Pondering complicated grief and loss

Posted on January 26, 2022 by Philip Bennett, One of Thousands of Life Coaches on Noomii.

I wrote this poem after my father died. It was not a simple grief but complex. At times we grieve the relationship and life as much as the death. Poetry engages both the left and right hemispheres of the brain and helps us integrate and process in a different way. One reason why I often recommend it for my coaching clients, clients I work with in hospice and palliative care, or in the past in my work as a psychologist. Try journaling first if that’s more natural for you, then try to take that content and work it into a poem. Poetry comes in many forms, but free verse like this is perhaps the easiest to engage with, anyone can do it, and you may just find it helps ‘unstick’ you just a little and take a step forward in processing your grief.

Note: the term ‘celestial openness’ comes from a phrase used by Patricia Kuhl who specializes in studying the brains of infants, most specifically infant linguistics. Her research has shown that this is indeed how we enter the world, i.e. with a celestial openness.
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“A process cannot be understood by stopping it,
Understanding must move with the flow of the process,
must join it and flow with it” Dune
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journey of a son with his father toward death

can death be understood?
the myths of Genesis describe death as a gift given
our best choice is to move within it’s flow
death is unique but also simply another moment
an opportunity for growth and life
life will ebb and death will flow
then all reverses, if allowed
as endless waves on the sea we know as life
our suffering intensifies if we resist this ebb and flow

mourning is a complex thing
do we mourn the life?
do we mourn the death?
for me it is not a simple thing…

I move into my father’s room
skin mottling
breath rattling
death is drawing near

death is flowing life is ebbing

his eyes open at the sound of my voice
glassy eyed and quizzical
child-like, tender
this — his final gaze at me
and in my mind perhaps his best

that the outflow of 90 years of life and dementia had whittled away
at the black and white rigid world of his religion
and survival mechanisms from so many losses and traumas
was obvious in his tender gaze

the gaze brings tears still today
I have longed for his gentle and tender gaze
for most of my life
yet surely I have seen it?
my earliest years hidden in haze and mystery from me
the memory of this gaze strikes deep
oh I have needed this
these eyes bring tears, sadness… and hope
there is more beauty in this final gaze than in all others I remember
from him toward me

beauty is present in the flow of his passing
transitioning from this world
of neural networks shaped and cast in stone
by life’s encounters
all his body, mind and heart have known
to all the hidden mysteries ahead

he could not know what was before him
until the veil was rent
death, and thus life — tearing through his certainty to set him free
he could only humbly
receive the embrace of tomorrow
whatever this now means

I see in his gaze
a new humility
a lack of fight
and I am deeply, deeply moved

standing by his bed I place my hand on his
we touch
in life I would no longer approach to hold his hand
too many memories of distance, anger, pain, outright rejection

a journey with only one true ‘I’m sorry’
in the vastness of my memory
one finally spoken because I drew a boundary
but not until my 40s
refusing to engage and be with him
after yet another angry encounter
his response to this?
totally unexpected, miraculous
a simple ‘I’m sorry’
he does not say ‘I’m sorry’
spoken once and never again
though life remained unchanged

now life and death have changed him
and now we touch

years before in college
I witnessed a loving hug
and delightful conversation
between a friend and father
my eyes were opened to how I longed for this with mine
so back at home
I approached
a simple hug soon made it clear
paths of touch had either been unknown
or were lost to him through the suffering of years
his silence leaves only mysteries of his journey

yet all the touch, kind and gentle touch of my memories
was initiated by me
surely more is there
moments where I missed gifts given
my own being twisting narratives of past pain, blinding me to now
we all have eyes and ears limited in what we perceive
shaped by our journeys and the focus that evolves

what mattered was the present
a different ending to this sacred journey
so at his death I again approach
I touch, skin soft
great care he has received
a love still given by those who could

as I hold his hand, I ruminate on his early years
beautiful infant, innocence and tenderness
needs not yet resisted nor empathy spurned
arriving with a celestial openness to the world

now I am no longer afraid of being rebuffed
he is returning to the state in which he entered the world
the circle of life and death
life coming to a close
death opening new journeys

his openness
I will hold on to this
last reality
last experience
of my father

still
I cannot help but experience the crash
of contrasting memories
at 75, in celebration of his years of life
his wife, my mother, wrote unspoken stories
perhaps shared only with her
and perhaps this sharing of stories sacred to his heart
is why his anger flared
she asked me to speak the written words
with tears in my eyes I read of a cruel world
and my disabled father’s experience
his response to my tears?
rebuffing me for mine
a path well known to me
who had to unlearn my father’s ways
in order to offer more to mine

door slammed
heart closed
not open
celestial openness lost
in the journey of his life

now opening again
rays of light stealing through the darkness and decay
death had already arrived years before
I felt death ebbing, new life was flowing

at death’s door my father was breaking free of
life as it was known
to life as it could be
tears allowed, with no rebuke
my sisters declaring he’d been gentled in his final years

six years it had been for me
too much pain over too many years

I now sat beside him and held his hand
he held on tight

he held on tight… and tears flowed and flow

more openness to and expression of need
than I had ever witnessed
I did what I had always longed to do
I held on too

I spoke words,
acknowledging that he had loved the best he could
he had been severely limited by the traumas of his life
and his response to them
mysteries of pain to only be theorized and surmised
as they remained hidden within, words unspoken
lonely in his pain

rebuffing offers of comfort given
just as he rebuffed the hook he cast across the room
emotions shoved away
comfort spurned as well
unspoken words and memories
of life’s pain
were passing through death’s door as well

now we were joined in the flow of this moment,
this final day
his embrace was opening
there was space for me
and space for him
both broken, both loved

neither of us resisting
I continuing to affirm he had done his best
he had never stopped fighting or trying
though ironically the fight in him
the perseverance and fight that nurtured his survival
left me with tender heart,
born of his tender heart
reeling in the heat of his anger
longing only to escape his presence,
feeling small and not enough

now he was not fighting
I was not running
I held his hand and affirmed his love
he squeezed my hand hard in response

he squeezed my hand

a gesture that now brought healing
to the space between and distance of years
created by angry words declared
while positives remained unsaid
unspoken to my face

the year was 1984
he hired me to do a job
living with Grandma, I remodeled a home
he arrived as summer closed
walking through the home
in silence and in silence leaving
evening came and mom declared
your dad says you did a great job

really?
if so… why can this not be said to me?

why? why was it so difficult for him to speak
words of affirmation
to the tiny face looking up toward his?
to the man still waiting?

for as a man I was still waiting
it was not simply neutral words and silence I received
he declared me ‘brainwashed’
in my learning
for I embraced the world outside his tiny box
all outside his box of faith and belief was simply wrong
and the mind of his son incapable
of understanding the certainty with which he knew the right and wrong

celestial openness never taught, curiosity shunned
I strive toward these hard fought
the world so large and so diverse
light in all corners of the universe
not in the slivers of one human mind or one tradition
diminutive and small cannot define
the Source of Life of this massive space in which all planets dwell

what made my father so afraid
of that which stood outside the space in which he dwelt?
another mystery in the flow of death and ebb of life
arriving long before it’s appointed time

why was it so hard to speak empathizing
encouraging, affirming words…to me, his son?

impossible wrestlings
to empathize and care for others when
one has never learned to be gentle and kind to self
so many consequences to pushing away
from the traumas of life
unexpected pain which could not be controlled

now he squeezed my hand
I experienced it as a thousand words spoken
though still unsaid
an affirmation he could not give
until the flow of death released him
from the shape and form of life

and now his final breaths
his hand and arm across his chest
caressing back and forth
from shoulder to the wrist
his breathing
stops
all are called in
one final breath taken
in the midst of these messy and beautiful
legacies of his life present in living forms
shaped by him

finally he’s free
hope for the celestial openness
of infancy to return
with two arms and hands
and whole being to embrace life
and grasp the Beauty from which he came
too infinite
too large to be named and known by our
limited theorizing and minuscule minds

our thoughts and words are limiting
Reality is too big for us to grasp

so many experiences of life with dad
hindered me from enjoying his beauty
a tender, kind, generous, and gentle heart
buried often beneath the traumas of life
he fought for his life, he fought for ours as best he could
paths chosen with consequences
as are all the paths we choose
until the path of life abruptly ends

my father made a choice at that end
not to go out fighting
he released the fight
and gripped my hand
he let me walk with him
helpless, now willing on a path he could not resist
he accepted the flow of death and ebb of life
he accepted my hand on that journey
his in mine — hands freely extended in love

now life is flowing, death is ebbing
all we can do is open up to life’s
sorrows and pains, joys and laughter
receiving it all, sharing it all with those we love
death will flow and life will ebb
then life will flow and death will ebb
if we allow all the deaths of living
to return us to the state of celestial openness
with which we first embraced this world

as one so wise said long ago
you must become as children to embrace life
may we not wait until the end to start again as children
to return to the celestial openness with which our lives began
else life will ebb and death will flow
in embracing both we receive life over and over again
for death is the cradle from which life flows

‘a process cannot be understood by stopping it,
understanding must move with the flow of the process,
must join it and flow with it’