because we have no body to ‘view’, leaving most of us in partial denial.
This is not a problem for people who didn’t know him or have an intimate personal relationship with him, but for his family and close friends, this denial could be incapacitating and affect the quality of their lives. They may have been left with endless questions, such as ‘What if he isn’t dead?’ ‘Maybe he will just walk in the door one day?’ They may have said things like ‘Not knowing is even worse than seeing him dead’.
Many people over the years have told us that not being 100% sure, as a result of not seeing (‘seeing is believing’) the body of the person they love, has been the most painful aspect of their loss. There are, of course, people who don’t need to see or spend time with the body of the person they love in order to believe they are dead, or to learn how to live with their grief. However, it is hard to know in advance who will be OK and who will be adversely affected by not spending time with their loved one after death. For this reason it is best when we are in a supportive role to err on the side of gently encouraging bereaved people by saying a version of ‘I think it will be beneficial in the long term for you to spend time with your husband/wife/mother/child before you go’.
Caring supporters can confidentially make such a statement, if not from their own personal or professional experience, then from the experience of specialists working in the field of death, dying and bereavement. As painfully sad as it might be for the bereaved person, it does present an opportunity to acknowledge reality, for senses to adjust to change, even though most of us at this time don’t want to acknowledge or accept what has occurred. Most people are later glad they have had this important opportunity, even those who have been initially reluctant.
There are several important steps that can help to make what funeral directors call ‘viewing the body’ (spending time with a loved person who has died) a more beneficial experience. First, it helps if someone less emotionally affected by the death has had their own experience first, and is later able to provide a description of the scene family members are about to enter. Attention to detail is especially important if we are taking children into this situation, but it can be helpful for all of us to have someone explain what we will see on entering the room, and what our senses might register, for example—temperature and smell.
The following case history (people Mal counselled) is an example.
Marie, aged forty and divorced, had three children—a boy Brian aged nine, and two girls—Samantha aged seven and Cathy aged five. Marie died following a two-year history of cancer. Mal was involved with the family prior to Marie’s death, and was asked to remain involved afterwards to help support the children. The children were encouraged to go with him to spend time with their mother, who they knew was dead.
When they arrived at the funeral director’s, the conversation went something like this:
MAL: ‘You know we’re here because Mummy died?’
CHILDREN: ‘Yes.’
MAL: ‘Have you ever seen anyone who has died?’
CHILDREN: ‘No.’
MAL: ‘Well, when we go in to see Mummy, she’ll probably look a little bit different to the last time you saw her.’
CHILDREN: ‘What do you mean, different?’
MAL: ‘Well, when you are alive and if you are white-skinned like me, your blood helps to make you the colour you are. If I grip my thumb around the middle and squeeze it, you can see that it goes a pink colour. That’s because I’m squeezing the blood up to the surface. But if I extend my hand as much as I can and straighten out my palm, you can see that my palm goes a much lighter colour in the middle. That’s because I’m squeezing the blood out, it’s not moving around much any more. When we die it’s a bit like that, because the blood doesn’t move around our body any more and we look really pale. Also, when we’re alive, our blood helps keep us warm, but when we’re dead, we can’t feel the cold, so we don’t need to be warm any more. If you touch Mummy when we go in, she’ll feel cold to you, but she can’t feel it because she is dead.’
In such circumstances it is important to use language that is suitable to the individual person, but the way of explaining, the content of the message, is similar irrespective of the age of the bereaved person. Because the scenario above was in a funeral director’s, Mal went on to say, ‘When we go inside, Mummy will be in a coffin, with the lid off. Have any of you seen a coffin before?’
He then described the room, the coffin and its position, how their mother was lying, and what she was wearing.
It is important to explain the situation in detail so that the person who is going to ‘view’ the body is not unduly shocked by the dead person’s appearance—that they have time to protect their ‘core’ by rehearsing images in their mind.
As already explained, one reason for encouraging someone to ‘view the body’ is to enhance reality, but another is to allow the bereaved to say and do whatever is important to them, so they are not left unnecessarily with unfinished business. As a support person, you could encourage them by saying something like ‘If there’s anything you wish to say, or anything you wish you’d had a chance to say before he/she died, now is the time’.
People often want to say things like ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m so sorry’. Others may want to express angry thoughts and feelings that have been bottled up, perhaps for ages. For example, ‘I told you not to do it you silly old so and so’. All are about love and sorrow, expressed differently.
A support person could then encourage further expression by asking, ‘If he/she could hear what you just said, how would they respond?’
This important experience should take place where it is safe for bereaved people to express grief openly, without censure, and should never be hurried. Afterwards, the bereaved person or persons should be encouraged to sit down for a while to talk about their reactions to the experience, or just to sit quietly if talking is difficult.
What the bereaved person needs
One of the greatest needs of all bereaved people is to have access to someone who will take a risk and be involved—someone who is not afraid of intense feelings, but who will encourage their expression, confident that this is part of the ‘healing’ process. We use the word ‘healing’ not to imply that grief is an illness that can be cured, but in acknowledgement that in the early days, weeks, months, years, every part of one’s being can feel raw, inflamed and vulnerable.
People in support roles should resist any temptation to say ‘I know how you feel’, even if they have also experienced the pain of grief. We can never really know how another feels—we can only use our own experience to help us sensitively imagine a little of another person’s distress. It is much more helpful to ask a bereaved person to ‘tell me what is happening for you’.
Bereaved people are very vulnerable and susceptible to the criticisms and judgements of others. Comments are often given unasked about how the bereaved person should grieve, demonstrating in that process how little those other people really understand about its nature. Grief is dynamic and ever-changing—in shape and intensity—determined by everything the bereaved was before this event, the nature of their relationship with the deceased, their physical and emotional health, age, and the environment in which they live.
At this time we all need to be allowed to be ourselves, to do what feels right for us, not spend scarce energy trying to conform to the needs and expectations of others.
Many of us need to be allowed to cry, others have never been ‘cryers’ and are probably not about to become ‘cryers’ now. There still appears to be a pervasive myth in our society that crying is bad and must be stopped or prevented. On the contrary, if we are the kind of people who cry readily, it is in our best interests to be allowed or encouraged to cry when grief needs expression in this way. We have mentioned several times already that it can be detrimental to most people in the long run to be forced to bottle up tears that have the potential to calm and soothe.
The bereaved person is the only one who can feel what they feel, think what they think, and know the best way of expressing whatever they are experiencing. Others affected by the death will have their own way of grieving, of expressing feelings which may be different. There is no right or wrong—grief just ‘is’.
Some people feel like taking to their bed for a couple of days; some want to stay with a friend for a short time; others feel like cursing, yelling, screaming, crying or withdrawing—all understandable needs and grief responses. If friends give unwanted advice, listen if necessary, but continue to do what feels right for you—if it works, don’t fix it.
Friends are usually trying to help, but that doesn’t mean you have to behave according to their prescription. When possible, let friends and family know that it is OK to talk about the person who has died, OK to mention their name. People often don’t know what to do or say, and giving them permission to talk about, ask questions, say the name of the dead person can decrease tension and make it less likely for awkwardness to produce clichés or unwanted advice.
The word ‘coping’ is often a misleading judgement, used inappropriately in relation to grief. Observers who make comments about a grieving person along the lines of ‘He/she seems to be coping really well’, or ‘He/she isn’t coping very well’ tend to base their ability to judge your wellbeing on how they feel about what you are doing. For example, if you are very obviously distressed and crying, you are likely to be described as ‘not coping very well’. If you don’t express your grief overtly or don’t show more grief than the observer is comfortable with, they are likely to describe you as ‘coping very well’. It is also possible to show too little grief for their comfort level. If you don’t cry or appear filled with sorrow or pain, they don’t have a role and may consequently describe you as cold.
The title of this book—Coping with Grief—is an attempt to redefine what coping really means. When any of us are newly bereaved, we are ‘coping’ if we can keep breathing, put one foot after the other, get out of bed, dress ourselves, and attend to essential tasks even if on automatic pilot. We all just do our best to survive what initially feels unsurvivable, and often need to reassure ourselves that we do know what is best for us, that we are not going mad.
For many of you, the funeral will be long past before you get to read this book. However, the information provided below can still serve several purposes. First, it can allow an opportunity to review how the funeral was for you, whether it met your needs at the time, or if in hindsight there are things you wish had been different. If regrets cause you distress, it can help to talk these over with a friend or family member you trust, or perhaps a bereavement counsellor. If you are able to describe how you would like it to have been, your body will respond as if that version had indeed happened, and produce the chemicals necessary to help you feel more at peace.
Second, you may find ways of answering children’s questions, or of justifying some of your choices to others if they make annoying comments or ask probing questions. And finally, it may enable you in the future to be supportive of friends and relatives when they are in the situation you are now experiencing.
The function of the funeral (a service held with the body of the deceased present) is threefold: first, to pay tribute to the deceased person in a way that appropriately reflects the life they have lived; second, to reinforce the reality of the death for those who are grieving; and third, to bring together relatives and friends to share an experience which has the capacity to re-establish group relationships. These relationships are an important part of the process of learning how to live with the physical absence of the person who has died.
Human beings do not live in a vacuum. Our speech, values and behaviour—the very meaning of our lives—are derived from our association with one another. The death of one individual affects the lives of all others in that social grouping and the funeral ritual is designed to meet their needs at a time of shared distress.
Because this rite of passage is an important aspect of the healing process, involvement should be available to all who mourn, especially those most affected by the death—spouse, children, parents, siblings and close friends. If, for any reason, one of the significant mourners is unable to attend because delaying the funeral is not possible, it is helpful to record the service on DVD or audio tape. When possible, photos should be taken, and flowers and cards kept so that the person who was absent can eventually feel included in the process. Some people find it helpful to hold a later memorial service (one held in the absence of the body of the deceased) so that everyone has the opportunity to express their grief publicly and feel included in all important aspects of the process.
Children too should be included, no matter what their age at the time, and encouraged where possible to be actively involved. Their grief behaviour may be different to that of adults but their internal process is much the same, feeling all the same emotions that adults experience, and just as intensely. Being allowed to write or draw messages to the deceased, perhaps placing them in the coffin, reading at the funeral if they are able and willing, can give them an opportunity to express in behaviour what may not be possible for them in words. We often try to protect children by keeping them away from funerals for fear they may become upset, forgetting that being upset is appropriate when someone they love dies. Preventing them from being part of all important aspects of dying and death can leave them with resentment that carries on into adult life.
If we look honestly at our own motives for shielding children from being part of these rites of passage, we may find that it is sometimes to protect ourselves, not them. We may fear and try to avoid the simplicity and directness of their responses, their probing or unanswerable questions, and in so doing, prevent them from learning, in the safety of their own kinship circle, about death as part of life.
From a practical perspective, funeral services can be conducted almost anywhere, by almost anyone. We may choose a church, chapel, funeral director’s, crematorium, park, garden or private home. It is important to remember that if you wish to hold the funeral service in a public place such as a park or beach you will need council permission. It is customary, though not essential, to engage the services of a funeral director who can attend to details, leaving the family free to grieve without inhibition or distraction.
Because a funeral is not a legal ceremony like a wedding, it is possible to use a friend, relative or celebrant to lead the ceremony, but whoever you choose, it is important that they conduct the service in the way you wish.
As mentioned earlier, many people feel pressured by themselves or others into having the funeral as soon as possible in the mistaken belief that once ‘it’ is over, mourners will be able to put ‘it’ all behind them and get on with life.
Slowing down and taking time to plan a meaningful service is usually of much more benefit in the long term. It allows time to develop a greater understanding of the reality of the death, and increases the likelihood that the bereaved will remember important details later. It is valuable to most people to choose music and readings that are a multi-dimensional reflection of the life of the deceased, select appropriate flowers, and choose photos to display. Time usually allows most of us to be more assertive about arranging to have a church, chapel or crematorium available for longer than the specified time, even if it means paying a bit extra for the privilege. A service cut short does not necessarily decrease distress.
Many people choose to hold an informal gathering after the service—a wake, or funeral party as children tend to call it. If you are able to make yourself receptive to the love and compassion offered by family and friends at this time, you may find surprising comfort in the telling of stories, sharing experiences, and laughing as everyone remembers fun aspects of the deceased person’s life. It is important to many to acknowledge openly how they have been touched by that individual, what they will remember always, and perhaps crying again as a group when awareness of that person’s physical absence resurfaces. The shared intimacy of these gatherings often leave bereaved people feeling ‘high’ for a little while—a feeling that helps later survival.
It is normal and healthy to feel the kind of ‘high’ we are describing, and certainly nothing to feel guilty about. We learn in this way that happiness and sadness can co-exist—one doesn’t cancel out the other.
And finally, contrary to hopes and dreams, and perhaps romantic versions of death portrayed in books or movies, death doesn’t tend to resolve family conflict. In fact, dying, death, funerals and grief have the capacity to exaggerate whatever preexisted, meaning that conflict may become more pronounced, estrangement even more painful, outspoken and sharp-tongued folk even more so. Many of us may experience family dynamics that leave us with thoughts and feelings that have the capacity to complicate our grief. In this instance, the help of a competent bereavement counsellor can be invaluable.