Kay Cozad

  • ‘Dark night of the soul’

    As a young girl I joined my eighth-grade class in attending the funeral of a fellow classmate’s mother. It was a sad and confusing time, as none of us had ever considered the death of a parent before. But what I remember most of that time was my classmate’s response to his loss. “I’m so sad that your mom died,” I offered. “My dad says we shouldn’t be sad because she’s in a better place. If I cry that’s because I’m selfish,” he said.

    Even then that perception of faith and grief left me feeling cold and confused. But as I matured in my understanding of death and grief, I came to see the unique journey we each take after our loss.

    Some Christians believe that if their faith is strong enough they should not feel the sorrow naturally associated with a loss. The belief in the glorious eternal life awaiting all of us should dispel any sadness, anger or loneliness.
    Unfortunately, in an attempt to play that out grief is avoided, repressed or denied and may become distorted.

    Others hold fast to their faith and believe that all will be well. Jerald says of his faith walk following the death of his wife of 43 years, “I instinctively kept on going to church instead of turning away. Perhaps more a gut reaction than a conscious choice although it was a choice I continued to make.”

    Though he never felt abandoned by God he says, “I think that when you are grieving you feel isolated from everyone and everything at times … including God. I think that is when the faith part kicks in and helps you cope, if only a minute at a time. Slowly the feeling of isolation lessens and perhaps that is when or why people return to God. “
    Then he adds, “Or does the feeling of isolation cease because of God?”

    An interesting question! I have come to believe that God is always present in our need. It is perhaps the weight of our grief that cuts us off from the very connection to our Redeemer that would ease our heavy burden.

    Some of us who have experienced a life-altering loss have found ourselves in what 16th century Catholic mystic St. John of the Cross described as “the dark night of the soul.” It’s a time that is marked by a sense of loneliness, introspection and desolation. What better way to describe the grief journey.

    Facing the soul work of grief requires courage. It involves experiencing deeply felt emotions including anger, sorrow and confusion. The search for meaning becomes the very catalyst for change. When we allow ourselves to ask the hard questions and reevaluate our lives and our world view, over time we have the opportunity to deepen our understanding of how we fit in the universe as well as our faith in its Creator.

    Following the death of my husband, I found myself searching for a constructive reason why he had to die so young. Questions like “Why did this happen to my family?” and “How will we live without him?” swirled long after not only in my head but in my conversation with others. And I felt isolated and abandoned by God.

    At times I felt a burning anger at God for leaving me stranded in a life I didn’t choose. And as I railed at Him for taking my husband too soon I recognized that my anger was justified. God and I became much closer as He held my tender heart in His healing hands and embraced me as I tantrumed.

    The very act of communicating with God, though at times excruciatingly painful, gave me hope that a future did exist. And as I searched for my future, a deeper, richer faith rose up from the ashes of my loss. It was my husband’s final gift.

    David Wolpe suggests that we “have faith in the searching. Loss is the platform on which we build a deeper, sturdier faith.” I have found that to be true for myself and others I’ve encountered in grief.

    Another wise man, R. Scott Sullender, offers “Faith is hope in a new tomorrow in spite of one’s present sorrow.” Faith in the redeeming power of God does bring us hope for the future, but it doesn’t mean we can avoid the soul work of grief. It’s natural to doubt and question the meaning of life and our faith, and encounter all the pain and sorrow that comes after the loss of a loved one. We must allow ourselves to ask those hard questions and trust the process.

    Posted on March 16, 2010, to:

  • The importance of ceremony

    I have become curious recently as I read the obituaries as to what appears to be a growing trend toward no visitation or service after a death. “As per his wishes there will be no services,” or “A private service will take place at a later date,” they read. I suspect the thought of putting those left behind through the pain and cost of arranging and hosting a funeral seems futile to those who are near death.

    Or perhaps this deritualization is due to our mobile and decidedly fast-paced culture that encourages efficiency and convenience for family members who now live across global boundaries. Making time for funeral travel in our busy world has become inconvenient and cost prohibitive.

    It is becoming more common recently to unceremoniously dispose of the dead and return to normal life as quickly as possible. Many choose cremation, burial with no ceremony or a private gathering with no allowance for public grief.

    Of course we must honor the burial wishes of our loved ones. But we must also acknowledge and embrace the fact that funeral ceremonies are for the living — those left behind to begin their arduous work through grief in an effort to eventually live and love fully again. Funerals offer a safe place to express sadness and embrace the pain of loss together.

    Writing the obituary and arranging the funeral ceremony are the first affirmations of the reality that a loved one has died. The obituary notifies the community to come together to participate in the funeral that meets the family’s need for compassionate support, love and understanding.

    Meaningful funeral ceremonies are not about closure, but rather are about beginning the grief experience. Experiencing the gathering of family, friends and community members allows the bereaved to begin to acknowledge and express the pain of their loss through story telling, the giving and receiving of compassionate actions and the sharing of tears and laughter. This is an essential part of healing.

    In the days following my husband’s death, I found myself in a flurry of activity. Writing the obituary was a painstaking activity. And it was literally gut wrenching to choose the right casket in which to place my husband’s body. But that experience led me to the next step and the next in creating a meaningful tribute to him. Such began my grief journey.

    Showing Trent’s body was of sacred importance to me. The viewing encouraged visitors to confront the reality of his death and begin to say their last goodbyes. I made sure there was ample private time in which my two young daughters could say their goodbyes to their daddy as well. My desire to give testimony to the value and meaning of Trent’s life with those who loved him most led to significant music, memorabilia and even eulogy choices, the symbolism of which was not lost on any who attended.

    I was pleasantly surprised to find that so many people from all areas of my husband’s life came to honor him and support his family. I recall telling a friend during the visitation, “If Trent were here today, this would be the best party. Everyone I love is under one roof.” Trent’s funeral gave my community a way to unite, remember and support his family. And the show of support gave me hope for the future.

    Grief expert Alan Wolfelt teaches that “When words are inadequate, have a ceremony.” And I have found that it is never too late to create a meaningful ceremony that can lead to healing on the path of grief. My girls and I continue to participate in rituals that are meaningful to us on special anniversary dates. And I delight in their inspired ventures when they create a new ceremony to honor their dad.

    Posted on February 17, 2010, to:

  • Closure — the myth

    It’s time to dispel an unsettling myth that has become popular in our culture in the last couple of decades — that of closure. Closure can mean different things to different people, but in the bereavement arena it is typically defined as letting go, putting “it” behind you or closing the door on the past. When the phrase, “Now you have closure,” is expressed, it’s message is one of confusion for the bereaved — time to be done.

    How does one close the door on their grief? On their memories and love? Those of us who have experienced the complex and deeply personal journey associated with losing a loved one find that there is no getting over a loss — no real or imaginary closure.

    Most of us will never forget the life altering event of our loved one’s death, nor do we want to. Closing the door on the loss, with all it’s emotional turmoil and mandatory self-discovery, would mean closing our minds and hearts to the memories of the love we shared and time we spent with our loved one.

    Rebecca, a woman who recently buried her husband of 27 years, says, “So many people told me at the funeral that I would find closure after I buried my husband. So far I haven’t found it.” She has found that day by day as she faces her grief, that she is on a path of discovering a new normal for herself and her family — and it is an ongoing process.

    Rebecca acknowledged that she continued to seek the closure those at her husband’s funeral eluded to, hoping to distance herself from the overwhelming emotions that follow the death of someone dear. She envisioned it much like finishing a chapter in a book. “I just hoped that when I cleaned out his things and gave them away, I would close this chapter of my life,” she said. Unfortunately she discovered that even without her husband’s belongings in her possession, his memory remained and her grief journey continued.

    Whether it’s following the funeral or special ceremony, a special anniversary date, removal of wedding rings or distribution of personal items, the pain of loss typically continues. But if attended to and expressed, the pain will soften over time and become transformative.

    Some of us, after hearing about this elusive “closure,” but not achieving it, may over time begin to wonder if there is something wrong with us or our style of grieving. Nothing could be further from the truth. As Ashley David Prend wrote on the bereavement Web site, For the Love of Cristy, “Closure is for business deals. Closure is for real estate transactions. Closure is not for feelings or for people we love.”

    This year marks the 20th anniversary of my husband’s death. In the past two decades my daughters and I have experienced the painful birth pangs of creating a new life after loss and found goodness and joy again. But I would be remiss if I did not say that the memories we cherish, some which still occasionally stir sadness and pain, have remained with us. And I suspect they will reside in our hearts forever. They are, after all, the very thing that connects us to the person who meant so much to us. I would never close the door on that.

    The very essence of grief work is rediscovery of life. That process, difficult as it is, can be embraced but never closed.

    So if you haven’t been able to find closure, relax and take a breath. It does not exist. The issue is the underlying message — be done, put it behind you, forget about it. To mourn well and live well, facing the pain of the loss and the treasured memories in everyday life is essential to healing and creating a new normal. This is the way we honor our past, live in the present and move into the future.

    Posted on January 12, 2010, to:

  • The rule book

    Wouldn’t it be wonderful if mourning the loss of a loved one came with a rule book — what to do, what not to do and how long to do it? Unfortunately, like almost anything in life of any importance, grief does not come with an instruction manual. I have come to learn that the one unrivaled rule of grief is — there are no rules!

    I must admit, from my experience, since losing my father and my young husband in the same year and all the subsequent losses my heart has endured, our understanding of grief as a culture has come a long way.

    Since the time of my parents’ generation, when grief was not shared and each mourner was left to his own devices, experts in the field have developed guidelines and stages by which the bereaved can navigate.

    The experts will tell you that in general it is best to wait one to two years following a loss to make any major decisions such as selling a home, leaving a career or remarriage. Stages including shock, anger, sorrow, depression and others are the hallmark of those who have blazed the trail for us. Now we see that grief is multidimensional and in no way as orderly or predictable as a stage. Those in mourning will move in and out of any emotion as their need takes them.

    Current guidelines I have found helpful include paying close attention to your body, mind and heart’s response to the loss, expressing your feelings in constructive ways, and being gentle with yourself.

    Many bereaved speak gratefully of the overwhelming support they receive from family and friends. But there are just as many who are challenged with well-wishers who will tell them in no uncertain terms how, when and where to grieve — offering sage advice, often unsolicited.

    Following the death of my husband, I, like many who are newly bereaved, found myself bombarded with uninvited advice on very personal decisions ranging from whether to move and when to what to feed my preschool-age daughters. The well-intended guidance only proved to confuse me more during a time when my only hope was living to the next moment.

    As I began to educate myself on how a young widow should  grieve, by reading, attending seminars and searching for a support group that fit my unique needs, I was inspired by a statement that changed the course of my grief and has fueled my bereavement ministry as well. Alan Wolfelt, founder of Center for Loss and Life Transition in Colorado, said that each of us is the expert of our own grief journey. 

    Think about that for a moment. Within that single statement there lies an innate truth that our culture has lost sight of. We each have within us the knowledge of what we need to mourn in healthy ways — our personal rules of mourning. And the journey is comprised of identifying those needs and discovering ways to meet them.

    My heart demanded that I slow to a snail’s pace in the aftermath of my husband’s death. Eventually I was able to create a new normal and regain my energy and passion for life. But my heart always knew just what I needed all along the way, even when I didn’t.

    It’s important to surround yourself with others who wish to support you. They listen when you need to talk and allow you to express your unique and personal pain. However, it is equally and perhaps even more important to listen to your heart and discover your own personal response to the pain and joy of grief.

    Posted on December 16, 2009, to:

  • What not to say at a funeral

    I have threatened for several years to write a book on funeral and grief support etiquette. It’s title would be … you guessed it, “What Not to Say at a Funeral.” So many of us want to support our bereaved loved ones in their grief, but don’t know what to say. And often times our need to ease our own pain has us offering confusing and insensitive clichés.

    I have found that one of the more common challenges the bereaved face in our culture today is insensitive comments. We all have offered them at one time or another when we don’t know what else to say in the face of sadness and loss. Things like, “Aren’t you lucky. Now you have an angel in heaven,” or “Don’t be sad. He’s in a better place,” are comments all said with the best of intentions, but insensitive nonetheless.

    I have learned from both men and women in mourning that many times their initial response to these comments is shock followed by hurt or anger. However, social etiquette stymies the truth of their reply.

    Kathy was confused by this comment made by an acquaintance at her husband’s funeral. “I know just how you feel, I just lost my dog.” The well-wisher was simply trying to relate her loss in an attempt to comfort Kathy.

    However, shock and later anger swept over Kathy as she proclaimed, “I was so taken aback at what she said. I had no response! How dare she think that the loss of a dog is the same as a husband. Did she share her life, her children, her career and finances with her dog?”

    As the bereaved we must first understand that unless our well-wishers have experienced a loss of their own, they will probably not even know that some of the things they offer are hurtful. And secondly, we must be willing to teach those who wish to support us about our needs.

    Margaret gently reminds her friend, who continues to tell her that she must get over her grief following her husband’s death, that it’s not that easy. In this way, she is teaching her friend about the process she continues to navigate.

    I can only imagine the comments I’ve made to friends or family members in the past who have lost a loved one — before I endured the grief of my own loss. So, if these phrases ring a bell, don’t feel too guilty. Our intention was to comfort and sympathize. And it is never easy to bear witness to another’s pain.

    But awareness is the first step in companioning a loved one who mourns. Step out of your own discomfort and become aware of what the mourner needs.

    Here are a few insights and suggestions that might assist when preparing to attend a visitation or funeral of a friend or family member:

    • Understand that each individual will have a unique response to their loss and will grieve in his or her own way. Don’t translate your expectation of how to grieve on another.

    • Compassion is defined as sorrow for the sufferings or trouble of another. Simply expressing your sorrow is enough. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” is a perfect example of simplicity. Sometimes too many words lead to confusion.

    • Telling our story of loss is an important element in the grieving process. Ask a question to encourage the bereaved to tell a bit of their story. For instance, ask, “Were you able to be with him when he died?” Then just listen. Remember that the funeral is about the deceased’s family members. Try not to impose too much of your own story in any conversation with them.

    • Sympathize with the mourner in their pain and sadness, rather than trying to steer them away from it. Try using phrases like, “This must be so painful for you.” or “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you.” Their pain cannot be “fixed,” but it can be comforted.

    • Respect the mourner’s right to just be still. Sit with them in silence. Your presence may just be the healing balm they need.

    Kay Cozad is a certified grief educator and news editor of Today’s Catholic newspaper. She is the author of “Prayer Book for Widows,” Our Sunday Visitor, 2004. She can be reached at
    kcozad@fw.diocesefwsb.org.
     

    Posted on October 29, 2009, to: