Last week I was given some pretty difficult news as a therapist. A client I had worked with for an extended period of time a while back passed away, and I couldn't help reflect on our work together and wonder if I had done everything I could do to help him. Deep down, I knew that I gave it my all, but there was that brief moment of "what if" that plagued me for a bit.
One of the interesting things about working for the hospital is that I never had an opportunity to see things through with clients I worked with... I put a band-aid on their psychological gunshot wound, and sent them on their way, hoping that they followed up their their aftercare plan for therapy and medication management. One of the things that I love about private practice is that I AM the aftercare plan. I am the follow-up, and have the opportunity to see the plan through.
The night after hearing the horrible news of my previous client's passing, I found this quote on Pinterest. And if I'm honest, I had myself a good cry. A cry for the therapist in me who always strives to leave people better than I find them. A cry for the individual that I am who struggles with realizing that I can't change things beyond my control.
I remember when I first became a therapist and a client had to be hospitalized. I cried and cried about it. My supervisor at the time told me that everyone has client "firsts"... and that each first is a career lesson that will make me a better therapist. That first taught me the importance of setting boundaries in therapy. I guess that this first taught me something too... to leave clients better then I find them.
"I'm always sad."
"Are there certain thoughts associated with the sadness?"
"No, the sadness is under the thoughts. It's like when you're on a camping trip, and it's really cold, and you put on extra socks, and an extra sweater, but you still can't get warm, because the coldness is in your bones."
"Do you hope to get away from it?"
"Not anymore. I just hope to come to peace with it."
(source, Humans of New York)
Many times when I am working with clients, they tell me that they want their depression to go away. "I should be over this"... "I don't understand why I still feel this way"... "Tell me what I need to do to get rid of this". As much as I want to offer a wave of my magic wand and have their depression disappear, I think that we sometimes have unrealistic expectations of feelings. As if they can really go away and not come back.
In many ways, I think the reality is that we need to come to a point of acceptance before anything really has the possibility of changing for us. We need to accept our depression/anxiety/heartache/etc as it is before it can be reduced. Not that it wouldn't be great for these feelings and thoughts to go away, but quite often they don't vanish from our lives forever. What happens is that we find peace in our reality, and learn a different way of thinking.
A few months ago, I was going through something really challenging. I didn't want to accept that my life was in a tailspin, so I ignored it and complained about it... and it didn't go away. It was like that "white elephant in the room". But then, after a really honest conversation with someone close to me, I realized that I had to accept that my life wasn't the way I wanted it to be, but that the only way I could make it different was to start where I was. Not go back. Not look forward. But to start right there. That's coming to peace... and ultimately, that was when change occurred for me. I can look back and without a doubt, it was when I said it out loud to someone else (when I admitted struggle) and had an opportunity to reflect that the picture became clear and not fuzzy anymore. Since that moment, I have clarity and have worked diligently on being different.
Finding peace about our current situation doesn't mean that we don't want things to be different... finding peace means that we don't hate ourselves for where we are right now. When we already hurting, isn't it important to accept ourselves, instead of beating ourselves up?
This morning I found THIS article from the Washington Post about our views of dying from the medical perspective. It spiraled into a million and one thoughts for me... thinking about the mortality of my loved ones, and how I hope to be able to respond when the time comes for their passing. As much as I would like to think that I'll be able to be emotionally strong and selfless, I can't help but think about the alternative of wanting to hold on as long as I can.
It then got me thinking about my experiences with death, both professionally and personally, and the opportunities we have to grow and learn through each experience.
There isn't a wrong way. Whether you are present or not, whether you are sad and cry yourself into an oblivion or not, whether you hold on tight or let go immediately... no one can tell you that there is a right or wrong way to grieve. We have only to trust ourselves to what is right for us.
When I work with a client who has experienced a loss, one of the common conversations we have is whether or not they are grieving the right way. "I should be crying more." "I should be able to move on by now." The picture that we have in our minds about grieving isn't always right. We grieve how we need to grieve.
We grieve difference people in different ways. I can remember the first person I lost to death, my paternal grandmother, when I was just a pre-teen. I didn't cry a lot, and can remember feeling terrible that I didn't feel terrible. Almost three years ago, we put our dog to sleep. I cried for days. Big, huge crocodile tears.
If I compare those two grief experiences to one another, how wrong was it for me to cry for days (okay, weeks and possibly months) over my dog... yet barely cry over my grandmother? What a heartless person.
The truth is, people grieve different ways over different people, based on their relationships and life experiences. I didn't really spend a lot of time with my paternal grandmother, and our relationship was very distant. Cindylou, on the other hand, was my four-legged child who I rescued and raised for 10 years.
Grief changes you. Years ago, my mother-in-law's mother passed away. I remember tears pouring down my face at the funeral. I thought at the time it was grief for my mother-in-law, because although I had only met Mimi a few times, I felt like I knew her because my mother-in-law always spoke of her.
A week or so after the funeral, I can remember being on the phone with my grandparents and completely breaking down while talking to them. The grief experience I had was that death is real... and if someone my grandparents' age is dying, that means that they can (and will) die too. Since that time, my relationship with my grandparents has gotten more real. Real in the sense that I don't take for granted opportunities I have to talk to, or see, them. I cherish phone calls, and talk longer than I used to. I always long for that "I love you" at the end of our conversations.
You are never really prepared. Even if you know that it's coming, you can never really prepare yourself for the realities of death and grieving. Sure, you can read literature on the grief process and we know that there are stages of grief, but you never know how to prepare yourself for dealing with the sound of a last breath, the feel of your loved one's hand in yours as they pass, or the phone call of news being shared.
While we know that death is a part of life, I don't think we're ever really prepared because it would mean that we are prepared to say good-bye to a part of our lives. The memories that are tied to our loved ones, while they stay present with us, aren't enough to fill that void in our hearts.
Grief never ends... but it changes. Grief is the price of love.
And if the price of love is grief, then I will gladly invite grief into my life for those people I cherish so much.
In a world where we are constantly wanting more... more money, more freedom, more love, more stuff... there are at the same time people who would give anything to have what we take for granted.
How about that for some perspective today?
