Tragic Grief
If You’re Dealing with Complicated Grief, Seek First Your Therapist, Not Your Pastor
Ernest Becker proposes that depressed individuals (specifically those depressed from death) suffer both doubt in their faith and doubt their value within their worldview. In other words, grieving people often doubt their religion and the God of their religion.
Kenneth Doka suggests that “one of the most significant tasks in grief is to reconstruct faith or philosophical systems, now challenged by the loss” (Loss of the Assumptive World; 49). All forms of grief, normal, complicated and especially traumatic grief produce doubts about one’s faith.
If you’re dealing with grief, your entire worldview is probably being challenged. It’s only natural that we attempt to seek council in such times; but, it might not be your best choice to seek your church and pastor’s help.
As many of you know, I’ve battled depression this past year; and while grief and depression are different, there’s many similarities. As I’ve adjusted to life with depression, there’s a number of things that I’ve learned and this is one of them: Most churches and pastors (and religious friends) aren’t equipped to recognize and address the depressed. We should not expect them to be equipped. But we do. They haven’t been trained to understand the psychosomatic nature of depression; nor have they a background in tasks of mourning or grief work models; the different types of grief and how each one should be approached.
And it’s okay to recognize the limitations in our religious community.
Today’s church speaks the language of affirmation, the language of light (cataphatic theology as opposed apophatic theology) to such a degree that doubt and darkness can sometimes be viewed as sin.
Depression, for some religious communities, is sometimes seen as a curse of God.
And grief, per the theology of many religious communities, is something that God might not feel, so neither should we (at least for an extended period of time).
And while some churches can be understanding of grief, and the doubt and depression that comes with it, few are prepared to understand how said grief, doubt and depression affects you.
We can become more course, more rigid and more … unacceptable. And, honestly, it’s possible that we do indeed become unacceptable for many churches, as our darkness and our doubt takes us out of the comfort realm for many within the church.
Indeed, many pastors recognize the limits of their training and can recommend professionals to help with your grief, etc., but some don’t recognize their limits. They can provide first or second level assessment (i.e., “you need some professional guidance”), but the deeper levels of assessment and counsel should be left to those grief specialists.
Unless your church or pastor has a professional background in understanding depression and/or grief, I think we do both our pastors, our religious friends and ourselves a great service by seeing someone who is professionally trained.
Just Keep Swimming
Today’s guest post is from Jessica Charles. This from Jessica: I am Corporal Joshua Alexander Harton’s Big Sister. I am his sister and I protected him his whole life. That is until September 18th, 2010 when a bullet from Taliban’s rifle went through his neck, cutting his carotid artery, moving through his torso and destroying organs and finally leaving his body at the left hip and shattering his Kevlar armor. I am Josh’s sister and I need you to know that my little brother is dead and my epic life will never be the same again.
*****
What is living with PTSD like?
Uh, it is like….ummm well, you know.
And then people think Rambo:First Blood or some recent tragedy where a returning soldier kills his ex wife and her boyfriend.
It is NOT like that.
It is a lot like Finding Nemo, the kids’ movie where a father crosses an improbable ocean to save his son learning lessons on the way.
Try and remember the movie and I will outline it as I go. This explanation should be so simple that even civilians can follow.
The movie starts with Mommy fish and Daddy fish (Pearl and Marlin) admiring their new home and envisioning the future life of their many children. Then tragedy strikes. A big fish eats the babies and the mommy fish defends them, she also dies (And I thought Bambi was bad).
One egg survives, and Marlin (dad of the year) promises that from this moment on “Nothing will ever happen” to his baby Nemo.
Marlin has PTSD. Marlin spends the next few years (or however long it takes in fish time) protecting his son from EVERYTHING, because in truth, the world is a scary place and it will kill you. And it would seem paranoid and crazy except that Marlin is often proven right.
His son dares to leave the safety zone and is kidnapped. Marlin follows and is almost devoured by sharks, blown up, eaten by a monster fish with a flashlight, lost, shocked by jellyfish and lost again only to be eaten by a whale. Life is bad, and that is the only lesson Marlin can learn because it is the lesson he already knows.
Dory his adorably absent minded buddy doesn’t have any preconceived lessons. She “just keeps swimming”. To Marlin she is an imbecile because everywhere they turn there is obvious danger. Danger is all Marlin can see. And he isn’t wrong, but as Dory teaches him, he isn’t entirely right.
If Marlin hadn’t tried to force Dory away from the sharks, well there would have been no bloody nose to insight the hungry beasts. If Marlin hadn’t been so rude to the school of fish, he would have gotten directions earlier and more completely and would have avoided the jelly fish all together. In Marlin’s haste to protect himself from the world he makes it a more dangerous place. That is what living with PTSD is like.
I have always had PTSD. I have always lived in a world that was scary and dangerous and I have never been good at seeing the world as a place of both danger and joy. Someone once said, “The war is over.” And with the intensity of someone who feels threatened, I screamed, “No sir, it is still going on”.
It is true, I am still at war, still in war and still protecting myself from the enemy. The enemy is the world and as Marlin learns not only can you not protect yourself or your beloved child from the world, you shouldn’t because as Dory says, ” Well, you can’t never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. Not much fun for little Harpo”.
Not much fun… yeah, fun, thriving versus surviving. Learning HOW to do that, instead of just over thinking every moment until you can plan for all foreseeable outcomes except the one where you may enjoy yourself.
So what is living with PTSD like? It is like Finding Nemo. And I hope everyone out there has a little blue buddy who can help them out, even if some days it is all you can do to just keep swimming.
*****
You can visit Jessica’s blog at “Always His Sister.” And you can follow her on Twitter.
The Traumatic Grief of Having Two of Your Uncles Murdered
The author of today’s guest post — who wishes to remain anonymous — has experienced the murder of two of her uncles. Typically, there’s three distinct categories of grief: normal, complicated and traumatic. For the most part, the grief experienced from murder falls into the “traumatic” category of grief experience. Today’s post highlights some of the aspects of traumatic grief.
*****
Here goes my story. I’ll try to be as honest as possible and I know you can handle it but most people do not want to listen to my story cause they can’t handle it. I will give you some background info on my family.
We are all born and raised Catholic and will die Catholic. Lower middle class with a pretty good education. There is alot of alcoholism, drug addiction, and some mental illness within my family even before the two tragedies occurred.
In the summer of 1991 my Mom’s brother was murdered in broad daylight outside his place of business. My Mom and my sister were exceptionally close to him. He was a kind and gentle man who had his throat slit by a heroin junkie who just got out of jail for aggravated assault. We had to deal with a trial, the media and people just coming up to you and saying stupid things about my Uncle.
My Mom was the rock even though it was her brother. Me, my bro and my sister fell apart. My own father said he was jealous because my Mom was getting all the attention … he can be so incredibly ignorant sometimes. My sister really fell apart badly and has just now got clean after 22yrs of painkiller addiction. My brother and myself struggled with alcoholism. We are both now clean. My parents are still together after 51yrs.
We all love each other very much, perhaps too much. When you lose someone to murder you want to keep the ones you love close by. What do I attribute to all of us surviving? All of us has a strong relationship with God.
I was extremely bitter and angry with life and people, until a couple years ago when I decided I was tired of being angry. I pray more than ever now. All of us still have remnants of being a victim, of survivor guilt, PTSD, depression and insomnia to name a few.
*****
Several months before my second Uncle was murdered another horrific murder had occurred in my town and as I was reading about the details when this horrible feeling overcame me and I said to God “it isn’t over is it?”(I somehow knew in my gut there was another tragedy that would befall on my family).
Several months later I was driving home from work and instead of going home I stopped at my parents. My Dad told me they hadn’t heard from his brother in several days (this wasn’t unusual because my Uncle was depressed over the loss of his wife a year earlier). An hour later we got a phone call telling us that my Uncle was found dead on his couch. My other Uncle found him.
At this time we all had thought he had a heart attack until several days later when we got the call from the coroner that he had been stabbed in the throat. Again another Uncle had been murdered by a junkie.
I had to be the bearer of bad news to the rest of my family. I remember when I turned on the radio en route to my parents the song A Whiter Shade of Pale by Procul Harum was playing and there is a line in the song that says “they say there is no reason and the truth is plain to see” how prophetic!!
Ahhh, Forgiveness I’m sorry but you can judge me all you want but I will never forgive the assholes who murdered my Uncles. I have seen a therapist and my parish Priest over the issue of forgiveness and it has made me sick.
Forgiveness made me sick for many years until I met a kindred spirit in a coworker who told me as I wept uncontrollably, “’M’ this is too big for you to handle. Give this one to God and let him handle it.” That lifted a huge weight from my heart and to my friend “L” I will be forever grateful.
There are days I will cry for no reason and my therapist said that it’s okay to be sad when you have gone through what my family and I have. Right after my second Uncle was murdered I met the love of my life and I said to him (about 2 months after we met), “You know “J”, from the losses I have suffered I have learned that if you ever love someone, you must tell them because you never know when you might lose them.”
Tragically after three months of dating we lost his Mother and on her deathbed I promised her I would always take care of her son. Three months after that we lost his Father. “J” and I have handled the tough stuff early on in our relationship so anything else has been easier to go through.
To summarize, I truly know that without the love and support of my family and God, we wouldn’t be standing. Thank You God. If it was not for you and my belief for a better life on the other side I don’t think I would be writing this today.
Does Uncle Josh Love Me?
This week my blog is being taken over by Jessica Charles. This from Jessica: I am Corporal Joshua Alexander Harton’s Big Sister. I am his sister and I protected him his whole life. That is until September 18th, 2010 when a bullet from Taliban’s rifle went through his neck, cutting his carotid artery, moving through his torso and destroying organs and finally leaving his body at the left hip and shattering his Kevlar armor. I am Josh’s sister and I need you to know that my little brother is dead and my epic life will never be the same again.
*****
Sharing memories of a loved one to a child is a special thing. It can also be extremely difficult.
Once my son asked, “Why did Uncle Josh join the army?”. That is a normal question not just for a child to ask but for anyone.
I promised myself that I would tell my son the truth. I made that promise when I was given the news of Josh’s death. I would not hold back, I would be honest and simple but I would not lie. Uncle Josh died, he was shot, I don’t think it hurt, I don’t know the bad guy’s name.
Then a year later, ‘Why did Uncle Josh join the army?”. Well I knew why. Josh joined because he didn’t know what else to do. He enlisted because it was a job and someone had to do it, he knew he could do it well and then he could figure out the rest of his life later.
Is that what you tell a four year old, though? I didn’t think so. I told my son, “wait, I would think about it and I would get back to you.”
Then I whipped out my phone and madly texted my brother’s best friend. ‘He wants to know why Josh joined the army’.
Reply:”Because he was a loser at UPS and he wanted a better job”.
Me:”Duh, do you want me to tell Nic that?”
Reply: “Tell him because he wanted to protect his country”
Me: “I said I wouldn’t lie!!!!!”
Very long pause as we both thought on what to do.
Me: “what about this: Uncle Josh didn’t know what he wanted to be when he grew up so he joined the army while he figured it out?”
Reply: “True, not the whole truth but it works”
Whew. Well that went over well. When he is older and knows a bit more about how confusing life is, I can elaborate.
Then what about this one: “Does Uncle Josh love me?”.
First, how am I supposed to answer that without a chaos of tears. Of course he loved you, he loved you so fiercely he hated to be near you in case he tainted you. How can I explain that? How can I explain all that to someone so small and precious?
‘Yes, Uncle Josh loved you. And there is something very special about love. Love never dies. When Josh and I were growing up we loved each other so much. We watched out for each other and we protected each other. And when I became a Mommy and he became an Uncle we took the love we started when we were little and we shared it with you. We both love you. The love grew. And now that you are a big brother, that same love, from Mommy to Uncle Josh, is now growing from You to your Sister. Isn’t that wonderful? So no matter what, no matter how much it hurts when someone we love dies, the love they had for us and the love we have for them never dies.”
*****
You can visit Jessica’s blog at “Always His Sister.” And you can follow her on Twitter.
Remembering the Dead
This week my blog is being taken over by Jessica Charles. This from Jessica: I am Corporal Joshua Alexander Harton’s Big Sister. I am his sister and I protected him his whole life. That is until September 18th, 2010 when a bullet from Taliban’s rifle went through his neck, cutting his carotid artery, moving through his torso and destroying organs and finally leaving his body at the left hip and shattering his Kevlar armor. I am Josh’s sister and I need you to know that my little brother is dead and my epic life will never be the same again.
*****
Today, my children and I went to the cemetery. There we met Veteran’s who were collecting old worn flags and replacing them with new ones on the graves of their fallen comrades. It was raining, the cemetery was old, the tombstones were often broken, illegible or were often a piece of flagstone with a flag marker next to it. My son had more fun then he has had all week.
Nicky sang to himself a little ditty, “American Flag, AAaamerican FLLLLAAAAGS!”. He waved Old Glory and brought the battered and tattered flags to me and I carried them in the stroller. We reported the names to a Vietnam Marine Veteran who checked the known names off a list. My daughter cooed and smiled at the old Veteran’s and tried to slurp rain water out of her stroller.
I enjoyed watching my kids being happy. I talked to Nicky about some of the names we read. One man had been a bugler, some in Korea like my grandfather, others in Vietnam like my father in law. There were many from the Civil War. There were many names we couldn’t read, whose head stones were broken and whose families no longer cared for the grave, for whatever reason.
But there were Veterans, walking up and down in the rain and taking down old flags, replacing with new ones and checking off names. No one left behind.
They asked me why I was there, I told them who I was: A Gold Star Sister. That answered that, and they thanked me for coming and bringing my children. I thanked them because they served my country before I was born.
But that didn’t really answer why I was there. I was there because one day, I hope that someone will still put a flag on my brother’s grave. One day I hope someone checks his name to make sure it is getting the honor he is due. I want someone to look at his date of birth and his date of death and do the math. To realize he died just short of turning 24 years old and he did so for his country.
Graves were surrounded by family members, and one day I will die and join my brother. And when I am gone who will bring a broom and dust of his grave, leave a stone to show someone still cared enough to visit and of course, to place a flag by his name? Will there be a an old soldier? One who fought long ago who comes by once a year to check on his brothers and sisters?
There will be someone, and maybe it will be a soldier, or maybe a soldier’s sister, who is afraid her brother will also be disregarded. Maybe a hundred years ago, a sister tucked her brother into the ground and hoped he would never be forgotten.
I will not forget, and I will teach my children the importance of remember the dead.
*****
You can visit Jessica’s blog at “Always His Sister.” And you can follow her on Twitter
