I was a blubbering wreck – which surprised me.
We were attending a funeral, and my heart ached for the family. But that did not explain my over-reaction.
As I searched in the bottom of my handbag for tissues and got Chris to find his handkerchief, I tried to figure out what the problem was. A quick run through the calendar in my head reminded me: It was the same week as the baby we had lost would have had their birthday.
I realised that my reaction was explainable, and that the emotions that were overwhelming me were really my own grief. So I was able to acknowledge that my feelings were valid, and put them on hold to deal with them later. I cleaned myself up, and at last, offered my condolences to the family.
Grief is like that.
It surprises us with emotions that seemingly bubble up out of nowhere.
Sometimes there are obvious triggers: we see something that reminds us of our loved ones; we meet someone who knew our loved one, and we race home to phone them, only to realise…they’re no longer on the other end of the phone. We watch a movie, a television programme, or even an advert, and the tears begin to roll down our cheeks – for no good reason that we can instantly identify. But if we pause for a moment to think about it, we may recognise it as grief.
But anniversaries are another matter.
Some anniversaries are obvious: Birthdays and Christmas, wedding anniversaries, and the anniversary of the death of our loved one are examples of occasions where we know we will miss our loved ones terribly. Others around us usually understand, and we are easily excused.
But other anniversaries are much more personal and private. Some we want to remember; the first time we met, the first time we held hands, the time we went on a trip somewhere special. Sometimes anniversaries are not even about grieving for a person, but an event that happened, or something we had hoped and planned for that never happened. Some other anniversaries we don’t wish to remember but still live on secretly in our hearts.
Being aware that anniversaries that we don’t consciously think about may pop up and surprise us can help to reassure us that we are not going insane. Somehow, our subconscious is reminding us that this matters to us.
We can acknowledge our grief
We can acknowledge our grief—which is easier to do if they are pleasant memories—or we can try to lock it away. But if we continue to hide grief deeply within us it can breed like a cancer and cause us to be bitter and angry, poisoning our thoughts and attitudes on the inside even though we may smile on the outside.
Finding someone we can trust to help us acknowledge our grief is so worthwhile; a dear friend, a Pastor, Life-Line or a counsellor. Often we anticipate that the pain of our past coming to the surface is going to be worse than hiding it away. But instead, many people find that what before was a deep, dark, lonely secret, brings them hope, joy and healing when it is unlocked and released. It’s as though they’re able to fill a big, deep hole with all sorts of good. It doesn’t mean that we won’t have the memories anymore—it’s just that they are no longer such a burden.
Some people find it helpful to use a perpetual or birthday calendar and pencil in occasions that might be significant. This enables us not only to acknowledge our grief, but warns us—and those with whom we live—to expect turbulence. Instead of cancelling all appointments, we can look at this in the same way as the pilot of a plane navigates around and through stormy weather—being prepared for a bumpy patch and fastening seat-belts, but hopefully getting through without too many bruises.
If we care for people who are grieving,
we can take the initiative to acknowledge their grief. If we’re aware of an anniversary, we can send a card or flowers or take them out for dinner, or to a movie or something else special. On the anniversary of grandpa’s birthday, perhaps grandma would like a way to celebrate. If there’s no anniversary that we’re aware of, how about going out with them for a cuppa or a walk ‘just because’? There’s no lonelier place when you’re grieving than thinking you’re the only one in the world who is.
When we are aware that grief affects us all
in so many different and surprising ways, we can be more compassionate and understanding of people with whom we live and work. If we understand that many of the people who may shock or even disgust us are possibly dealing with a constant source of issues over which to grieve, we can grow acceptance. We can recognise that they need our love—not our judgement.
A number of years ago, our family collected all of the Christmas cards we received and placed them into a basket on our kitchen table. Every morning, we would pull out a card, pray for the sender and send them a note just to say we’d prayed for them that day. One day I received a phone-call from a dear aunt.
‘How did you know?’ she asked me.
‘Know what?’ I asked. She went on to explain that the note we had sent to her had arrived on the anniversary of her husband’s death and how precious the note was to her. We put that one down to being a God-incidence.
Anniversaries and memories are significant parts of our lives. They remind us of all the people and events which have made us who we are. How we deal with them will influence who we are to become.
*Published as ‘When the storms strike’ in The Lutheran, April 2014.