Listening to Grief

I doubt I'll ever be finished writing about Alzheimer's and dementia. Still, I meant to write a wrap-up post for 2020's Alzheimer's Awareness Month.

However, I'm changing course, a bit. In recent days, I've been talking with friends and family, those who feel safe and those who don't, those who feel optimistic and those whose hope has flickered so long it's going out.

Grief is everywhere, or so it seems.

In late January, this article crossed my desk: David Kessler's, at LitHub, on how we experience grief, an excerpt from his book Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief. The article full of wisdom, much of which I hadn't considered, even though I feel more at home with grief than some I know.

For example: grief and mourning are different--grief is what we feel, mourning is our action.

For example: from a researcher in Australia, the story from a northern indigenous village--that when someone dies, people move something from their house into their yard. Furniture, even. So when the grieving person looks outside, she sees that the village understands what she feels: everything is different.

For example: "When people ask me how long they’re going to grieve, I ask them, 'How long will your loved one be dead? That’s how long. I don’t mean you’ll be in pain forever. But you will never forget that person, never be able to fill the unique hole that has been left in your heart.'"

And mostly: Everyone who is grieving needs to have that grief acknowledged--witnessed. Which does NOT mean listening for a while then saying, "this too shall pass," "everything happens for a reason," or "what is, is."

Just listen.

So: in these days of great grief, I'm listening.