Becoming a Proactive Griever

As an avid reader, I thought that books would help as I tried to survive those first awful days, then weeks, then months of grief after my husband died. A few friends were kind enough to send books that they recommended.

Perhaps it was my “widow’s fog,” but I couldn’t absorb anything.

Meditations were too long; devotional books were too preachy; books about the psychology of grieving were too complex. I also found that books were focused on the grief experience, and the fact that it is highly personal. So, when reading the work of many authors in this genre, I learned a lot about their own story, which usually depressed me rather than enlightened me. Much of grief literature consists of memoirs disguised as “how-to” books.

Plus, it seemed as if the prevailing wisdom about grieving was “just let it happen” because all experiences are unique and there’s no “right” way to grieve. It was somewhat comforting to know that those crazy moments when I wanted to laugh with joy but crawl on the couch and wail --- at the same time --- were just part of my new life. But I also felt cheated --- as if no one could help me figure out how to live with my grief.  Because “everybody does it differently,” I felt as if the grief literature left me hanging, with few suggestions on what I could do to make myself feel better, to live again.

I just wanted to figure out how to enjoy life again --- to smile again (and really mean it). And I didn’t see anything wrong with wanting to feel good again. (Everyone grieves in their own way, right? Well, how come I felt judged by some of these authors and psychologists who insist that what I wanted to do --- manage my grief --- was unhealthy?)

When Tim died, I was department chairperson at a small university south of Pittsburgh. One of the things that I had started doing before he died was to send a “humorous quote of the day” to all the faculty members in our department, via email. I’d read somewhere that it was a good, “team-building” thing to do. I’m not sure if it was even remotely helpful to my colleagues. But I do know that it occasionally provided some opportunity for conversation, and at the very least, it gave some of us a chuckle or two to start the day. After Tim died, it certainly helped me because it gave me a somewhat mindless task to do, and many times, it gave me the only laugh I had all day.

This daily task led me to think that books about humor and positivity might provide some healing as I trudged through those awful days of grief. I began searching for books on my own. Once I retired, I spent quite a bit of time researching and reading more and more about the power of humor and positivity.

One book led to another, and I learned about how humor may, indeed, be the best medicine. I began to think differently about my situation. I became more proactive in my grief; in other words, I didn’t just let it happen to me. With the help of several authors who showed me the value of positivity, I began to manage my grief in the way that I wanted to. I allowed myself to feel pain, but I also began to look for laughs and moments of fun.

I will share my thoughts about the work of some of those authors in upcoming blogs.