Grief in Real-Time
Dealing with Triggers
As I sat with a friend in a favorite cafe’ enjoying my breakfast burrito, he described his dilemma of what to do with a well-loved recliner.
“We are getting new recliners, so it’s got to go, but this older one has plenty of life in it,” explained John. “Not sure what to do with it. Have any ideas?”
“You can call the thrift shop. They will come and pick it up then sell it in the store and the proceeds go to the homeless shelter. We have done that several times and it has worked out well,” I explained.
“That sounds like a good idea. I will have a hard time lifting…”
I stopped listening.
Images of the movers taking my son’s sofa, living room chair, and king-sized bed out of the condo came back to me.
The movie in my mind was so vivid that I could smell the stale cigarette smoke that permeated his place. I could see the movers struggle to get the larger pieces of furniture down the stairs. I could feel shards of broken glass under foot. I wonder how and why all this happened. Where did we go wrong? How did we lose him?
Just a few years ago, delivery of the same items came with the hopes of a new beginning. Now, it was an ending. Firm. Clear.
I shook my head a bit and brought myself back to the conversation at hand, promising myself that later in the day, I would spend some time reflecting on the memory. I took a long swig of the coffee in my hand and focused on my friend.
For me, triggers come unbidden. They sneak up and take me down at the knees. I time-travel. They quickly take me to a place that reminds me that I am still very much in the process of grieving.
It is now 10 months since we lost our son. Although the initial waves of intense pain are less in frequency, this grief space feels deeper, more complex.
Sometimes memories come back and I can gently walk through them, listening to what they have to teach.
A quick example. Recently, we vacationed at the beach with our daughter, our son in law, and the grands. It was a wonderful vacation filled with sun, sand, and lots of play. As we watched our granddaughters play tag with the waves, I looked out at the sea, remembering the days when we took our daughter and our son to the same beach.
Memories of each of them returned to me. I was filled with a sense of gratitude and wonder.
I looked out to the deep water and remembered our son, then a young teen, tackling the strongest of waves. He played waterpolo as a kid, surviving practices where the boys carried chairs in the air across the length of the pool as they tread water. I knew he was a strong swimmer and could relax seeing him in the deep waters.
Sometimes I can solicit memories and other times, memories return of their own volition.
Those of us who have been through a traumatic loss are familiar with the ones that return unbidden.
They take us, willing or not, to a different place.
They may be a sign that we likely need some professional support from a skilled therapist to deal with the intensity they bring. I am open to that and willingly participating in that help.
When a painful memory hits, I am learning how to interact with it.
It is tempting to push it away, to compartmentalize whatever comes up, to avoid the ensuing pain, but I have learned that the very best way to navigate this loss is to befriend what comes up, noticing and feeling what the image is telling me. I am being gentle with myself as I learn to tolerate the discomfort. Now I can enter into it, knowing there may be a reason it is coming to me.
Granted, this is generally not an easy process; however, it is often one that has insights that help me take the next step in learning to live with this loss.
Later in the day after breakfast with my friend, I sat on our deck and remembered as much as I could about the day when the movers came to take away the furniture from my son’s place. When they lifted the sofa, a variety of items that were hiding under it appeared: salt and pepper grinders, pens and journals, one of the cat’s toys, and a woman’s ring with a bright, emerald green stone.
The salt and pepper grinders grace our table. I will keep them.
I wear the costume jewelry ring, a reminder that my son had hopes he would one day establish a lasting couple relationship.
And the journals are stacked in a cabinet for safe-keeping. I will visit them in the future: all small reminders of my son.
We have lost many loved ones in our family, most of them older than us. When my parents died and we emptied the house of their belongings, the process was very different than this process. Though difficult, those deaths made sense.
Losing an adult child breaks the normal order of things.
No matter the reason, parents do not expect to outlive their children, making the loss feel deeply unnatural and unfair.
Grief, in real time, reminds us of the deep love we have for the lost beloved.
I am learning that though it may be painful, grief can heal.
Grief is the teacher whose lesson plan transforms us.
Healing does not erase our love; instead, it can solidify a bond with our beloved.
Slowly, we learn to live with loss, simultaneously holding death and life in our hands.
Thank you, Michele. I am 28 months just today from the loss of my amazing son and friend Nathaniel. I continue to navigate the strange journey that loss takes us on.
I'm curious how you distinguish a kind of "wallowing" in the past to a healthy exploration of the images triggered by our experiences?
I think it's crricisl to engage with our grief actively and not suppress or ignore it, but I also have found people who become "stuck" and are trapped by living in those memories.
Michele - I was greeted this morning by your post and it became my prayer. Kind of like praying to a God who continues to love greatly after loosing a son. Could the grief be so great because the love is so deep? And to hold the grief is to hold the love, no matter the triggers: the explanation points along the way. Blessings to you. Thank you so much for sharing your deepest trauma.