"Drive safely," my father said, his drawl still noticeable despite not having lived in the South for 80 years. We were saying goodbye at his assisted living facility outside Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Only later did I realize his send-off to me would be his last cogent message.
"Every morning I took a long walk, and in the afternoons I'd sit at a table facing the ocean, painting in my sketchbook.""I'm not driving, Daddy," I said. "I'm taking Uber to the airport tomorrow, and then flying home to California." 
Even though my father was 101, I didn't expect it. Do we ever?
I've often pondered the timing of a person's death, and my father was no exception. I left Pennsylvania on a Wednesday morning. Thursday afternoon, the hospice nurse contacted my sisters and me to say he had gone into a sudden decline. He died a week later.
Even though my father was 101, I didn't expect it. Do we ever? His mental state had become wobblier in the previous six months, but physically he was sturdy, and had only recently started using a walker.
The Map of Grief 
The nine months since my father died have been a terrain of highs, lows and unexpected curves. As the British theologian C.S. Lewis wrote, after the loss of his wife, Joy Davidman, "Grief is like a long winding valley, where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape." 
I look back on the period since my father's death in sections: the gentle weeks before the memorial service, when I was at home with my husband in Eureka, California; and the more turbulent period after, when I was in Guanajuato, Mexico, where Barry and I live part of the year. 
Only in the last twenty years of his life, when he finally became single, did I become very close to him.
In Eureka, Barry and I would paddle down winding tributaries in the bay near our apartment, watching the herons and seals. I took long walks with friends and by myself, listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir perform "Be Thou My Vision", which I had sung at my mother's funeral in the 70s. 
My father not only outlived my mother by almost fifty years, he also survived two later wives and a girlfriend. Only in the last twenty years of his life, when he finally became single, did I become very close to him. 
Despite the gentle texture of those weeks, I missed chatting with him on the phone. During COVID I called him every morning – often the highlight of my day. It didn't take much to make him laugh, and he brought out a playful side of me, too.
One morning during the pandemic, I phoned him during a showery walk. When it started to rain, I'd take shelter under a canopy of tree branches, where we'd chat. When the rain stopped, I'd hang up, race to the next tree, and call again. "Guess what! I'm dry! Briefly!" We'd both crack up.
Shaky at the Service 
At the memorial service, I described my earliest memory of him. When I was five, Daddy was rowing on a lake towards my younger sister and me. We were waiting on the dock for our turn. I can still remember the calm, silvery water in the mist. It wasn't surprising, I said, that my first memory of him involved the outdoors, because he had instilled a love of nature in all his children. Then I gave examples of his legacy, and how each of my siblings in our different ways enjoyed being outside.
Although I felt my talk honored him, I couldn't stop shaking afterwards. When the service was over, thinking others might also feel fragile, I went up to each participant and thanked them for their contribution. I assumed they would also acknowledge what I'd said, but for some reason that did not happen, which left me in a state of heightened vulnerability that lasted for weeks. 
The author dancing with her fatherMy anxiety seemed to revolve more around family dynamics than grief, but who can say where grief starts and ends? It's all so marbled.
The Spanish 'R' Saved Me
After the memorial service, Barry and I flew down to our home in Guanajuato, a colorful, spirited place that always makes me happy. From previous losses I knew the importance of routines: brush teeth, make bed, cook dinner, wash dishes. But even in Mexico my mood didn't lighten much.
Late afternoons, I'd read in our patio, resting my eyes occasionally on our ficus tree and plants, the green so gentle and healing, it almost brought me to tears. With my tutor, I practiced the Spanish r and rr, which took my mind off what by then had turned into curdled resentment. 
I'd ruminate over the service, sparing no one. This family member had gone on too long, this one was vapid. Between spurts of anger, I'd force myself to repeat potta tea, potta tea, potta tea, the soft English t that is a way station to para ti and the Spanish r.
Working on my pronunciation really helped. As a friend who has struggled with depression said, "You forget you're down when you're focusing on the Spanish subjunctive."
The Blessing of the Beach 
What turned the tide – so to speak – was spending a week at the beach. Our Mexican hotel had a spacious outdoor area, with tables and chairs facing the ocean, and delicious morning coffee. The first day, I wrote in my journal: "I feel exhausted and I can't even explain why. Being here is the right place for a deep rest." 
I remember now what I didn't before — that we all mourn differently, each in our own mysterious way, perhaps indecipherable even to ourselves.
Every morning I took a long walk, and in the afternoons I'd sit at a table facing the ocean, painting in my sketchbook.
Within a week, I was a different person. I wrote, "Walking on the beach, the world looms rich and thick… heel, arch, toe; rocks; pelicans; man with pail; sandpipers; breeze; warmth of sun on back; markings on sand; clouds; palm trees; shadows – all this in only 30 minutes!"
Back in Guanajuato, Barry built me a table, a dedicated space to paint. My "studio" was just a piece of plywood, but it worked magic: everyday I would lose myself in a watercolor world of burnt sienna and cobalt blue.
Grief Isn't Pretty 
In the weeks after the memorial service, I saw, close up and unvarnished, that grief isn't pretty. Mine sure wasn't. Inwardly, I felt jealous, petulant and sour. 
But I was fortunate. Not everyone's father lives to 101 or gets to go to a beautiful beach after their loved one dies. 
With the gift of distance, I no longer feel angry or hurt. I remember now what I didn't before — that we all mourn differently, each in our own mysterious way, perhaps indecipherable even to ourselves. As Lewis said, we're following grief's "long winding valley," with its unpredictable bends, twists and turns.


The Geography of Grief

Louisa Rogers

Three years after my husband died suddenly of a heart attack, I continued to feel paralyzed, as if it happened yesterday. I read books, connected with friends and spent time outdoors. I did everything I was supposed to do, but I could not find a way through my grief.
Unlike traditional therapy, EMDR does not involve talking through the traumatic event. Instead, it focuses on the emotions, thoughts and behaviors that come up when we remember a traumatic event.Then a friend recommended I try Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy. Although I wasn't sure what to expect, I could not believe the transformation that occurred over just a few months. EMDR helped me to break out of my trance and start living again.
Understanding EMDR and How It Works
EMDR is a relatively new treatment technique. The first clinical trial investigating EMDR was conducted in 1989. EMDR was originally used to treat combat veterans who experienced severe PTSD. However, Lisa James, a California-based certified EMDR therapist, emphasizes that "EMDR is not just for the capital T - Trauma but also for the smaller traumas that impact us as we move through life."
"EMDR desensitizes the body disturbance and the negative belief connected to it, clearing the mind, body and spirit."
Unlike traditional therapy, EMDR does not involve talking through the traumatic event. Instead, it focuses on the emotions, thoughts and behaviors that come up when we remember a traumatic event. James describes what happens during the EMDR process: "It gives you perspective, a way of seeing the event differently. EMDR desensitizes the body disturbance and the negative belief connected to it, clearing the mind, body and spirit."
While the EM in EMDR stands for Eye Movement, this is not required for the therapy to work; in fact, the powerful effect of EMDR comes from Bilateral Stimulation, moving from left to right in the body. This can be achieved with tapping, vibrating sensors, eye movement or binaural tones. Many of these types of bilateral stimulation can also take place virtually.
What to Expect from EMDR Treatment 
EMDR treatment has eight phases. The first two phases are conducted during the first session, while the following phases are repeated in subsequent sessions as many times as necessary to fully process the memory of the traumatic event.
Phase 1: History-taking and Treatment Planning
In the first phase, the patient talks with the therapist to determine the most disturbing target memory. When I began my treatment, I was haunted by the vision of finding my husband's body after he suffered a heart attack. Because I could barely even speak these words to my therapist, she suggested that we start with a more accessible memory. I selected a memory of the Celebration of Life that we held for my husband a month later. Since he was an avid surfer, we held a paddle out, a ritual where surfers paddle out in the ocean and form a big circle on the water to remember the deceased. I paddled out into the high surf with the rest of his friends, but I was not as strong on the water and was pulled under. 
In the first phase, the patient talks with the therapist to determine the most disturbing target memory.
My therapist asked me to identify a positive affirmation to accompany the traumatic incident. I felt so powerless as I remembered being dragged under the waves. To recontextualize the event, my positive cognition became "I am strong." Rather than dwell on the negative, this step helped me to identify what I wanted to feel when I reflected on the event.
Phase 2: Preparation and Education
Next, the therapist explains the treatment and introduces the procedures. Since we were conducting the sessions over Zoom, my therapist recommended tapping rather than eye movement to activate the bilateral stimulation; this enabled me to close my eyes and feel the emotions as they came up. I crossed my arms in front of me like I was hugging myself while tapping on my left and right shoulders with opposite hands.
Phase 3: Assessing the Target Memory 
The third step is assessing the target memory for two quantities. The Validity of Cognition scale measures how true the positive cognition feels. I was evaluating how true "I am strong" felt. The other assessment is called a Subjective Units of Disturbance scale; this measures how troubling the target memory feels. We would continue to assess the memory after each session; I could chart my trajectory and see that I was making progress.
Phase 4-7: Processing the Memory to Resolution
The next step is to desensitize the memory. This is where the magic of EMDR takes place. During this phase, I focused on the memory of the paddle out while tapping. Periodically, my therapist would have me stop and open my eyes to tell her what came up. During this stage, I remember deciding to go out on the water; I remember how strong the surf was. I slowed down and looked around; I saw many people deciding to stay on the shore. With EMDR, I was able to see that I was brave for participating in the paddle out, even if it wasn't with grace. 
"The body holds trauma; we may start to notice that stomach aches are connected to the memory of an event. Once that trauma has been processed, the stomach aches, or other physical manifestations, will also release."
As images and emotions came up, I was not required to explain everything to my therapist; sometimes, she would have me recognize and breathe out whatever I was feeling. This helped me take a step back and see the event with a fresh perspective as if watching it on TV. It even helped me to laugh at it; all the while, I felt my husband there with me in spirit, telling me that I was strong.
As described in Chapter 5 of "The Body Keeps the Score," by Bessel Van Der Kolk, we hold much of our trauma in our bodies; the next phase involves doing a body scan to help us identify where we are holding the stress. 
During this stage, my therapist asked me to feel my body and notice where I felt the disturbance; sometimes, it was in my shoulders as I remembered struggling to stay afloat in the ocean. EMDR is powerful because, as James explains, "The body holds trauma; we may start to notice that stomach aches are connected to the memory of an event. Once that trauma has been processed, the stomach aches, or other physical manifestations, will also release."
If the memory of the traumatic event has not been fully resolved, the next stabilization phase helps to contain the memory so we can move on with life. My therapist asked me to visualize putting the feelings in a box, and she made sure that we did not end the session until I felt calm and safe.
Phase 8: Re-Evaluation 
The final step is usually conducted at the beginning of the next session. With EMDR, our mind continues to process the traumatic events in the background. Returning to the memory a week later, I was often surprised by how different I felt about the event. Once I had fully processed the paddle out, I was able to move on to the memory of finding my husband's body after the heart attack. Now, I could face it, knowing that I was strong. Behind this memory, I realized I was carrying guilt. I felt I should have been there; perhaps I could have saved him. Once I opened my heart to those around me, instead of feeling that I had done something wrong, I could finally move forward; I could love again and be present for those around me.
Start Living Again 
While we do not understand precisely how EMDR works, the structure of EMDR systematically moving through these 8 phases provides a scaffold for the mind to work through traumatic events safely. By accessing the memories in a very specific way combined with bilateral stimulation and guided input from a therapist, the traumatic event is reprocessed, allowing the mental injury to heal.  If you feel like you are stuck in a cycle of grief and not able to move forward, EMDR may be what you need to open up and start living again.  


Navigating Grief with EMDR Therapy

Karen Wytmans

Grief is not teachable. This I learned in 1999, after my first husband Chuck died suddenly, a month before his 50th birthday. Grief isn't teachable, even for someone like me, a seasoned psychologist with multiple degrees. Chuck's unexpected death thrust me into an abyss with no way out, and neither my professional knowledge nor my previous experiences with death of loved ones helped.
I dipped into my cognitive toolkit and decided to create a mantra to help me cope. It ended up saving my soulWhen I scoured the literature for lessons on how to cope with grief, nothing fit. Everyday errands were torturous, as I worried constantly about encountering people I didn't want to see and fielding questions I didn't want to hear. Tears bubbled incessantly behind my eyes, ever ready to erupt, which often happened. Every fiber of my body felt raw, especially after the initial numbness subsided. Helplessness and longing for Chuck engulfed me. Once self-possessed, I had now become an emotional wreck.
Soon enough, I dipped into my cognitive toolkit and decided to create a mantra to help me cope. It ended up saving my soul.
Everyday errands were torturous, as I worried constantly about encountering people I didn't want to see and fielding questions I didn't want to hear. 
The word "mantra" comes from Hindu and Buddhist meditation practices. A Sanskrit term that roughly translates into "tool to think," it is a mnemonic device to aid one's concentration. Similar in use to the repetitive sacred sound "Om," short-sentence mantras in any language can be used to calm tangled minds.
Choosing My Mantra 
My mantra "Grief sucks; life goes on" was used whenever a tidal wave of grief shattered my fragile composure. I tried hard to find alternatives to "suck," but there weren't any. Grief truly sucks. That simple message acknowledged my grim circumstances and reminded me to endure the wave until it passed, as it always did.
One day, my mantra reached the social stratosphere during a grocery store encounter with an unwelcome acquaintance who saw me before I could escape.
"Carol!" she said brightly, trapping me with her cart. "How good to see you! It's been ages!"
I knew I needed to respond, but deep stabs of fatigue and irritation had dulled my brain. Sensing distress, her face registered concern and her voice assumed a honey-sweet timbre. With worried eyes, she placed her hand softly on my arm, leaned in, and gently whispered, "So. How are you doing?"        
Although I was now praying fervently for the floor to suddenly give way, I carefully shifted my mind into neutral and simply repeated my mantra: "Well, you know how it is. Grief sucks. Life goes on."
Confusion overtook her worry. "I guess so," she murmured, while glancing at her watch. "Yikes! Look at the time! I've got to run. Great to see you!" And she hurried off.
I realized then that I had stumbled upon the perfect response for people who didn't deserve access to my misery. Energized by the astonished relief that I suddenly felt, I sped through my errands, raced home, and mentally enshrined the mantra.
Learning How to Manage My Grief
Soon after, a trusted colleague whom I hadn't seen recently asked how I was doing. I smilingly replied, "Well, let's put it this way. My mantra is "Grief sucks. Life goes on."
Without missing a beat, he responded, "Or, it could be "Life sucks. Grief goes on."
"Hmmm, I guess so," considering the phrase, "but that's awfully negative."
Year Two's version became "Grief still sucks, and life still goes on." 
"I suppose," he agreed, "but at least you have another mantra to use when the world is at its worst!"
We laughed together.
His quick wit became another tool for grief. If I woke up to a "grief sucks" day, then I would get out of bed and get on with life, because it must continue. But if it was a "life sucks" day, then I'd cancel my calendar, stay in bed, and let the grief breathe for a bit. But I wouldn't do that too often.
During the first year, my mantra was employed several times each day, both inwardly and socially. Year Two's version became "Grief still sucks, and life still goes on." No longer needed for those horrid but now bearable grief tsunamis, my magic mantra reliably brought a quick end to every unwanted "How are you?" encounter.
Sometime during Year Three, I noticed that my response to the "How are you?" question was gradually becoming, "Fine. And you?" just as it had once been. Evidently, rays of light had begun to seep through cracks in my chasm of despair.
Although grief continued to suck for a couple more years, I started to relish my seismic journey back to life. Eventually, Chuck's soul claimed residence in my heart without posing a threat to anyone, including my second husband. Even more, I learned that love is infinite and expandable, and that life indeed does go on.
Grief is not teachable. But it sure taught me.


The Remarkable Lesson of Grief

Carol Ellstein

I learned grieving was the most intimate of acts when my wife Muriel died. There is no guide telling us how to mend a wounded soul. All you can hope is those who love you know that silence and an embrace comfort when words do not.
"An act of kindness is someone sitting quietly and just listening, and acts of kindness heal."Men we knew who survived their wives either moved closer to their children or quickly found another woman companion.
My children and grandchildren surrounded me with love they knew I needed to feel, not hear. Friends understood there were no words and just held me. When given advice, it almost always came from men. They wanted to help, but all I heard of their advice was the word's closing sound, "ice," and it chilled rather than warmed me. Women I spoke with remained silent, speaking only when they heard what I needed.I've been alone for five years and have some sense of what heals those nearly strangled by loss. Friends who experienced their own loss told me that while I would be certain they were wrong, they wanted me to know the passage of time would soften my anguish. It has, and as the months and now years have passed, I no longer gasp when I breathe. There was something else I learned that proved true. An act of kindness is someone sitting quietly and just listening, and acts of kindness heal.I was part of a couple for nearly seventy years. In the first months, our friends invited me to dinner, making certain I wasn't sitting alone at a silent table. As time passed, though, they returned to their own lives as Muriel and I would have returned to ours. The dinner invitations stopped coming.
I realized I would have to find friends who were also alone. If there were unmarried friends in our old address book, virtually all were women. Men we knew who survived their wives either moved closer to their children or quickly found another woman companion. 
I was nearing my ninetieth birthday when I lost Muriel and women carrying casseroles called on younger men. But I was hungry to have dinner with someone with whom I could talk.
I began calling widows we knew and quickly found that most had formed deep friendships with other women but were happy to meet with a man as a friend, not as a romantic partner. The simple act of going to a restaurant with someone quickened the step of hours that had refused to move. 
As our friendships grew, we began meeting at our homes, sometimes cooking, more often having dinner delivered so we could spend our time just talking. It was not unusual to pass three or more hours reminiscing about the lives we once led and the lives we were leading now.
When I asked men their feelings about loss, living alone or just growing older, most shrugged and said as though the conversation was over, "It is what it is." 
I had grown up in the world of boys and men, at first on Bronx streets, then in schoolyards, in Army barracks, in an all-male college and in workplaces structured to please men. I began calling the few single men I knew who were about my age, hoping to recapture the tight bond of male friendship. But conversations that came alive when women spoke or listened never left the ground with men.
When I asked men their feelings about loss, living alone or just growing older, most shrugged and said as though the conversation was over, "It is what it is." Their discomfort made me feel I was prying. Women seemed to understand grief would explode if it didn't find a way to pour out in words. The men I talked with made me feel such words were better left unspoken. Why talk about something that had happened and couldn't be fixed?
Women seemed to understand grief would explode if it didn't find a way to pour out in words. 
Without a moment's research or shred of evidence, I began looking for reasons it was easier for me to express feelings to women than to men. As a boy, I didn't have to be told there were unspoken rules males followed. Girls talked; boys acted — or so it seemed. As men entered their working years, it struck me they lived their lives in more tightly structured stages. A man's career shaped who he was. Ask a man who he is and he'll tell you what he does for a living.Of course, some women also followed stages that took them from childhood to student to wife, to mother and into and through their careers. I was brought up to believe that a man was defined by his career, while women seemed to have within a depth of feeling that transcends any stage. I saw that transcendence in my wife and now in my three daughters and in my women friends. Just as they were the ones who heard the baby cry at midnight, they are the first to hear the muted plea of someone who needs their tenderness.
Certainly the men I remain closest to have touched me with kindness, heard my pain and helped me heal. But, for reasons I'm trying to understand, most of the men I meet seem to see this stage — the final one — as one more time for women to deal with feelings while they do what men do, solve problems. 
I miss the friendship of men, but for now at least I find talking with women an act of kindness that reassures me I can be happy again.


Talking to Men and Women About My Grief

Robert W. Goldfarb

When my father died, I managed my grief through writing. Sharing stories about visits to my hometown, recounting how his favorite chair keeps me connected to him, and describing our frequent lunches, have helped me process his passing. 
While words are my path to healing, others find comfort and hope in therapy, support groups and conversations with friends. But it turns out there are myriad ways to process grief that fall outside traditional methods. 
"The key is to figure out what kind of activities make you feel okay in any given moment." 
"You spend all this energy trying to color in the lines of your life while grieving, and that's because that's how society wants us to act," says Rebecca Soffer, co-founder of the Modern Loss community and author of "The Modern Loss Handbook." "The key is to figure out what kind of activities, both passive and active, make you feel okay in any given moment." 
Whether you're searching for a way to supplement therapy sessions or are eager to work through your sorrow in a different setting, consider stepping out of your comfort zone with these creative and unusual strategies to manage grief. 
Grief Yoga Uses Movement and Breath 
Paul Denniston, author of "Healing Through Yoga," combined aspects of various types of yoga: Hatha, Vinyasa, Kundalini, Restorative, Laughter Yoga, and Chakradance, to create Grief Yoga. He says Grief Yoga isn't about physical flexibility but more about empowering the person to tap into their strength and courage by using movement, breath, and sound.
"It's a sacred ritual that embraces the different colors of life, loss, love, anger, purpose or happiness," he says.
The online sessions range from 30 to 60 minutes, with options to practice while seated, standing, or on a yoga mat. Through his work with clients, Denniston discovered that people repress sadness, anger, and even joy. Traditional yoga classes include holding poses, but the focus of Grief Yoga is to learn how to breathe and move with your body to release pain and tap into unresolved feelings beneath the surface. 
The movement, "Breaking the Chains," where you stack your forearms in front of your chest, push both elbows back and let out a firm "Ha!" sound, addresses the feeling of being constrained by grief.
With the "Woodchopper," you stand with your feet hip-width apart, and knees slightly bent. After interlacing your fingers, raise your arms over your head and bring them down in a chopping motion while yelling "Ha!" This movement creates the space to let go of anger and rage.
The Benefits of a Grief Yoga Practice 
A year ago, Catherine Boorady, who lost her husband in 2019, began half-hour online sessions in her upstate New York home. 
"I was still so emotional and exhausted from the grief that I could not focus for more than thirty minutes," she said. After practicing daily, she developed enough stamina for one-hour classes. 
The Grief Yoga sessions have helped her get through the day, and when she practices in the evening, it improves her sleep.
"It has helped move whatever emotion was trying to surface," she says. 
Joy Myers, a psychotherapist in the Denver area, practices Grief Yoga by herself and with her clients during therapy. She started the online sessions six months after the death of her 26-year-old son three years ago.
"In my own grief, it gave me a language for my pain when words were not enough," she says. "Grief Yoga took me beyond the burden of thought and got me to where my grief was in my body and helped move that through."
She finds the practice beneficial during what she refers to as "dip-in moments" — times when, for whatever reason, the deep pain emerges. 
Splatter Paint Sessions Can Be Cathartic 
Finding the words to convey grief and sorrow is easy for some, while others struggle to discover ways to express their feelings. Creating art can fill that gap.
"It bypasses language so we can more readily access feelings and memories that might be shut down and cut off from grief," says Helen Marlo, clinical psychologist, professor, and chair of the Department of Clinical Psychology at Notre Dame de Namur University in Belmont, California.
While drawing, manipulating a small mound of clay or creating a collage can direct your grief into meaningful works of art, thinking outside the art box can be freeing and cathartic. Enter splatter paint. 
With splatter paint sessions, room sizes can range from a small room for two people to a large room for 15, depending on the business. When guests arrive, they receive coveralls — a paper-like material with a hood — along with goggles and shoe coverings. Rooms are set up with a canvas on each easel and paints and brushes on the shelves. During a 30-minute session, participants dip the brushes in paint and fling the colors on the canvas. 
"It's a creative outlet for people to release their excess feelings, whether grief or anger." 
"People say, 'It's therapeutic for me to be able to throw paint around, and I don't have to worry about the mess,'" says Steffany Faldmo, co-owner of Splatter Lab in Rexburg, Idaho. "It's a creative outlet for people to release their excess feelings, whether grief or anger." 
The best part about splatter art painting is that you don't need artistic talent to see the benefits.
"Splatter art is amazing because that's what grief is — it touches everything," says Soffer. "It's a total mess, so go in the room and make a mess, have a cathartic moment." As you make plans to channel your inner Jackson Pollock paint session, consider asking family members or friends who are also grieving to join you. 
Finding Support for Grief at Sea 
Mary Feith, from Maple Grove, Minnesota, lost her 13-year-old son 34 years ago and her 35-year-old daughter 11 years ago. When she told her friends she had registered for a cruise, they couldn't understand how she could vacation and grieve simultaneously. But that's the goal of The Grief Cruises, a week-long trip for those who have lost someone close to them. 
Created by Linda Findlay, the seven-day grief seminar at sea includes presentations, arts and crafts, meditation sessions, and a "Night of Remembrance" on the top deck. The week offers a way for people who understand loss to come together.
"People think we'll cry all week," says Findlay. "Instead, it's a time to honor a loved one and feel that connection to them." Attendees range from parents who have recently lost a child to those mourning a spouse 20 years after their death.
When Kellie Sanchez, from Roseville, California, scheduled her first cruise, she initially felt guilty about enjoying the voyage. Her spouse was 49 when he passed away. Although everyone believed she needed to move on, she wasn't ready. Instead, she was determined to learn how to cope.
"When I was on the cruise, I felt like my husband was on vacation with me," said Sanchez. "It was me remembering him." She plans to attend her fourth Grief Cruise in 2023.
Findley recognizes that when people experience the loss of a loved one, they feel they're dishonoring that person if they go on vacation. 
"The outcome of the cruise is for people to have that message of hope and recognize that joy and grief do co-exist," she says. 
Grief has no time limit. Almost two years after my dad's death, I still write about him. Now I focus less on my loss and more on his legacy. 
While grief can be exhausting, with the power to leave you feeling helpless, there's hope. Whether you are experiencing a recent loss or are still mourning a family member or friend who passed away decades ago, try creative ways to manage your grief. Then you can begin to find the solace you need and deserve.


A Grief Cruise, Splatter Paint and Grief Yoga: Unusual Ways to Handle Loss

Lisa Kanarek

When I called my mother on the phone one early November afternoon, her voice was weary.
She'd picked up one of her cats, Isis, from the vet with bad news. The green-eyed tabby of unknown age had developed a tumor in her mouth that was inoperable. She had only a short time left before she would no longer be able to eat or drink.
Lulu and a friendMy family home has always had at least a couple feline residents. But Isis was unique. She moved in six years ago after my mother's best friend and my godmother, Jenny, suffered a major stroke. For us, as for many people who take in pets from their loved ones, Isis was a living, eating, purring connection to our dear friend. As we processed losing this peculiar little cat, we also resurfaced feelings of grief and loss for Jenny.
"The thing that I could do immediately, besides coming down and giving her a hug, was to figure out how to care for the cats." 
Jenny was part of our family. We celebrated holidays together, went on vacation together, stayed up late telling stories and laughing. A lifelong animal lover, she always kept a house full of doting cats and dogs. So when she was hospitalized after a severe stroke in May 2017, one of my mother's first concerns was Jenny's pets.
"The thing that I could do immediately, besides coming down and giving her a hug, was to figure out how to care for the cats," my mother, Mary, says.
In the haze of sadness and confusion as the impact of the stroke became clear, my mother and I lured Jenny's four cats into carriers. We rehomed three with friends. My mother kept Isis, who Jenny had named for the Egyptian goddess because her black-rimmed eyes and tufted ears gave her the profile of a pharaonic feline.
'A Strand of Jenny Into Our Lives' 
Our Isis wasn't always an easy cat. She could be mean to other cats, and pushy to humans. Somehow, for people who are allergic to cats, her dander was especially toxic. But she brimmed with charming quirks. She'd participate in conversations. Her loud "meow" sounded like an impressed "wow!" Aggressively affectionate, she'd snag any opportunity to sit on a lap. When I pet her, she'd make unbreaking eye contact, purring as her lids drooped blissfully over light green irises.
IsisThen there were the reminders of Jenny. My godmother died in 2020 after living in a nursing home following her stroke. Isis "brought a strand of Jenny into our lives," according to my mother. When Isis was going about her day being Isis — her loud demands for breakfast, her delight at sitting inside a paper bag — my mother could imagine her doing those same things in Jenny's home. More than just the act of love of taking care of her for Jenny was the connection to Jenny through her.
When Isis came home from the vet, barely eating with a bad prognosis, those strands that tied us to Jenny blazed bright.
"This little creature who was such a connection to Jenny, I didn't like the idea of that connection going away," my mother says.
Grieving for Pets 
The death of any companion animal can be a difficult experience. After a human dies, there's often a gathering of community around that loss. But the loss of a pet is not always widely acknowledged, and may even be diminished, according to Michelle Crossley, vice president of the Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement and a faculty member in Rhode Island College's clinical mental health counseling program.
Isis and the author's mother, Mary"It's really difficult to heal from loss when we're grieving in isolation," Crossley says. "A lot of people aren't willing to share their human animal bond or the loss or how they're feeling because they believe that they're going to be judged for it or people will minimize it."
The bonds that humans build with animals can be deeply comforting and meaningful. When people take in a pet from a loved one, the animal can become a source of support, according to Crossley. So when those animals die, it can be complicated, perhaps raising feelings of letting a loved one down or refreshing the grief of losing an important person.

"It makes other losses just feel a little bit closer and more present," Crossley says.
APLB offers resources to people going through loss of pets through chat rooms and video sessions, and trains vets and mental health professionals to support people grieving for animals. Crossley sees mindfulness as a tool for coping with bereavement. She explains it can be helpful to simply acknowledge, "this is bringing up feelings for the human that I lost that I wasn't prepared for."
Losing Lulu 
When Hope Green's father died and her mother moved into a care facility, she adopted their dog Lulu. During the drive from Massachusetts to Vermont, the 10-year-old Norfolk terrier was shaking and afraid, Green recalls. Green stopped at a Burger King and got two hamburgers, one for her and one for the dog. That one-time treat won Lulu over.
"It was not hard to the degree of being the loss of my father all over again, but it was another piece of that loss."
Lulu became an important part of Green's daily life. Every time she spoke with her mother, she shared updates about the dog. Going through the grief and life changes that followed her father's death, looking after the dog wasn't complicated.
About two years later, Lulu was in total kidney failure. In the middle of a snowstorm, Green took her to the vet for the last time. When Lulu died, Green didn't only lose a wonderful dog. She also lost a way to help her mother, and a connection to her father. "It was not hard to the degree of being the loss of my father all over again, but it was another piece of that loss."
Grief is not linear, Green says. "You don't get over it, you get used to it."
She's found caring for animals of loved ones can be comforting and rewarding through the turbulence of losing a loved one — and the death of that pet can raise layers of grief.
"It takes the scab off," she says.
For my family, when my mother picked up Isis from the vet in early November, we expected the cat would have just a few days left. But true to her willful nature, she lived several more weeks.
Isis got to eat as often as she wanted, and drink from the kitchen tap. She feasted on morsels of Thanksgiving turkey. My mother made extra time for the cat to sit on her lap. 
And during those final weeks, as we all shared photos and stories of Isis, Jenny's memory felt particularly close.


The Joys and Grief of Adopting a Loved One's Pet

Elizabeth Hewitt

It made front page news in March 2022, and for those of us who have lost loved ones in the past few years (whether due to COVID, other illnesses or tragedies) it's a relevant, albeit painful, subject.  
It's the subject of grief. The newly revised Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5-TR), also known as Psychiatry's Bible, has added a new diagnosis — prolonged grief disorder (PGD) — which has been the topic of heated discussion among psychiatrists, therapists, researchers and others who deal with those left behind when a death occurs. 
Is it helpful to call chronic grieving a disorder, or is labeling the process of working through a loss, even if it takes longer than people think it "should" take, something that can be hurtful or even harmful?
In her new book, "The Grieving Brain," psychologist and neuroscientist Mary-Frances O'Connor writes, "A mental disorder shares a fuzzy boundary with normative human difficulties. Researchers and psychologists are working hard to understand and explain the murky boundary between disordered grieving and the universal human pain of loss."
It can be comforting to know that other people have struggled in the same way and that you are not the only one suffering so terribly. 
Prolonged grief disorder impacts approximately 7 - 10% of all bereaved persons. It can be comforting to know that other people have struggled in the same way and that you are not the only one suffering so terribly. It is validating for family and friends to know that it is a disorder and that you just can't "snap out of it."
Some experts, insisting that everyone has their own time frame for healing, worry that pathologizing prolonged grief by calling it a disorder could potentially make some people feel worse about themselves. However, news of the diagnosis has spread the word that there are treatments aimed at lessening symptoms, and that reaching out for help can speed the process of recovery, which is a positive thing.
Understanding the Grief Process
"We now know that time alone does not heal all wounds," says Mariann Arcari Rubin, a psychotherapist and certified grief recovery specialist in Nassau County, New York. "It is important to notice when you are triggered (for instance, when you unexpectedly discover a photo in the corner of a drawer) to feel the feelings of loss, to articulate them, and to process the whole array of complex emotions with a trusted listener so you can move forward and past these debilitating feelings."
In the "normal" grieving process, the first stage is acute grief, marked by strong feelings of longing and sorrow, insistent thoughts and memories of the person who died. Other painful emotions such as anger, guilt, remorse or anxiety may be present.
The "adapting to loss" stage is marked by acceptance of the reality and permanence of the death and working toward rebuilding one's capacity to experience a sense of well-being.
Loss of a loved one through death is a risk factor for development of depression, which is why getting early treatment for prolonged grief disorder is so important. 
There can be a mixture of negative and positive feelings, as the loved one is remembered with warmth, love or pride, possibly mixed with relief that the deceased is no longer suffering. The goal of this stage is to begin to envision a future that can be filled with purpose, meaning and satisfaction.
"Integrated grief" is a lasting, bittersweet form of grief which has a place in the person's life but does not dominate it or have great influence over feelings, thoughts or behaviors. Integrated grief generally stays in the background, but the intensity of the pain may be reactivated on an anniversary, birthday or holiday for years to come.
When the process stalls, people can suffer from Prolonged Grief Disorder. While there are some similarities to depression, in prolonged grief the thoughts and feelings circle more around the deceased, while in depression the emotions are more free-floating. 
Depression is marked by a lack of enjoyment in any activity and a sense of hopelessness, often with feelings of worthlessness or self-hatred.
Loss of a loved one through death is a risk factor for development of depression, which is why getting early treatment for prolonged grief disorder is so important. 
As listed in the DSM-5-TR, PGD has very specific criteria, which includes the core symptoms of persistent intense yearning and longing and preoccupation with thoughts and memories of the person who died. The death must have been at least 12 months ago (six months for children and adolescents.) At least three of the below symptoms must also be present on most days:
·      A marked sense of disbelief
·      Avoidance of reminders of the loss
·      Intense emotional pain related to the loss
·      Difficulty engaging and reintegrating in ongoing life
·      Emotional numbness
·      Life feels meaningless, and the future seems bleak and empty 
·      Feelings of identity confusion or disruption
·      Intense loneliness as a result of the death
These symptoms must cause significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning. 
Risk factors for the development of prolonged grief include a history of mood or anxiety disorders; when the death is sudden, unexpected or violent; when a young person dies; when there is more than one loss within a short period of time and when the normal mechanisms for grieving are unable to take place.
Pandemic deaths, when families were unable to be with dying loved ones and when memorial services were only able to be viewed on computer screens, contain many of the ingredients that could lead to a painful and difficult-to-resolve extended period of grief.
Treating Prolonged Grief Disorder
Over the years, there have been a number of treatments designed specifically for people who are struggling with grief.
One of the most effective, Prolonged Grief Disorder Therapy (PGDT), formerly called Complicated Grief Therapy, is a short-term therapy which fosters adaptation to the loss by addressing stuck points and promoting what are referred to as healing milestones. These include accepting grief and letting it find a place in your life, learning to live with reminders of the loss, and finding ways to ease emotional pain.
"One of the most powerful activities we encourage is to write a letter to the deceased with apologies, forgiveness or 'significant emotional statements.'" 
Developed by psychiatrist Dr. Katherine Shear, founding director of the Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia University School of Social Work in New York, its effectiveness has been shown in multiple studies including randomized clinical trials funded by the National Institutes of Mental Health, and it is now being used by clinicians across the country.
The Grief Recovery Method is an evidence-based program aimed at helping people identify how their loss is affecting them and what factors may be hindering their healing.
"Individuals go through a structured process which includes sessions with a specialist, readings about grief, loss and coping, and suggestions for stress-relieving behaviors. One of the most powerful activities we encourage is to write a letter to the deceased with apologies, forgiveness or 'significant emotional statements,'" explains Rubin.
Another form of treatment proven to be effective is exposure therapy, paired with cognitive behavioral therapy, where the bereaved are encouraged to repeatedly revisit intense and overwhelming memories and emotions about the death while the therapist provides support.
Antidepressant medications, surprisingly, do not appear to be useful in reducing symptoms of prolonged grief disorder, more proof that it differs from clinical depression. 
Because there are some similarities between the strong feelings of craving, yearning and attachment seen in bereavement and those during the withdrawal process in addiction, there are several clinical trials using oral Naltrexone (which is currently used for alcohol and opioid dependence) as pharmacological treatment for prolonged grief disorder.
"We bereaved are not alone," wrote Helen Keller. "We belong to the largest company in all the world — the company of those who have known suffering."
Grief aches and throbs and breaks our hearts, but it does not have to ruin our lives forever. There is help, there is hope and there is healing. 


When Grief Doesn't Go Away

Barbra Williams Cosentino

Best known for her portrayal of TV's "Wonder Woman," Lynda Carter is also an accomplished singer/songwriter. She's released four albums and produced five of her own highly rated TV specials.
"Singing is my soul," she says.
Lynda Carter and her husband Robert Altman on their wedding dayCarter stays busy, too, with a number of nonprofit organizations and causes. And she serves on the advisory board of the planned Smithsonian American Women's History Museum.
"We don't have one yet," she tells Next Avenue, "but we want to put one on the National Mall. So, we're working on legislation to get that through."
She's been involved in empowering and honoring women in one way or another since playing Wonder Woman (and her alter ego Diana Prince) some four-and-a half decades ago.
Being Wonder Woman 
Carter started her entertainment career as a teenager, first in music, then she won Miss World-USA in 1973. Two years later, she got the role of Wonder Woman. From the beginning, it was important to Carter to portray her superhero character with confidence, humor and a strong sense of who she was and who she wasn't.
"She was like everybody else where she came from, she wasn't special, and she didn't think of herself as 'all that.'"
"It was very intentional," Carter recalls. "She was like everybody else where she came from, she wasn't special, and she didn't think of herself as 'all that.' She knew what was important was the heart, and she was kind. And I decided every woman was either going to want to be like her or be her best friend."
The TV series lasted from 1975 to 1979. Carter took on other acting roles as she continued to sing and perform. Then, in 1985, after marrying Washington, DC attorney, Robert Altman, she left Hollywood.
"I fell in love," she explains. "Most everything you did was on location somewhere anyway. I had been doing movies and television, and shows in Vegas, Tahoe, Reno and all over the world. I was very busy, and it was a great life. I didn't feel I needed to be in LA, and I wanted to be with him."
After having her son in 1988, then her daughter, Carter pulled back on traveling, making family her priority.
"All careers have their ebbs and flows and there's a time for everything," she says. "I had a wonderful run, but most importantly I had a great family and great husband. I kept my career going, but my main focus was my family, and I'll never regret that."
The Altman familyIn February of 2021, Carter lost her husband to Myelofibrosis, a rare form of blood cancer. They were married 37 years and she still struggles with the loss.
"I wake up and I miss him every day," she says.
She recently turned to her music to help work through her grief. She's released a song she wrote for Altman (with co-writer John Jarvis) called "Letters from Earth." It's written the way one would write a letter, detailing things that have happened since a loved one passed away.
"Did you know that Spring came early? Have you heard the world's at war? That I moved down to Miami, and I love you more and more."
Letters to Loved Ones 
Carter says people can work through a difficult loss by writing a letter and sharing their feelings, whatever those feelings may be.
"They are your letters, and you can write whatever you feel, even if you're angry with the person because they left you. Whatever you write is up to you."
"It's about keeping the memory alive and it's hard to talk about sometimes because you get teary-eyed, but it's okay when someone gets teary."
Talking about a loved one also helps and Carter says friends and family can encourage that by simply listening.
"It's about keeping the memory alive and it's hard to talk about sometimes because you get teary-eyed, but it's okay when someone gets teary. If you can allow someone to cry a little, they'll move through it."
Carter is honoring her husband's memory through her work with City of Hope and Translational Genomics Research. T-Gen, based in Arizona, is doing research on the type of disease that took Altman's life.
"It's an amazing group that may have found the genetic link to a rare form of leukemia," she says. "And that work is ongoing."
Facing Her Future 
Careerwise, Carter finds herself at a point in her life where she's trying to decide what to do next. At 72, she's fit, healthy and appears much younger than her age. She credits it to good genes.
"When my mother died, she was almost 90 and didn't have any wrinkles at all. You fight aging every step of the way, but I'm not going to get surgery."
Here, she stops, laughs, then adds, "At least not now."
In recent years, Carter had a recurring role in the TV series "Supergirl" and a cameo appearance on "Wonder Woman 1984" so as she considers her options, there could be more acting. There will definitely be more singing.
Lynda Carer and Robert Altman"I'm writing more music and certainly thinking about the next project," she says.
Her daughter, Jessica Carter Altman, is also a singer/songwriter and the two have performed together in the past.
Carter remains grateful for an incredible career and whatever new opportunities lie ahead. But when it comes to legacy, she says it's the simple things that have always mattered most.
"It may sound corny, but if my children have happy lives and I can leave the earth better in some small way, that's enough," she says. "We can all make a difference even if it's something as simple as smiling at an older person when you're on the street or in an elevator and acknowledging they exist. That's something we can all do, show a little kindness."


Lynda Carter Works Through Her Grief With Music

Pam Windsor

Suddenly, after months, maybe years of caregiving, it's over. For me, it was just after midnight on a Monday in December. The phone rang, and a voice from Skilled Nursing said, "I'm sorry to tell you that your mother passed away at 12:10 this morning."
"Oh my god, it's over," I gasped. I felt a clutching in the pit of my stomach. Oh my god, it's finally over.
"Care does not end with death but involves actively caring for memories."It may have been different for you — perhaps you were there when they died. Perhaps it was peaceful; perhaps it wasn't. Maybe you were waiting for a plane back home when you got the news that Dad had died.
However it happened, your person died, and your caregiving is over. Loss … and guilt. You feel disoriented, unmoored, off-balance, numb and in a fog, and you may also feel guilty.
"After she died I felt guilty that I had the freedom. I felt guilty that I could sleep through the night."
Judy Smith, a former English teacher and Peace Corps volunteer, had brought her ailing mother to her DC home. "Her bedroom was across the hall. After she died I felt guilty that I had the freedom. I felt guilty that I could sleep through the night."
The Hardest Job in the World 
"It's the number one thing that people tell me afterwards," says Selena Tourtillotte, a hospice social worker in southern California. "They feel so guilty. 'Am I a horrible person to feel a little relieved?' they ask. There's no need to feel guilty, it's perfectly normal. Being a family caregiver is the hardest job in the whole world. It's natural to feel some sense of relief."
And what if you weren't there when they died? You stepped out for coffee, and when you came back into the room, your person had passed. Carmel Murphy-Kotyan is a Massachusetts-based caregiver consultant and founder of Elder Service Network: 
"It's as if they wait until you walk out the door. I hear that a lot. There is nothing to feel guilty about. People pass the way they do. Sometimes when they're by themselves, that's when they pass. There should be no guilt. It is a solo journey."
Grieving on Your Terms
Recent thinking about grief suggests that we zigzag between moving forward with our lives and revisiting the loss. So the following days are filled with the cut-and-dried tasks of emptying our person's room, calling the lawyer and notifying Social Security. 
"The key to grief after caregiving is to allow yourself that time to grieve."
And in between, the grief wells up, and the memories come to the surface and collide.
Rosanne Corcoran cared for her mother for twelve years and now hosts a podcast on caregiving and a Daughterhood Circle supporting caregivers. "The key to grief after caregiving is to allow yourself that time to grieve. Not on someone else's terms, not how someone else thinks you should." 
"I had lost this person who was my world. If I need to just sit in a chair, that's where I'm at. It's not going to be forever."
Judy Smith says, "Four or five months after my father died, I went by myself up to West Virginia and stayed at an inn. I sat there on the bed and wrote in my journal for four or five hours, and cried and wrote, and cried and wrote. It was a very special time."
Baby Steps
Meanwhile, you need to rebuild your life. After being on call 24/7, intensely entwined with your person and their needs, "you can lose yourself to the point of not knowing who you are anymore," says Adriana Covarrubias Hernandez, regional bereavement manager with Silverado Hospice. 
"What is my purpose? What am I good for now? You're not going to reconstruct your life overnight. Take little tiny baby steps," says Corcoran. "It doesn't have to be a grand gesture, a trip to the Caribbean. Just meeting a friend, taking a morning walk. Explore. Sometimes you have to push yourself out of your comfort zone. Say, 'I'm going to try this.' You have to be open to trying."
Rediscover things you liked, tap into things that bring you joy.
Allow yourself to take a joy break every day. Even 5 or 10 minutes — read a few pages from that spy thriller, watch cat videos, open your window and listen to the birds. Tourtillotte says, "Rediscover things you liked, tap into things that bring you joy."
"And learn to slow down," says Hernandez. She likes Sudoku. "For me, it's a mindless activity that helps my brain relax." Some people do jigsaw puzzles, play word games and paint by numbers. It's not about the accomplishment; it's about taking a mental timeout. It's part of the healing.
Caring for Memories
The person you cared for may be gone, but there is still one more task. Arthur Kleinman, who nursed his wife through the ravages of dementia, declares in his book "The Soul of Care": "Care does not end with death but involves actively caring for memories."
Many caregivers have technicolor memories of their person in their prime ("she looked like Ava Gardner, raven-haired, with a lovely figure and a beautiful smile") but also darker memories of their decline, their suffering and their last days. 
I learned things about my mother that I never would have known if I hadn't been at the table with her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
So how do you care for those painful memories? Tourtillotte says, "Sometimes you have to take an active role. None of us is just one moment. Remember the whole life, the happiest moments. The ending is such a small piece in this amazing life that they've lived."
Caring for memories can also be very tangible: Smith makes fudge from her mother's recipe every year at Christmastime. There is the widow who keeps her husband's bathrobe on a hook on the bathroom door, the son who keeps his mother's pastel of an Italian landscape by his desk, where "it radiates her energy to me every day."
Svava Kristinsdottir raised chihuahuas in California and was the caregiver for her friend Jerry. She keeps a Wall of Angels in her home — pictures of Jerry and the dogs she has loved and lost. She has set a timer so the wall is lit at night. 
"Does it make you sad to pass by here all the time?" I asked. "No, never," she told me. "The pictures give me comfort. They remind me that they are all still with me."
Reflecting and Reframing
The caregivers I've talked with freely acknowledge how stressful and exhausting long-haul caregiving can be. But after the caregiving ends, they look back and often see something else. "It gave me purpose." "It was transformative." "It was a growth experience."
And they make discoveries. They come upon old photos and old love letters. Bruce Frankel, president of the Life Planning Network, a national association devoted to positive aging, took care of his mother for four years, two of those in his home: "I learned things about my mother that I never would have known if I hadn't been at the table with her for breakfast, lunch and dinner."
"I'm starting to be able to look back and say, Wow, I got her to the finish line. Through all of it, she knew she was loved, she knew she was safe," says Corcoran. "She knew that I was always there for her. That was a gift. I can allow myself to accept that it was a gift. I guess I did a good job."
And I'm working through the loss, trying to let the grief take its course, allowing a new life to unfold. As the images of my mother in her last days begin to soften, pale and lose their grip, I'm assembling an inventory of sweet memories — bright ones where my mother smiles, lovely ones where she is young and hopeful. 
Sometimes I write to her and sometimes write down what she is saying. My heart is now our letterbox.


When the Caregiving Ends: Recovering from Loss, Rebuilding Your Life

Connie Baher

A Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief is an intense, unexpected wave of emotionality that can come on sometimes long after the death of a loved one.On an ordinary afternoon walking through Wal-Mart in search of those affordable staples everyone finds at big-box stores, I passed a family having typical squabbles with each other — teens arguing with their parents, a young child begging for a sugary snack — all tense and irritated. I nodded, agreeing with myself that I was glad to be past that age and stage of life, acknowledging that this is what families normally do when they get in each other's hair.
Then it hit: A wall of abject pain slammed into me, full of loss, longing, loneliness, and heartache.
The sense of agony was stunningly electric. I felt attacked. I could neither think nor talk. In terror and horror, I abandoned my shopping cart, staggered to the parking lot and managed to fall into my car, all while struggling to catch my breath. After about 20 minutes (which seemed like 20 years), the sensation receded, leaving me agitated by the vestiges and residuals of a hyper-aroused mind, body, and spirit. I had been hit with a blindside wipeout of grief, known as a STUG.
A STUG is an unwelcome, unexpected tsunami to the natural tidal rhythms of grief.
Researchers call what I experienced a Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief, a term defined by grief expert Dr. Therese Rando in the early '90s. It is an intense, unexpected wave of emotionality that comes on occasion to someone who has experienced the loss of a loved intimate, sometimes long after the person's death.
As a psychologist with many years of clinical practice, I have held others through similar experiences. Because of my professional life, I smugly didn't expect to have this awful reality in my orbit.  Silly me, thinking that I was sufficiently removed from my wife Karen's death in 2016 to be immune from this kind of event.
Quite Alarming and Frightening
For each of us, an ordinary day is characterized by a mental scaffolding called the assumptive world, defined as the personal organization held of the way the world works. The assumptive world is a psychological structure, containing everything a person assumes to be true about the world, the self and others.  It is our automatic, unconscious and generalized body of knowledge, learned through cumulative experience and history.
A STUG is outside of this scaffolding and comes as a threatening invasion. It happens unexpectedly and without warning when someone is fine and in the rhythm of a typical, ordinary day. There may be a trigger to the attack — or not. Innocuous memories or sensory experiences, such as a smell or a sound, can evoke this wave of juicy, raw emotions. After a substantive time has passed following the death, and the acute pain of grief subsides, the dramatic and unwelcome experience of a STUG can be quite alarming and frightening.
The Roadmap of Grief
The process of grief involves the survivor's new search and acquisition of experiences to live a healthy and full life in the new world without the loved one's physical presence. Grief helps a person to resolve — i.e., re-solve — the way the world works, requiring adoption of new ways of being in that world and reinvesting in it to compensate and adapt for the loved one's absence.
Grief guides a person toward revising the assumptive world and the way markers of self-identification are discerned and employed. A STUG is an unwelcome, unexpected tsunami to the natural tidal rhythms of grief.
'Sometimes When We Touch'
A fellow came to therapy, asking for help with a deeply personal narrative:
"I like listening to oldies music stations.  Nearly ten years after my wife died, as I was driving down the interstate, I heard the Dan Hill song from 1994 'Sometimes When We Touch.'  She and I used to sing it to each other in funny, pseudo-romantic ecstasy.  Well, it came on the radio and I started singing it automatically, just like we had always done. I got through the first verse before my throat closed and I started crying tears as big as light bulbs. I thought I would die. I pulled over to the side of the road and thought, 'Now what?' I shook like a wet dog and nearly vomited.
"I got through the first verse before my throat closed and I started crying tears as big as light bulbs. I thought I would die."
Eventually it passed, but I don't know what in the world happened to me. There weren't any thoughts that went with the feeling. I believed I had managed to make sense out of her death; it was so long ago. What do you think is the matter with me?  Was it a panic attack? Do I have to live with the possibility of this happening again? I was driving and could have been hurt."
This gentleman was slammed by a STUG that profoundly and dramatically untied a psychological connection to his deceased wife, one that he did not even realize he continued to hold. The STUG, traumatic as the experience felt, ultimately brought deeper and more personal meaning to his marital relationship — in life and death.
After the discharge of such intense emotionality, he was quickly able to gain context by attributing meaning to the trigger of the song. With a bit of perspective, he revisited one of the more pleasurable memories found in the history of his marriage.
Surviving a STUG
What can you do after a STUG? Here are a few suggestions:
Identifying the experience for what it is and calling it by name can help you stay in charge, even when feeling out of control.Remember that a STUG is a temporary, transitional experience. No one ever dies from a STUG, though many feel like the experience is deadly. The painful feelings will pass. The most effective strategy in the presence of a STUG is to ride it out. Find a safe place, as private as possible, breathe deeply and lean into it. Allow the pain until it passes. During a STUG, a person’s body goes on hyper-alert, releasing endorphins because of the fight-flight response manifest in the perception of danger. After the STUG passes, a body needs several hours to absorb the hormones and brain chemicals and return to baseline.Sleep on it. The day following a STUG, cognitive capacities return to normal, allowing more thoughtful consideration of the meaning of what triggered the memory. Take it as a matter of truth that the STUG signaled a reconsideration of a loving experience in the history of the relationship.Finally, remember that the word "closure" is never relevant in the loss of a loved one. If we have loved another intimately, grief does not lead us to forget.  Rather, the process facilitates resolution, clarity and meaning, even in the presence of a blindside wipeout.


The Blindside Wipeout of Grief

Jackson Rainer

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