Posted on: Friday, December 10, 2004
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HAWAIIAN STYLE
Letting yourself grieve helps healing
Anne Sage teaches people to handle death — and sometimes how to let go.
Now, the experienced counselor on grieving — and almost quarter-century veteran of the local funeral industry — found herself standing over her own father's grave.
While the world whirled around her in festive holiday frivolity, hers stood still. Her professional life had suddenly become her personal pain.
"Dealing with the loss of a loved one — especially during Christmas — is not something we do well," she said.
"If you lose a leg two weeks before the marathon," said Sage, "no one expects you to run (the race) ... but your wife of 52 years drops dead and two weeks later, people expect you up and running." Get on with it, you're told.
The loss of a leg, and grieving, are oddly similar, she said. "First you stop the bleeding. Then you try to heal. Then, when YOU'RE ready, you decide whether you're going to hop on one leg ... or learn to walk again."
It's important to take grief at your own pace, she said. "The 23rd Psalm says 'walk through the valley of the shadow of death,' not build a brick house and stay forever.
"Scream if you need to.
"We have nothing in our society that 'acknowledges' — that allows — the grieving process," she said. "Some places, you wear a black armband, a black dress and veil, a white carnation. ... Here, there's no sign you've lost part of yourself."
The process takes about three months for each year of the relationship; for some, it takes "the rest of their life."
The workplace is no better, she said. "In the perfect world, we'd get 18 months off work after the death of a loved one."
Even well-meaning friends hurt rather than help. Continuing the amputation analogy, she said, "A surgeon wouldn't say, 'Just be glad for the years you had that leg,' or 'Thank goodness the surgery no longer hurts! ... You'll be fine. Get a peg leg, get on with life!'
"But, that's what people do after a death," said Sage. " 'At least he's not suffering,' " or worse, " 'At least you have another child.' "
Sometimes the most hurtful is the best intentioned: " 'I know how you feel.' Because you don't. I had one lady tell a bereaved friend, 'I know how you feel. I felt the same way when my cat died.' "
What to say instead? "I can't imagine what you're going through. What can I do?"
"Often," said Sage, "it is nothing more than just listening."
Don't allow yourself to be told what you should or shouldn't do.
"If you want to leave your beloved hubby's voice on the answering machine, do it," she said. Keep his desk or closet exactly like he left it? "Ain't no one's business but yours."
At the funeral last week, her mother asked, "Is this (a little daring pants outfit) appropriate? Your father loved it."
"If Daddy loved it, and you like it, wear it! Go buck naked," she told her mother, exaggerating the permission to allow her to do what she needed to cope. As for herself, Sage arranged for "A Closer Walk With Thee" to be played at the funeral in her dad's favorite style — Dixieland jazz. "I knew he was dancing along," she said.
Most importantly, said Sage, give yourself permission to go through the stages of grieving, the anger, the denial, guilt. "It's even OK to be angry with God," said Sage. "He's big enough to take it."
An understanding of the process, though, said Sage, doesn't mean acceptance. "When your time comes," she's been told, "you'll do it easily."
"I understand the process," she said. "My brain gets it. But it sucks! My heart and gut just aren't following along."
She tells a funny story to illustrate how it's normal with bereavement to become forgetful.
After the funeral, Sage placed four pounds of lamb in the back seat of her car. Then she ran a few errands. "I fed the dogs. Picked up dinner."
Days later she found the now pungent lamb.
"Your brain can only hold the grief, and little else," she said. "So cut yourself some slack."
And expect it to hurt. Late one night, Sage sneaked past the closed gate to the cemetery to sit on her dad's grave. She apologized to the suspicious security guard.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I just buried my Dad yesterday. I have to say goodnight."
Then, said Sage, "I sat down and bawled like a 3-year-old."
The Advertiser's Wade Kilohana Shirkey is kumu of Na Hoaloha O Ka Roselani No'eau hula halau. He writes on Island life.
