tag:theconversation.com,2011:/us/topics/loss-45608/articlesLoss – The Conversation2024-02-27T23:45:01Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2238482024-02-27T23:45:01Z2024-02-27T23:45:01ZWe talked to dozens of people about their experience of grief. Here’s what we learned (and how it’s different from what you might think)<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/577495/original/file-20240222-26-pcdtt5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=7%2C7%2C4899%2C3258&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/pensive-single-caucasian-pretty-young-woman-1819708136">Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Have you ever felt a sudden pang of sadness? A bird seems to stop and look you in the eye. A photo drops out of a messy drawer from long ago, in the mundanity of a weekend spring clean. </p>
<p>Your day is immediately derailed, unsettled. You are pulled into something you thought was past. And yet, in being pulled back, you are grateful, reconnected, and grief-stricken all over again. </p>
<p>“You’ll get over it”. “Give it time”. “You need time to move on”. These are common cultural refrains in the face of loss. But what if grief doesn’t play by the rules? What if grief is a different thing altogether? </p>
<p>We talked to 95 people about their experiences of grief surrounding the loss of a loved one, and <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/00380261241228412">their stories</a> provided a fundamentally different account of grief to the one often presented to us culturally.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/not-all-mourning-happens-after-bereavement-for-some-grief-can-start-years-before-the-death-of-a-loved-one-221629">Not all mourning happens after bereavement – for some, grief can start years before the death of a loved one</a>
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<h2>Disordered grief?</h2>
<p>Grief is often imagined as a time-bound period in which one processes the pain of loss – that is, adjusts to absence and works toward “moving on”. The bereaved are expected to process their pain within the confines of what society deems “normal”. </p>
<p>The <a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-what-is-the-dsm-and-how-are-mental-disorders-diagnosed-9568">DSM-5 psychiatric manual</a> says if grief drags on too long, in fact, it becomes a pathology (a condition with a medical diagnosis). “Prolonged grief disorder” is the name given to “persistent difficulties associated with bereavement that exceeded expected social, cultural, or religious expectations”.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two people hold the hands of a third person to comfort them" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/577498/original/file-20240223-24-k2d40c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Prolonged grief disorder is a useful diagnosis for some, but for others, it’s putting arbitrary timeframes on grieving.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/asia-people-adult-child-help-middle-2274180457">Shutterstock</a></span>
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<p>While there can be <a href="https://theconversation.com/why-prolonged-grief-should-be-listed-as-a-mental-disorder-4262">value</a> in clinical diagnostic categories such as this, the danger is they put artificial boundaries around emotions. The pathologisation of grief can be deeply alienating to those experiencing it, for whom the pressure to “move on” can be hurtful and counterproductive. </p>
<p>The stories we gathered in our research were raw, complex and often fraught. They did not sit comfortably with commonsense understandings of how grief “should” progress. As bereaved daughter Barbara told us:</p>
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<p>Grief is not in the little box, it doesn’t even come close to a little box.</p>
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<h2>Grief starts early</h2>
<p>The tendency is to think of grief as something that happens post death. The person we love dies, we have a funeral, and the grief sets in. Then it slowly subsides with the steady march of time. </p>
<p>In fact, grief often begins earlier, often in a clinical consultation where the words “terminal” or “nothing more we can do” are used. Or when a loved one is told “go home and get your life in order”. Grief can begin months or even years before bereavement. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-homesick-for-ourselves-the-hidden-grief-of-ageing-202754">Friday essay: homesick for ourselves – the hidden grief of ageing</a>
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<p>As the people we interviewed experienced it, loss was also cumulative. The gradual deterioration of a loved one’s health in the years or months before their death imposed other painful losses: the loss of chosen lifestyles, the loss of longstanding relational rhythms, the loss of shared hopes and anticipated futures. </p>
<p>Many participants felt their loved ones – and, indeed, the lives they shared with them – slipping away long before their physical deaths. </p>
<h2>Living with the dead</h2>
<p>Yet the dead do not simply leave us. They remain with us, in memories, rituals and cultural events. From <a href="https://theconversation.com/what-ancient-cultures-teach-us-about-grief-mourning-and-continuity-of-life-86199">Mexico’s Dia de los Muertos</a> to <a href="https://theconversation.com/japans-obon-festival-how-family-commemoration-and-ancestral-worship-shapes-daily-life-179890">Japan’s Opon</a>, festivals of the dead play a key role in cultures around the world. In that way, remembering the dead remains a critical aspect of living. So too does <a href="https://theconversation.com/theres-not-always-closure-in-the-never-ending-story-of-grief-3096">the ongoing experience of grief</a>. </p>
<p>Events of this kind are not merely celebratory. They are critical forms through which life and death, joy and grief, are brought together and integrated. The absence of remembering can hold its own trouble, as our participants’ accounts revealed. As bereaved wife Anna explained:</p>
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<p>I just find it really frustrating and I do get quite angry and upset sometimes. I know that life goes on. I’d be talking to girlfriends and stuff like that and it’s like they’ve forgotten that I’ve lost my husband. They haven’t, but nothing really changed in their life. But for me, and my family, it has.</p>
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<p>Part of the problem, here, is the ambivalent role grief plays in advanced industrialised societies like ours. Many of our participants felt pressure to perform resilience or (in clinical terms) to <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1363459317724854">“recover” quickly after loss</a>.</p>
<p>But whose interests does a swift recovery serve? An employer’s? Friends who just want to get on with a death-free life? And, even more importantly, mightn’t ongoing connections with the dead enable better living? Might bringing the dead along with us actually make for better deaths and better lives? </p>
<p>Many of our participants felt their loved ones remained with them, and experienced their “absent presence” as a source of comfort. Grieving, in this context, involved spending time “with” the dead. Anna described her practice as follows:</p>
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<p>I had a diary, so I just write stuff in it about how I’m feeling or something happened and I’ll say to [my deceased husband], it’s all to [my deceased husband], “Do you remember, blah, blah, blah.” I’ll just talk about that memory that I have of that particular time and I find that that helps.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/why-did-he-leve-me-5-things-grieving-children-want-to-know-about-the-death-of-a-loved-one-215881">'Why did he Leve Me?' 5 things grieving children want to know about the death of a loved one</a>
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<h2>Caring for those who grieve</h2>
<p>Grief does not begin at death, but neither do relationships end there.</p>
<p>To rush the bereaved through grief – to usher them towards “recovery” and the more comfortable territories of happiness and productivity – is to do them a disservice. </p>
<p>And, perhaps more critically, ridding our lives of the dead and grief may, in the end, make for more limited and muted emotional lives.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/223848/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Michelle Peterie receives funding from the Australian Research Council. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alex Broom receives funding from the Australian Research Council </span></em></p>There are many social assumptions about how to best ‘get through’ grief. We interview 95 people about their experiences of loss and found we need to rethink what grief looks and feels like.Michelle Peterie, Research Fellow, Sydney Centre for Healthy Societies, University of SydneyAlex Broom, Professor of Sociology & Director, Sydney Centre for Healthy Societies, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2156592023-10-17T12:19:37Z2023-10-17T12:19:37ZLouise Glück honed her poetic voice across a lifetime to speak to us from beyond the grave<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554065/original/file-20231016-15-9jajn2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C1620%2C1079&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Louise Glück was photographed outside her home in Cambridge, Mass., after being named the 2020 Nobel laureate in literature.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/2020/gluck/photo-gallery/">Daniel Ebersole/Nobel Prize Outreach</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>When asked what her response was to being awarded the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/08/books/louise-gluck-nobel-prize-literature.html">Nobel Prize in literature in 2020</a>, Louise Glück replied that she was “completely flabbergasted.” She said she had thought it “extremely unlikely that I would ever have this particular event to deal with in my life.”</p>
<p>Glück, who <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/obituaries/2023/10/13/louise-gluck-dead/">died on Oct. 13, 2023</a>, at the age of 80, may have been taken aback that she was granted this exalted honor, the <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/louise-gluck-prize-winning-poet-of-terse-and-candid-lyricism-dies-at-80">first American poet</a> to win since T.S. Eliot in 1948. But her win was far less surprising to those who know and love her work, and who now mourn her loss. </p>
<p>The Nobel Committee for Literature selected Glück for this literary achievement to <a href="https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/2020/gluck/facts/">honor her</a> “unmistakable poetic voice that with austere beauty makes individual existence universal.”</p>
<p>As a <a href="https://dornsife.usc.edu/cf/faculty-and-staff/faculty.cfm?pid=1062252">poet and professor of writing</a>, I have long been an admirer of Glück’s spare and striking work. Her lyric voice still reverberates after her death, in part because of how consistently she turned her attention to questions of mortality.</p>
<h2>A cruel clarity of vision</h2>
<p>Glück said, in the same interview about her Nobel win, “I’ve written about death since I could write.” Her work turns again and again to the human story, those elemental facets of life that unite people. She went on to say, “I look for archetypal experience, and I assume that my struggles and joys are not unique.” </p>
<p>What’s common to humanity characterizes her work: Her focus on lasting themes of family and heartache and loss has earned her a wide audience and lasting acclaim. Before being awarded the Nobel Prize, Glück won the <a href="https://www.nationalbook.org/people/louise-gluck/">National Book Award</a> for “Faithful and Virtuous Night” in 2014 and the <a href="https://www.pulitzer.org/winners/louise-gluck">Pulitzer Prize</a> for “Wild Iris” in 1992, among other accolades. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Louise Glück reads selected poems.</span></figcaption>
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<p>Though well received, Glück’s work is not always inviting. It can have an icy abruptness; she often writes speakers who have a cruel clarity of vision. In her poem “<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49601/mock-orange">Mock Orange</a>” she writes:</p>
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<p>It is not the moon, I tell you.</p>
<p>It is these flowers</p>
<p>lighting the yard.</p>
<p>I hate them.</p>
<p>I hate them as I hate sex </p>
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<p>which she goes on to describe as “the low, humiliating / premise of union.” As the poem ends, her speaker asks, “How can I be content / when there is still / that odor in the world?” </p>
<p>The lyric “I,” the first-person speaker of Glück’s poems, is rarely content. Though Glück wrote in the voice of many characters and from many perspectives, woven throughout her work is a perspective that tends to find the world – and the self – wanting. </p>
<p>It may be surprising, then, how strongly readers have responded to her still, spare, often quietly devastating work. It attends to daily human struggles as if from a distance, what the critic Helen Vendler described as “almost through the <a href="https://newrepublic.com/article/159665/poetry-louise-gluck">wrong end of a telescope</a>.” As in the old adage about what poetry can do, Glück <a href="https://theworld.com/%7Eraparker/exploring/tseliot/works/essays/andrew_marvell.html">made the familiar strange</a>, which is perhaps what continues to draw readers to her work: It renders the close-up experiences of heartbreak and hope from a new perspective.</p>
<h2>Ancient voices speaking to the everyday</h2>
<p>Glück also made the strange familiar, especially the distant world of myth. She brought ancient figures down to a human level by exploring everyday dramas through their voices. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Poster with an image of a young Louise Glück leaning against a brick wall, promoting a reading at the Poetry Center of the Museum of Contemporary Art" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=904&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554070/original/file-20231016-25-r0pb7x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1136&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">A poster promotes a Louise Glück reading at the Poetry Center of Chicago on Jan. 21, 1977.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://archive.poetrycenter.org/2015/07/21/gluck-louise-1977-2004/">The Poetry Center at the Museum of Contemporary Art</a></span>
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<p>She wrote often of families and the ways they fail each other, though slantingly, as when Glück explores strained dynamics between mothers and daughters via the Greek goddesses <a href="https://poets.org/poem/persephone-wanderer">Demeter and Persephone</a>. She makes vivid the challenges of marriage through the characters of Homer’s “Odyssey” in her 1996 book “Meadowlands.” A poem from that work, “<a href="https://www.ronnowpoetry.com/contents/gluck/Telemachus.html">Telemachus’ Detachment</a>,” envisages the son of Odysseus and Penelope reflecting on his parents’ union as “heartbreaking, but also / insane. Also / very funny.” Her register was wide: Though Glück wrote with a kind of detachment about even the most intimate of emotions, it was often via characters who spoke wryly, abruptly, with gallows humor and a gimlet eye for human frailty.</p>
<p>Failure and loss frequently gave rise to her work: Her fifth book, “Ararat,” published in 1990, arose after her father’s death; her 1999 book, “<a href="https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/louise-glucks-nine-lives/docview/231943493/se-2">Vita Nova,</a>” emerged from the dissolution of her marriage. Even her titles exemplify the dense literary references that characterize her work:
“Ararat” echoes the story of Noah’s flood, and “Vita Nova” is named after Dante Alighieri’s poems on the death of his beloved. In “Vita Nova,” the way we fail those we love is explored via the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. </p>
<h2>Contact even at a distance</h2>
<p>“Wild Iris,” one of Glück’s <a href="https://poets.org/poet/louise-gluck">most honored works</a>, winning both the Pulitzer Prize and The Poetry Society of America’s William Carlos Williams Award, is exemplary of her style. A book of poems written after a <a href="https://www.neh.gov/about/awards/national-humanities-medals/louise-gl%C3%BCck">paralyzing period of writer’s block</a>, it is the voice of flowers, of prayers, of the soul beyond death and of God speaking back through her poems. Even when talking to God, the speaker remains acerbic and questioning: The <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49758/vespers-once-i-believed-in-you">first line of one poem</a> to God begins “Once, I believed in you … .” </p>
<p>The title piece of the collection speaks in the voice of a flower emerging in spring and as a speaker from beyond the grave, “whatever / returns from oblivion returns / to find a voice.” Another poem in the voice of “<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49760/the-silver-lily">The Silver Lily</a>” says “We have come too far together toward the end now / to fear the end.” </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Louise Glück reads from ‘Faithful and Virtuous Night’.</span></figcaption>
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<p>Louise Glück’s poems can feel like they come at the drama of life from a distance: The voice in her poems has been described as <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/poems-louise-gl-ck/1120357967">vatic</a>, <a href="https://newrepublic.com/article/159665/poetry-louise-gluck">divinatory</a>, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/08/books/louise-gluck-nobel-prize-literature.html">Delphic</a> and <a href="https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/CX3407600191/GVRL?u=usocal_main&sid=bookmark-GVRL&xid=9003490a">haunting</a>, evoking a ghost speaking across time, able to narrate its own story with a dispassionate disinterest. </p>
<p>In the end, it was this carefully crafted, piercing observation of what is core to our human struggle that continues to animate Glück’s work for so many. If ever a poetic voice was honed across a lifetime to speak to us from beyond the grave, it’s Glück’s.</p>
<p><em>This article was updated to clarify that Glück was the first American poet to win the Nobel Prize in literature since T.S. Eliot.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/215659/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Amy Cannon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>A celebrated poet and Nobel laureate, Louise Glück wrote about mortality, broken families and human frailty with devastating wryness and quiet beauty.Amy Cannon, Associate Professor of Writing, USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and SciencesLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2054592023-06-23T12:28:26Z2023-06-23T12:28:26ZProcessing and grieving an ongoing loss – such as a child with a devastating injury or disability – does not fit neatly into traditional models of grief<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/530974/original/file-20230608-19-z5aye.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C8449%2C5472&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Loss without a clear resolution can be particularly painful.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/dont-keep-it-all-bottled-up-royalty-free-image/658442986?phrase=upset+person&adppopup=true">laflor/iStock via Getty Images Plus</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Traditional loss is <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2021/09/12/health/five-stages-of-grief-kubler-ross-meaning-wellness/index.html#:%7E">typically considered a five-stage process</a>, linear and time-bound, where a person moves from denial to acceptance. </p>
<p>Generally, traditional loss is linked to death – such as the death of a loved one, or a miscarriage. It is permanent, often abrupt, occurring when someone or something once present is suddenly absent. </p>
<p>But loss is complex. Other kinds of loss do not follow the one-size-fits-all archetype, and many experts now <a href="https://doi.org/10.3389%2Ffpsyg.2021.772696">criticize the five stages of grief model</a>. </p>
<p><a href="https://directory.hsc.wvu.edu/Profile/54223">As a nursing professor</a> who researches the impact of childhood illness on family well-being, one of my main areas of study is how people navigate another type of loss – ambiguous loss, or loss without closure.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Ambiguous loss, or loss without closure, is a unique kind of trauma.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>Coping with absence, letting go</h2>
<p>Ambiguous loss is <a href="https://www.mayoclinichealthsystem.org/hometown-health/speaking-of-health/coping-with-ambiguous-grief">something that’s ongoing, recurring or unresolved</a>. The loved one is still alive but different from who they once were. </p>
<p>For over a decade, I have worked with hundreds of parents who became caregivers to once-healthy children who sustained a devastating injury or illness. Perhaps the child has a traumatic brain injury, resulting from a car accident or a near drowning. Or they were born with progressive disabilities resulting in the need for specialized, long-term care.</p>
<p>In these instances, the caregiver is not only coping with the absence of what was but letting go of what could have been. </p>
<p>As one parent said to me: “You have all these dreams for your child. Sometimes with disabilities those things will never happen. Reevaluating expectations is challenging and a little sad.” </p>
<p>Because of the ambiguity of these types of experiences, nothing – no model, no set number of stages – can fully prepare parents to navigate this type of loss. </p>
<p>But although ambiguous loss differs from traditional loss, researchers still lump the two together. That is why studies on ambiguous loss are scarce, and there is no formula to help <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/01463373.2020.1759112">the caregivers manage their grief</a>.</p>
<p>Until researchers abandon their traditional view of loss, we won’t fully understand how to help those experiencing ambiguous loss. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">How a child injured in the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing dealt with ambiguous loss.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>Finding meaning in loss</h2>
<p>During the 1960s, psychiatrist Viktor Frankl <a href="https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/questionofgod/voices/frankl.html">developed the concept of “Will to Meaning</a>,” based on his experience as a Holocaust survivor in Nazi concentration camps during World War II. </p>
<p>Frankl saw some prisoners in the camp keep a positive attitude and wondered how they did it in such a treacherous environment. He came to understand that humans have the ability to choose how they perceive their experiences. Finding meaning, he learned, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01532076">helps people persevere through their suffering</a>. </p>
<p>In the 1980s, Frankl’s concepts were adapted into the “<a href="https://doi.org/10.5964/ejop.5439">theory of meaning</a>” – <a href="https://www.viktorfranklinstitute.org/personnel/patricia-starck/">essentially a guide for nurses</a> on how to help patients find meaning and purpose after an unprecedented loss. Nurses discovered that an individual’s active, personal decisions could alter that person’s perception of these traumatic experiences.</p>
<p>That theory of meaning proved to be a beacon of hope for people in difficult situations. For decades, nurses throughout the world have used this concept to <a href="https://doi.org/10.14475/kjhpc.2017.20.4.221">reach out to countless numbers of patients</a>, particularly those who have cancer, spinal cord injuries, drug or alcohol addictions, or those in hospice care. </p>
<p>But I believe my work is the first of its kind to use the theory of meaning to interact <a href="https://journals.lww.com/advancesinnursingscience/Abstract/9900/Caring_for_a_Child_With_an_Acquired_Disability_.58.aspx">with parents experiencing ambiguous loss</a>. I interviewed eight parents of children with an acquired disability – mostly traumatic brain injuries – to better understand whether they were able to find meaning in their loss. </p>
<p>I found that parents were experiencing profound suffering because they were on edge, worried about lifelong care for their child and unaware of the consequences of loss. This suffering reached every family member and led to strained marital relationships, depression, anxiety, anger, sleep deprivation and fear of the unknown. </p>
<p>However, parents overcame these challenges by providing care to their child and creating a space to connect to family, friends and other parents undergoing similar experiences. They found joy in their child’s smallest success. The result was deeper relationships within their family and a hopeful outlook for the future. </p>
<p>One parent told me: “There’s nothing that’s ever been harder … but caring for (my child) is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done with my life.” Another said: “He has overcome so much, and our family has grown because of what we’ve experienced.”</p>
<p>It’s clear these parents didn’t just move through the traditional stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Surely these broad emotions and feelings were likely present, probably even all at once. But they were able to choose how they perceived their experiences – to find purpose in their caregiving regardless of the disability. </p>
<p>These parents didn’t simply accept their loss as the traditional model describes, but transformed it into something meaningful to help them persevere through their experiences. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Ambiguous loss can happen to caregivers when their elderly parent has dementia.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>How to help</h2>
<p>What these parents often <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/09638288.2021.1946176">lack is community-based support</a>, such as respite care, transportation, financial aid and support groups. This helps parents meet basic needs so they can take care of themselves, reflect on their experiences more clearly and find meaning to push them forward.</p>
<p>During a time of ambiguous loss, parents say their lives have turned upside down; they are trying to navigate a new normal. They feel isolated, lonely, misunderstood and judged. </p>
<p>If you know someone experiencing ambiguous loss, it helps to simply ask them how they’re doing. You might offer to bring them dinner, include them in activities or just sit with them and listen. These simple acts of kindness may help them feel better understood – and reinvigorate their purpose to face another day.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/205459/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Brad Phillips does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Letting go of what could have been is a critical step in handling ambiguous loss.Brad Phillips, Assistant Professor of Nursing, West Virginia UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2065532023-05-30T10:26:35Z2023-05-30T10:26:35ZHow to write a eulogy – lessons from Succession’s Roy family<p><em>Warning: the following article contains spoilers for Succession season four.</em></p>
<p>“He kept everyone outside, but when he let you in and the sun shone … it was warm in the light.” So says Shiv Roy (Sarah Snook) in Succession’s penultimate episode, Church and State. The life of oligarch Logan Roy (Brian Cox), is presented through three eulogies – each of which channels some of the trials of summing up a life, while facing a crowd.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Shiv Roy’s eulogy for her father Logan.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Roman (Kieran Culkin), Logan’s youngest son, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qULmmuQtLNs">is overwhelmed by his emotions and cannot go on</a>. Logan’s estranged brother, Ewan (James Cromwell) and Roman’s siblings Kendall (Jeremy Strong) and Shiv meanwhile, give meaningful and honest, if sometimes brutal appraisals of the man Shiv describes as her “dear, dear world of a father”. </p>
<p>I run a range of creative writing workshops. Here are my top tips for writing a memorable eulogy, inspired by the Roy family.</p>
<h2>1. Consider your structure</h2>
<p>Begin with something bold to grab the audience’s attention. In Succession, Ewan opens with the childhood story of how he and Logan came to the US aboard a ship during the second world war. The engines had “let go” and they were told that if they spoke or even coughed, they would die right there in the hold. </p>
<p>This important detail gives the funeral attendees an insight into some of the choices Logan made later on in life.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Ewan Roy’s eulogy for his brother Logan.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Think about what story it is you want to tell about your loved one, how you want it to end and what you want your audience to take home. Many writers find it helpful to start with the ending and work backwards. </p>
<p>Like any piece of writing, you are <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/nancy_duarte_the_secret_structure_of_great_talks">creating a narrative</a> through your eulogy. Write a short opening, perhaps using a quote, and don’t bore the audience with too much unnecessary detail, unless you link it to an event that provides insight into how they lived their life.</p>
<p>Weave your middle section with information that builds the eulogy, but has a clear stopping point, so listeners can be moved by your ending. Then end with the essence of what you want them to remember about the person. Or repeat the quote from the beginning.</p>
<h2>2. Tips, tricks and techniques</h2>
<p>I teach creative writing workshops where students explore the tips, tricks and techniques of their favourite writer. I suggest that they try to link biographical detail with the themes that dominate the writer’s work. For example, Tolkien’s traumatic experiences in the first world war are seen by many as a key influence on his fantasy series, The Lord of The Rings. This is something his biographers have picked up on to explain the <a href="https://www.worldwar1centennial.org/index.php/articles-posts/5502-war-not-allegory-wwi-tolkien-and-the-lord-of-the-rings.html">intertwining of his life and his work</a>.</p>
<p>This can be applied to writing eulogies. Like Ewan, use biographical detail to build a portrait of the person you are remembering. Follow the rule of all great writing and remember to “<a href="https://writers.com/show-dont-tell-writing">show not tell</a>”. This means your eulogy should include anecdotes that offer a sense of the person you’re talking about, rather than just providing a series of facts about them. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Roman Roy is overcome with emotion when trying to deliver his eulogy.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>3. Overcoming emotion</h2>
<p>Having written the eulogies for both my parents and a family friend, I know first hand that both the writing and delivering of a eulogy can be emotionally overwhelming. Build this into your preparation.</p>
<p>It’s a good idea to have somebody standing by to read your eulogy out just in case, like Roman, you find you can’t go on. Remember that it’s fine to take a breath and wait until you are ready to continue.</p>
<p>Writing a eulogy can be a helpful part of the grieving process, even if it feels like an intimidating responsibility to do justice to a person’s life in a single piece of writing. The creative process can <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3003609/">become a tool</a> for expressing your feelings, potentially offering new insights and clarification.</p>
<h2>4. Don’t be afraid to laugh</h2>
<p>I find using humour helps provide light and shade. Having the courage to talk about the difficult, funny and downright embarrassing moments will humanise your eulogy – and laughter can help bring grieving people together.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Kendall Roy’s eulogy for his father.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But don’t be afraid to get serious either. There is no blueprint for the perfect eulogy, but all writing is elevated when the truth emerges, however dark. Kendall’s eulogy combined these elements of light and shade brilliantly. </p>
<h2>5. If in doubt, borrow</h2>
<p>If you just can’t find the right words to express how you feel, borrow them from someone else. Screenwriter Richard Curtis did this memorably in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDXWclpGhcg">Four Weddings and a Funeral</a> (1994) with WH Auden’s moving poem, <a href="https://allpoetry.com/Funeral-Blues">Funeral Blues</a>.</p>
<p>One of my favourite frequent eulogy inclusions is the poem Like Jewels in My Hand, <a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/Your_Head_in_Mine.html?id=52shAQAAIAAJ&redir_esc=y">written by my late aunt</a>, the novelist Sasha Moorsom. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I’m not afraid they will misunderstand<br>
My turning to them like a magic charm<br>
I hold dead friends like jewels in my hand<br>
Turquoise and emerald, jade, a golden band.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It offers some sage advice on writing eulogies as well as remembering lost loved ones.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/206553/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Lucy Shuttleworth does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Think about what story it is you want to tell about your loved one, how you want it to end and what you want your audience to take home.Lucy Shuttleworth, Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing, University of PortsmouthLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2012642023-03-10T12:29:44Z2023-03-10T12:29:44ZOscars 2023: how Aftersun uses music to perfectly express grief<p>As author C.S. Lewis wrote in <a href="https://gutenberg.ca/ebooks/lewiscs-agriefobserved/lewiscs-agriefobserved-00-h.html">A Grief Observed</a> (1961): “In grief nothing ‘stays put’.” For Lewis, grief is not a linear process, but recurrent, cyclical and never truly complete. “Everything repeats,” he writes. “Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?”</p>
<p>Lewis’s metaphor is an apt description for director and writer Charlotte Wells’ award-winning film Aftersun (2022). About returning from and returning to our past, Aftersun is a product of memory and an unfolding act of remembrance. The film’s events happen in the past tense, but as critic Daniel Drake observed in <a href="https://www.nybooks.com/online/2023/02/19/aftersuns-present-imperfect/">The New York Review of Books</a>, it also captures what it is to be stuck in an imperfect present.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">The trailer for Aftersun (2022).</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Wells’ film explores the relationship between young father Calum (Paul Mescal) and his daughter Sophie (Frankie Corio), who are holidaying together at a Turkish resort sometime in the late 1990s. Audiences first see the pair through grainy video camera footage which is interspersed throughout the film as they document their trip.</p>
<p>As the film progresses, we slowly begin to realise that Calum’s camera is capturing lasts rather than firsts. At the end of the holiday, when Sophie leaves on a Scotland-bound plane, it marks the last time they will see each other.</p>
<p>Years later, an adult Sophie (Celia Rowlson-Hall) watches the footage – the camera connected by a lead to a TV in the living room of her New York apartment. She reconnects and reckons with her younger self, frozen on screen as she waves goodbye to her father behind the camera.</p>
<p>It’s clear from how that footage is cut throughout the film that this isn’t the first time Sophie is watching. Maybe she’s lost count. She watches, rewinds, pauses. We hear and see the mechanics of this: the low drone of the tape, the click indicating the beginning of the footage, glitches in the blue-tinted, grainy images, springing into life from a black screen.</p>
<p>For the audience – and for Sophie – the distance between past and present is blurry. The tapes become a conduit, bringing Calum back, though only momentarily. What were once mundane discussions and rambling observations are now imbued with a value that only increases over time.</p>
<p>Just like grief, this is a story that never truly resolves itself. It’s never explicitly stated what happens to Calum. The film is filtered mostly through Sophie’s perspective, so our knowledge of him is limited by her own understanding, or by what Calum chooses to show her.</p>
<p>There are significant exceptions to this when Calum is alone, such as the moment when he breaks down in the hotel room, far from young Sophie’s sight. These, coupled with other small clues, placed throughout the narrative – such as his broken arm and a general disregard for his own safety – signals that he’s struggling with something he cannot or dare not name. This is the Calum that adult Sophie will never know or understand, no matter how many times she rewinds the tape, searching for clues.</p>
<p>Grief casts a shadow over Sophie’s life. Many people watching will already know the shape and the weight of the grief she carries. For Wells, the intense and personal emotional reactions the film were a shock, an unintended consequence of exorcising her <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2022/dec/23/charlotte-wells-on-aftersun-the-guardians-best-film-of-the-year-the-grief-expressed-is-mine">grief for her own father</a>.</p>
<h2>The meaning of Aftersun’s Under Pressure sequence</h2>
<p>Central to Aftersun’s emotional power is the Under Pressure sequence, in which Sophie and Calum dance together on their last night at the resort.</p>
<p>The scene functions as a kind of emotional and narrative crescendo. Throughout the film, there are scenes of adult Sophie encountering Calum dancing at a rave. These moments exist somewhere outside of her everyday life. She calls out to him but can’t be heard over the loud music. Often he cannot be seen, obscured by the dark or the strobe lights. The Under Pressure sequence unites the film’s two settings – Turkey and the rave – and cuts between them.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Aftersun’s Under Pressure sequence.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The Queen and David Bowie duet was brought in by Wells to replace a temporary track that she had been using to build the film’s first cut. In a recent interview, she explained that when she hit play, Under Pressure: “<a href="https://www.rogerebert.com/interviews/aftersun-interview">lined up at exactly the perfect point</a>”.</p>
<p>Aftersun is not the first film to use the song, but it is the first one to use it in this form. Here, remixed, bridging the time and space between Turkey and the rave, the synth and strings signature of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGy2xrY-x7I">Oliver Coates’ score</a> are combined with the isolated vocals of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury to haunting effect.</p>
<p>Only during the Under Pressure dance do these formerly unexplained scenes, these quasi-nightmarish intrusions, make sense, slotting in as the last puzzle piece of Sophie and Calum’s story. Only here, does adult Sophie finally reach her father, dressed as she remembers him in the airport departure lounge, unchanged.</p>
<p>Angry, resentful, she beats at his chest, just as her younger self playfully resists her father’s embrace on the Turkish dance floor. Finally, there’s no resistance, younger and older Sophie embrace Calum, as Freddie Mercury’s vocals soar, imploring us to “give love”.</p>
<p>Adult Sophie’s peace doesn’t last. Too soon, Calum slips from her grasp, sinking into the darkness, lost in the turn of the strobe. Sophie is alone once more in the dark of the rave. <a href="https://deadline.com/2023/01/aftersun-script-read-charlotte-wells-screenplay-paul-mescal-movie-1235219579/">Wells’ script</a> conveys this moment with spare devastation: Calum is gone. Through song and dance, though, Calum can return and Sophie can hug her father once again. Music lends her the power to transcend – and momentarily pause in – her spiral of grief.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/201264/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Leanne Weston does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The synth and strings signature of Oliver Coates’ score are combined with the isolated vocals of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury to haunting effect.Leanne Weston, Associate teaching fellow, Film and Television Studies, University of WarwickLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1972992023-01-25T13:08:06Z2023-01-25T13:08:06ZDeath and dying: how different cultures deal with grief and mourning<p>Grief is a universal emotion. It’s something we all feel, no matter where we come from or what we’ve been through. Grief comes for us all and as humans who form close relationships with other people, it’s hard to avoid. </p>
<p>Studies of <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-grieving-brain-mary-frances-oconnor/1140045432?ean=9780062946232">grieving brains</a> – be it scans of the brain regions which process grief, or measures of the stress hormone cortisol that is released in grief – show no differences in relation to race, age or religion. <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02682629808657425">People of all cultures grieve</a>; we all feel sorrow, loss, and despair. We just do it – and show it – in different ways. </p>
<p><a href="https://psycnet.apa.org/record/1969-06883-001">James Averill</a>, a US professor of psychology, has compared this to sexual feelings which, like grief, are biologically driven but expressed in elaborately different social contexts. </p>
<p>Here are several examples that demonstrate how grief and mourning can look very different depending on where you live and come from. </p>
<h2>1. Collective grief is common</h2>
<p>When it comes to grieving in the west, the focus is often placed on the individual. People talk about their personal grief, and counselling is usually arranged for just one person – even support groups are attended by individual members. But the reality is that the family – or for many Indigenous people, the tribe – grieves collectively, and in some cultures this is more pronounced than others.</p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.taylorfrancis.com/chapters/edit/10.4324/9781315721088-4/death-hindu-family-pittu-laungani-ann-laungani">Hindu families</a> in India, for example, relatives and friends come together to support the immediate family in an elaborate 13-day ritual. A widow ceases to be the head of the household and her place is taken by the wife of her oldest son. </p>
<p>Typical of <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1473325020973301">Native American culture</a>, the Lakota tribe elders use the phrase “mitakuye oyasin”, meaning “we are all related”. The death of anyone in the tribe is felt by all. </p>
<p><a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/009164711604400203">In Tibet</a>, the Buddhist mourning period following a funeral lasts 49 days. During this time the family gathers to make clay figures and prayer flags, allowing for a collective expression of grief.</p>
<p>Collective grief is also the norm in traditional Chinese culture, but here the family also makes collective decisions – which sometimes <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1303047/">exclude the dying person</a>. This was seen in the 2019 film <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt8637428/">The Farewell</a>, which was based on director and writer Lulu Wong’s real life. In the film, a Chinese family discovers their grandmother has only a short time left to live and decides to keep her in the dark, scheduling a wedding in order to gather before she dies.</p>
<h2>2. Grieving times vary by culture</h2>
<p>After a bereavement, a steady return to normal functioning can typically take <a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?hl=en&lr=&id=AEiRDwAAQBAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PT7&dq=The+other+side+of+sadness+Bonanno&ots=TxwGl9PMCE&sig=BvhnYX4GRHnjFBtv0KyJlGSqMpk#v=onepage&q=The%20other%20side%20of%20sadness%20Bonanno&f=false">two or more years</a>. Experts no longer talk of “moving on”, but instead see grief as a way of adapting to loss while forming a <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/books/edition/Continuing_Bonds/u4COAwAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Continuing+Bonds&printsec=frontcover">continuing bond</a> with the lost loved one. But again, this varies from culture to culture.</p>
<p>In <a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?hl=en&lr=&id=QkH8Xzf9geUC&oi=fnd&pg=PP9&dq=managing+turbulent+hearts+Wikan&ots=aaZEUZ9kkz&sig=23rFm_4c7S3icaZngKYe6mOBLP8#v=onepage&q=managing%20turbulent%20hearts%20Wikan&f=false">Bali</a>, Indonesia, mourning is brief and tearfulness is discouraged.
If family members do cry, tears must not fall on the body as this is thought to give the person a bad place in heaven. To cry for too long is thought to invoke malevolent spirits and encumber the dead person’s soul with unhappiness. </p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/0277953688903681">Egypt</a>, tearfully grieving after seven years would still be seen as healthy and normal – whereas in the US this would be <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1303047/">considered a disorder</a>. Indeed, in the west, intense grief exceeding 12 months is labelled “<a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/00048674211025728">prolonged grief disorder</a>”. </p>
<h2>3. People like to visit the body</h2>
<p>The way people interact with the dead body also differs culturally. For example, between the death and the funeral, the <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2405844022002134#bib67">Toraja people</a> on the island of Sulawesi, Indonesia, treat their relative as if they were ill rather than dead, by bringing them food and keeping them company.</p>
<p>Europe has its own customs. In the UK until the mid-20th century, along the <a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?hl=en&lr=&id=hXNuVogVnQYC&oi=fnd&pg=PA4&dq=Death+in+Staithes&ots=Dd1dFkLAtT&sig=Tz1yx6vnNT9xKQe-u0VmtKFR-Gw#v=onepage&q=Death%20in%20Staithes&f=false">Yorkshire coast</a>, the lying-out of the body was done by women of the village. Friends and family would come to view the deceased, pay their respects, and recall memories of the person. This practice continues in some countries. </p>
<p>In <a href="https://debbiecollins.co.uk/an-italian-grief/">Italy</a>, for example, a temporary refrigerated coffin is delivered to the family home so people can bring flowers and pay their respects in the immediate aftermath of the death.</p>
<h2>4. Signs from above</h2>
<p>In the UK, some people believe that white feathers are a message from heaven, though this is often dismissed as childlike <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/03069885.2021.1983154">magical thinking</a>. But in many <a href="https://scholarworks.gvsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1018&=&context=iaccp_papers&=&sei-redir=1&referer=https%253A%252F%252Fscholar.google.co.uk%252Fscholar%253Fhl%253Den%2526as_sdt%253D0%25252C5%2526q%253Dtraditional%252Bafrican%252Bcommunication%252Bwith%252Bthe%252Bdeceased%2526btnG%253D#search=%22traditional%20african%20communication%20deceased%22">African societies</a>, spiritual connection to the deceased is considered normal and very real. </p>
<p>In sub-Saharan Africa, the traditional belief is that the dead become spirits but remain in the living world on Earth. They are thought of as the living dead. The spirit may <a href="https://d1wqtxts1xzle7.cloudfront.net/85385219/a_3A102281872291320220503-1-4qjnu8-libre.pdf?1651555207=&response-content-disposition=inline%3B+filename%3DParallels_Between_Jungian_and_Black_Afri.pdf&Expires=1674486693&Signature=Kj%7ErNYUajI6lizNik5rmD3pqu9LXaBXG59aMjcM7w99p7TCgJjkxhJRXDam88BAqYFcQmRLyhlH6hGHmXTamAP54yPVOLCysS8R3HnCKKY6YxFOw80hRur7AXiBlre2e%7EpFH0YIdxFAQ6XEm5P2uAD3cVLRHOA5ECpxwEVGuSd0GNLb7DHh1SN6dlYubHQijCdbNPPQB7-e%7E1MiXIAynAzcGsdD5s%7E956Ag3dM9zeHpzfKU1pqr13-D2C4f3%7E%7EgcFrg3nC-EPS74CXS10Px64fY0Q8q13b50wyt3xqvfesmK-eew6J1g5qyQMru-L0Sp0HUFaI3V5y7BNT-6hAoIIg__&Key-Pair-Id=APKAJLOHF5GGSLRBV4ZA">appear in dreams</a> in their human form.</p>
<h2>5. Sending on the spirit</h2>
<p>The Māori people indigenous to New Zealand set aside time to grieve and mourn. They perform rites for the dead in a process called “<a href="https://researchcommons.waikato.ac.nz/bitstream/handle/10289/7968/Nikora%20et%20al%202010%20Tangihanga%20overview.pdf?sequence=1">tangihanga</a>”. First, rituals send on the spirit, then the body is prepared by an undertaker, often helped by family members. The body returns to the family home for the family to reminisce in celebration. </p>
<p>Elaborate rituals follow, including dances and songs and finally a farewell speech. Traditional artefacts including clothes, weapons and jewellery are displayed. After the funeral, there is a ritual cleansing of the deceased’s house and feasting, before an eventual unveiling of the headstone.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/197299/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Frederick Wilson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>From Bali to China, Italy to India, the way people grieve varies greatly across the world.John Frederick Wilson, Honorary Research Fellow, Director of Bereavement Services Counselling & Mental Health Clinic, York St John UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1912452022-10-24T20:00:49Z2022-10-24T20:00:49ZReflection Room: Exploring pandemic-related grief in long-term care homes<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491450/original/file-20221024-6634-l5un5d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=181%2C502%2C5341%2C3873&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Reflection Rooms are evidence-based, participatory art installations that help people express emotions about death and dying.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span></figcaption></figure><iframe style="width: 100%; height: 100px; border: none; position: relative; z-index: 1;" allowtransparency="" allow="clipboard-read; clipboard-write" src="https://narrations.ad-auris.com/widget/the-conversation-canada/reflection-room--exploring-pandemic-related-grief-in-long-term-care-homes" width="100%" height="400"></iframe>
<p>The COVID-19 pandemic created a tremendous amount of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/26323524221092456">collective loss and grieving</a> that requires care and support. This was as true in residential long-term care (LTC) homes, which continue to experience <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/toronto/seventh-wave-outbreaks-long-term-care-1.6514707">pandemic-related challenges</a>, as in <a href="https://doi.org/10.1186/s12995-022-00352-4">hospitals</a> and among the <a href="https://www.canada.ca/en/public-health/services/reports-publications/health-promotion-chronic-disease-prevention-canada-research-policy-practice/vol-42-no-5-2022/self-rated-mental-health-community-belonging-life-satisfaction-perceived-change-mental-health-adults-covid-19-pandemic-canada.html">general public</a>. </p>
<p>Through the Reflection Room project, our interdisciplinary team of researchers is partnering with LTC homes in Ontario to create physical spaces to pause, reflect, connect and process grief. </p>
<p>Many LTC home communities were <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/17482631.2022.2075532">seriously affected by COVID-19</a>. On top of the stress from <a href="https://data.ontario.ca/en/dataset/long-term-care-home-covid-19-data/resource/4b64488a-0523-4ebb-811a-fac2f07e6d59">COVID-19 infections and deaths</a>, staff have experienced <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ajic.2021.03.006">burnout and low morale</a>, and some homes with <a href="https://www.ontario.ca/page/covid-19-guidance-document-long-term-care-homes-ontario?_ga=2.171566758.786944958.1664389787-699570453.1664389787#section-14">outbreaks</a> must continue to restrict residents’ movements, isolate residents in their rooms and limit activities such as social functions to reduce risk of spread. </p>
<p>Many people within these communities have reflected on the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/17482631.2022.2075532">trauma</a> the pandemic has caused. <a href="https://www.ontario.ca/page/long-term-care-covid-19-commission-progress-interim-recommendations">Ontario’s Long-Term Care COVID-19 Commission Final Report</a> has recommended reforms and counselling services. However, with the immense levels of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/15524256.2021.1881692">grief</a>, and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/00302228221107979">feelings</a> of helplessness, regret and sadness, there is also a need for innovative and timely support for LTC communities. </p>
<h2>Reflection Rooms</h2>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=22%2C0%2C1137%2C1052&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A white card with 'My reflection' printed in red at the top, and a handwritten note reading 'I can't help but wonder...how long until the fatigue catches up to us? I feels like one wave after another.'" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=22%2C0%2C1137%2C1052&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=845&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=845&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=845&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1062&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1062&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/488377/original/file-20221005-16-ym59a3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1062&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A reflection card written by a visitor to a Reflection Room.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(SE Research Centre)</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Reflection Rooms are evidence-based, participatory art installations created in 2016 by the <a href="https://research.sehc.com/">SE Research Centre</a>, led by Paul Holyoke from the Centre and Barry Stephenson from Memorial University of Newfoundland. The goal of the project is to support people in community and health-care settings to talk about dying and death by providing an immersive space for visitors to read stories written by others and write and share their own stories. </p>
<p>A forthcoming research study evaluated the impact of 62 Reflection Room installations across Canada from 2016-20. We found the installations created space for expressing emotions such as love and regret, and making sense of experiences related to dying and death. </p>
<p>This included making meaning of the mystery of mortality, dying and death, and feeling that connections with memories or with what participants called the spirit can continue after physical death. </p>
<h2>Adaptation during the pandemic</h2>
<p>During the pandemic, <a href="https://vimeo.com/644005228?embedded=true&source=vimeo_logo&owner=57540768">the Reflection Room project was adapted</a> to address experiences of loss and grief in LTC homes in Ontario. In this evolution of the project, LTC homes are provided with an easy-to-set-up kit incorporating instructions and materials at no cost. These materials include elements such as reflection cards, a red curtain to display the cards, and candles. The kit ensures each LTC home can adapt the Reflection Room to the space available, creating opportunities for quiet and reflection. Reflection Rooms have been installed in 27 LTC homes across Ontario.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A young woman in scrubs sitting with an older woman, holding her hand." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/491110/original/file-20221021-26-n0u7oa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Reflection Room visitors included long-term care staff, residents and caregivers, all of whom were affected by grief in the context of COVID-19.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Based on 68 surveys completed by Reflection Room visitors — including LTC staff, residents and caregivers — we believe these installations offer an opportunity to work through grief in the context of COVID-19. </p>
<p>Reflection Rooms provide a setting where people can look inward in a helpful way, experience calm and peace, and develop a sense of connection and compassion for others. These elements – finding a calm place, reflecting, writing and allowing emotions to arise — are all part of grief work, according to <a href="https://www.virtualhospice.ca/en_US/Main+Site+Navigation/Home/Topics/Topics/Emotional+Health/Grief+Work.aspx">Canadian Virtual Hospice</a>, which provides support and information about palliative and end-of-life care, loss and grieving.</p>
<p>Most people who completed surveys recommend that other LTC homes have a Reflection Room. Many said the project can support those who are grieving and that it is important because it provides a place of respite and self-reflection, and has the potential to support holistic well-being for individuals and communities. </p>
<p>Some visitors to LTC Reflection Rooms commented: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>“It is a coping mechanism, a place to share grief and see how others are feeling, maybe get a tip on how to cope and move on.” – Caregiver</p>
<p>“Some people can’t ‘talk’ about what’s really on their mind, but find it easier to write about it.” – Resident</p>
<p>“It became a heartwarming and meaningful space.” – LTC home staff</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a href="https://ontario.cmha.ca/documents/loss-and-grief-during-the-covid-19-pandemic/">Experiences of grief</a> can include a range of emotions that come and go unpredictably, including anger, joy, numbness and anguish. Acknowledging and naming grief can be an important step in processing loss in a healthy and transformative way. </p>
<p>In grief and bereavement research, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1017/s1478951513001211">studies have found</a> that storytelling has an affirming, healing effect on the storyteller and on those who hear the stories. The Reflection Room project does this by providing an opportunity to acknowledge grief, feel less alone and externalize grief through storytelling. </p>
<p>The Reflection Room has evolved to respond to societal and personal needs surrounding loss and grief. One constant throughout the project is that Reflection Rooms offer visitors an opportunity to slow down, work on processing their grief and feel a sense of connection and solidarity with others. </p>
<p><em>This article was co-authored by Neeliya Paripooranam, Reflection Room project manager.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/191245/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Celina Carter works for SE Research Centre.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Elizabeth Kalles works for the SE Research Centre, SE Health. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Justine Giosa is the Managing Director of the SE Research Centre, SE Health.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Paul Holyoke is the Executive Director of the SE Research Centre.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Barry Stephenson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Reflection Rooms support people making sense of experiences related to dying and death. They provide an immersive space to read stories written by others and write and share their own stories.Celina Carter, Instructor, University of TorontoBarry Stephenson, Associate Professor, Religious Studies, Memorial University of NewfoundlandElizabeth Kalles, PhD student, School of Public Health Sciences, University of WaterlooJustine Giosa, Adjunct Assistant Professor, School of Public Health Sciences, University of WaterlooPaul Holyoke, Sessional Lecturer, Health Studies program, University College, University of TorontoLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1853522022-07-27T11:59:25Z2022-07-27T11:59:25ZPushing ‘closure’ after trauma can be harmful to people grieving – here’s what you can do instead<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476141/original/file-20220726-37535-e3n2p2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C7%2C5139%2C2400&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">People need time and space to grieve at their own pace.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/rear-view-of-silhouette-woman-looking-through-royalty-free-image/1141652626?adppopup=true">John Encarnado/EyeEm/Getty Immages</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>From the breakup of a relationship to losing a loved one, people are often told to <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1536504211427869">find “closure</a>” after traumatic things happen.</p>
<p>But what is closure? And should it really be the goal for individuals seeking relief or healing, even in these traumatic times of <a href="https://theconversation.com/africa/topics/covid-19-82431">global pandemic</a>, <a href="https://theconversation.com/africa/topics/ukraine-invasion-2022-117045">war in Ukraine</a> and <a href="https://www.texastribune.org/series/uvalde-texas-school-shooting/">mass shootings</a> in the U.S.?</p>
<p>Closure is an elusive concept. There is no agreed-upon definition for what closure means or how one is supposed to find it. Although there are numerous interpretations of closure, it usually relates to some type of ending to a difficult experience. </p>
<p>As a grief expert and author of “<a href="https://tupress.temple.edu/book/0806">Closure: The Rush to End Grief and What It Costs Us</a>,” I have learned that the language of closure can often create confusion and false hope for those experiencing loss. Individuals who are grieving feel more supported when they are allowed time to learn to live with their loss and not pushed to find closure.</p>
<h2>Why did closure become popular?</h2>
<p>Closure is entrenched in popular culture not because it is a well-defined, understood concept that people need, but rather because the idea of closure can be used to sell products, services and even political agendas.</p>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780195183559.001.0001">The funeral industry</a> started using closure as an important selling point after it was <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/115611/the-american-way-of-death-revisited-by-jessica-mitford/">criticized harshly in the 1960s</a> for charging too much for funerals. To justify their high prices, funeral homes began claiming that their services helped with grief too. Closure eventually became a neat package to explain those services.</p>
<p>In the 1990s, <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/40220137">death penalty advocates</a> used the concept of closure to reshape their political discourse. Arguing that the death penalty would bring closure for victims’ family members was an attempt to appeal to a broader audience. However, research continues to show that <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/nation/death-penalty-bring-closure-victims-family">executions do not bring closure</a>. </p>
<p>Still today, journalists, politicians, businesses and other professionals use the rhetoric of closure to appeal to people’s emotions related to trauma and loss.</p>
<h2>So what is the problem with closure?</h2>
<p>It is not the mere presence of closure as a concept that is a problem. The concern comes when people believe closure must be found in order to move forward. </p>
<p>Closure represents a set of expectations for responding after bad things happen. If people believe they need closure in order to heal but cannot find it, they may feel something is wrong with them. Because so many others may tell those grieving they need closure, they often feel a pressure to either end grief or hide it. This pressure can lead to <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/02682621.2014.902610">further isolation</a>.</p>
<p>Privately, many people may resent the idea of closure because they do not want to forget their loved ones or have their grief minimized. I hear this frustration from people I interview. </p>
<p>Closure frequently becomes a one-word description of what individuals are supposed to find at the end of the grieving process. The concept of closure taps into a desire to have things ordered and simple, but <a href="https://youtu.be/w0rCfXSdYPE">experiences with grief and loss</a> are often longer-term and complex. </p>
<h2>If not closure, then what?</h2>
<p>As a <a href="http://www.nancyberns.com">grief researcher and public speaker</a>, I engage with many different groups of people seeking help in their grief journeys or looking for ways to better support others. I’ve listened to hundreds of people who share their experiences with loss. And I learn time and again that people do not need closure to heal. </p>
<p>They can carry grief and joy together. They can carry grief as part of their love for many years. As part of my research, I interviewed a woman I will call Christina. </p>
<p>Just before her 16th birthday, Christina’s mom and four siblings were killed in a car accident. Over 30 years later, Christina said that people continue to expect her to just “be over it” and to find closure. But she does not want to forget her mother and siblings. She is not seeking closure to their deaths. She has a lot of joy in her life, including her children and grandchildren. But her mom and siblings who died are also part of who she is.</p>
<p>Both privately – and as a community – individuals can <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780195074567.001.0001">learn to live with loss</a>. The types of loss and trauma people experience vary greatly. There is not just one way to grieve, and there is no time schedule. Furthermore, the history of any community contains a range of experiences and emotions, which might include <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyg.2018.01441/full">collective trauma</a> from events such as mass shootings, natural disasters or war. The complexity of loss reflects the complexity of relationships and experiences in life.</p>
<p>Rather than expecting yourself and others to find closure, I would suggest creating space to grieve and to remember trauma or loss as needed. Here are a few suggestions to get started:</p>
<p>• Know people can carry complicated emotions together. Embrace a full range of emotions. The goal does not need to be “being happy” all the time for you or others.</p>
<p>• Improve listening skills and know you can help others without trying to fix them. Be present and acknowledge loss through listening. </p>
<p>• Realize that people vary greatly in their <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/02682621.2013.812828">experiences with loss</a> and the way they grieve. Don’t compare people’s grief and loss. </p>
<p>• Bear witness to pain and trauma of others in order to acknowledge their loss. </p>
<p>• Provide individual and community-level <a href="https://theconversation.com/why-remembering-matters-for-healing-94565">opportunities for remembering</a>. Give yourself and others freedom to carry memories.</p>
<p>Healing does not mean rushing to forget and silencing those who hurt. I believe that by providing space and time to grieve, communities and families can honor lives lost, acknowledge trauma and learn what pain people continue to carry.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/185352/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Nancy Berns does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>An expert on grief says give people space and time to come to terms with loss and don’t expect them to need – or want – ‘closure.’Nancy Berns, Professor of Sociology, Drake UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1848372022-06-22T20:03:04Z2022-06-22T20:03:04ZCOVID deaths are now barely mentioned in the media. That changes the very nature of grief<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/468936/original/file-20220615-25-fma87d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=1%2C0%2C997%2C667&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/husband-trying-comfort-his-wife-graveyard-1230613846">Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>About a year ago, many of us were in lockdown. State premiers fronted the media every day to reveal how many people had tested positive for COVID and how many people had died.</p>
<p>The number of deaths were prominent in news bulletins. We would lament the sadness of it all, until the next day’s data arrived.</p>
<p>A year later, Australia has an average of about 50 COVID deaths a day. We have had <a href="https://ourworldindata.org/covid-deaths?country=%7EAUS">more than 9,300 COVID deaths</a> since the pandemic began. Yet, these deaths are barely mentioned in the Australian media.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1539508854509084672"}"></div></p>
<p>We seem to have lost the collective opportunity to acknowledge lives lost. And when we don’t talk about these traumatic deaths, there’s a long-term impact on those left behind.</p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/covid-has-changed-how-we-live-how-we-die-and-how-we-grieve-177731">COVID has changed how we live, how we die, and how we grieve</a>
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</em>
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<h2>Is traumatic loss different?</h2>
<p>All grief is hard to cope with. But when grief is combined with the type of trauma we’d see with a violent or sudden death, we can see something different over the long term.</p>
<p>If the media doesn’t discuss the losses, this can <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2021.638874/full">complicate the traumatic grief</a> and lead to something called <a href="https://icd.who.int/browse11/l-m/en#/http://id.who.int/icd/entity/1183832314">prolonged grief disorder</a>.</p>
<p>This type of grief can extend far beyond the first year after the loss. People yearn for their life before their loved one was taken away. This impacts their capacity to keep moving forward, long after the death occurs.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/health-care-workers-share-our-trauma-during-the-coronavirus-pandemic-on-top-of-their-own-137887">Health-care workers share our trauma during the coronavirus pandemic – on top of their own</a>
</strong>
</em>
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<h2>How does this apply to COVID?</h2>
<p>People who have lost a loved one to COVID can feel <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2021.638874/full">lonely and isolated</a>. They can <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/32360895/">also develop</a> prolonged grief disorder.</p>
<p>It can be traumatic to say goodbye under hospital restrictions or losing the opportunity for grief rituals – viewings, funerals and sharing the loss with others – despite many others going through a similar loss.</p>
<p>People who develop prolonged grief disorder after losing a loved one to COVID may find they have <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7194880/">more severe</a> and prolonged grief responses. This can lead to adverse outcomes such as an increased pre-occupation with their grief, intense emotions and difficulty connecting with their life after the loss. </p>
<p>But if we look to Australian media, it appears the community is no longer focused on the faces of those lives lost.</p>
<h2>What has the media got to do with it?</h2>
<p>Media coverage has long been <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11089-009-0227-5">intertwined</a> with how we grieve. </p>
<p>When the media publicises first-person accounts of people’s lives, images or faces of people who died, or continually updates the toll of lives lost, this has an impact on those left behind, especially if there was a sudden and traumatic death.</p>
<p>This type of media coverage allows viewers to collectively empathise with people left behind, placing stories against the abstract statistics of death. The community can share in that sorrow vicariously and the media exposure increases the community’s understanding of what that loss means.</p>
<p>We’ve seen examples of this on social media, for instance with the <a href="https://twitter.com/FacesOfCOVID">@FacesOfCOVID</a> Twitter account, which pays tribute to five or six people a day who have died of COVID.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1525458966402191360"}"></div></p>
<p>However, we haven’t seen the equivalent tributes, on a daily basis, in the mainstream media.</p>
<p>If we don’t pay tribute to lives lost, this can affect people left behind in many ways:</p>
<ul>
<li><p>fewer shared images, names or acknowledgments limits how many people hear about someone who’s died, so fewer can express their grief</p></li>
<li><p>families lose the chance to say to others “this is the person I have lost” to show people their pain </p></li>
<li><p>people who have also lost someone don’t get to see others bearing the same pain.</p></li>
</ul>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-five-stages-of-grief-dont-come-in-fixed-steps-everyone-feels-differently-96111">The five stages of grief don't come in fixed steps – everyone feels differently</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Each traumatic loss affects many others</h2>
<p>More people are impacted by a sudden or traumatic loss, such as a homicide or suicide, than we once thought. One study suggests as many as <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/sltb.12450">135 people</a> are significantly affected. For each COVID death, another study shows <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/32651279/">up to nine people</a> are impacted.</p>
<p>Irrespective of whether there are nine or 135 people feeling the ripple effects, the number of deaths we have experienced in Australia tells us thousands are living with the grief of a traumatic COVID death.</p>
<p>This grief will shape people’s experiences of the world, dulling possibilities for joy, making it difficult to accept the finality of a loss. This will be exacerbated by how little we focused on those losses as a community. </p>
<p>A lack of media coverage of COVID deaths means we have also lost moments of shared empathy – a space for others to see people who are travelling the same path.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/184837/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sarah Wayland does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>We have also lost moments of shared empathy – a space for others to see people who are travelling the same path.Sarah Wayland, Senior Lecturer Social Work, University of New EnglandLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1753022022-01-26T13:26:10Z2022-01-26T13:26:10ZThe pandemic changed death rituals and left grieving families without a sense of closure<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/442607/original/file-20220125-23-1pkbnuj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=25%2C51%2C5656%2C3699&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A family takes part in shiva, a traditional Jewish time of mourning, on Zoom.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/family-takes-part-in-shiva-a-traditional-jewish-time-of-news-photo/1218299644?adppopup=true">Andrew Lichtenstein/Corbis via Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>The unexpected death of a friend and colleague to COVID-19 in January 2021 led me to start researching how American death rituals were transforming during the pandemic. My friend was Hindu, and while watching his funeral on Zoom, I witnessed the significant transformations that had to be made to the traditional rituals to accommodate COVID-19 safety guidelines.</p>
<p>In the spring and summer of 2021, I conducted over 70 hours of oral history interviews with people involved in the medical and funerary professions, as well as grieving families and those who worked closely with them, including grief counselors, hospice workers and even spirit mediums.</p>
<p>As a <a href="https://faculty.txstate.edu/profile/1922200">historian of religion</a> interested in how different cultures make sense of death, I noticed what appeared to be a momentous cultural shift happening in America in terms of death rituals as over <a href="https://covid.cdc.gov/covid-data-tracker/#trends_totaldeaths">850,000 Americans died from COVID-19</a>. During this period, funerary customs dramatically shifted and, in many cases, failed to bring any comfort to grieving friends and families.</p>
<h2>What changed in funerary rituals</h2>
<p>In my conversations, funerary professionals described the initial chaos as funeral size had to be dramatically curtailed, sometimes with only one to two hours’ notice. Eventually, many began to innovate with new technologies that allowed them to hold virtual funerals. </p>
<p>Richard Davis of the Cook-Walden Funeral Home in Pflugerville, Texas, described how early in the pandemic he utilized radio technology for grieving families who could be in their cars in the parking lot, tune the radio to a specific station and listen to the person giving the eulogy inside the funeral home.</p>
<p>Some funerary directors partnered with wedding videographers whose business was suddenly upended because most weddings were canceled or delayed. These videographers found that the high-quality equipment used to produce wedding videos could as easily be put to use broadcasting a Zoom funeral. </p>
<p>I also spoke with three spirit mediums who all described a marked increase in clients seeking postlife words from loved ones who died on ventilators. They described how anguished families sought to know that their loved one had not died alone and did not blame them for their death. One medium in particular also noted that the pandemic saw an increase in family members seeking to connect with those who had <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/17/health/drug-overdoses-fentanyl-deaths.html">died of drug overdoses</a> brought on by the stress of the pandemic.</p>
<p>The end-of-life work of religious leaders was transformed as well: Catholic and Episcopal last rites were performed via FaceTime, sometimes with consecrated oil being <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/06/06/us/coronavirus-priests-last-rites.html">carefully administered by a Q-tip</a>.</p>
<p>The Jewish tradition of sitting with a body before burial – usually performed by volunteers in shifts at the funeral home – became an at-home experience. Although the volunteers, called <a href="https://nyupress.org/9781479800803/dust-to-dust/">shomer or shomeret in Hebrew</a>, could not sit next to the body as usual, they worked on the honor system to ensure that someone was always praying and keeping the deceased in their thoughts, even while far away.</p>
<p>Muslim leaders described working with local health agencies to obtain Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) and specialized training for those performing the full-body washing of a corpse known as <a href="http://cup.columbia.edu/book/muhammads-grave/9780231137423">ghusl in Arabic</a>. </p>
<h2>Virtual commemorations</h2>
<p>These adaptations reflect a long history of transformations for the American funeral. </p>
<p>In the 17th and 18th centuries, most Americans generally prepared the body themselves and hosted the funeral at home. However, by the <a href="https://oxford.universitypressscholarship.com/view/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780195183559.001.0001/acprof-9780195183559">19th century</a>, more Americans were dying in hospitals as a result of the availability of medical care and because the <a href="https://dc.cod.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1657&context=essai">corpse was believed to be carrying disease</a>. This spurred the development of the funeral home. Individual funeral homes often personalize their offerings to the needs of local cultural or religious communities. </p>
<p>Funeral homes became most popular after embalming – a form of preservation performed by mortuary specialists – became the norm after the Civil War. The war spurred a crisis to preserve soldiers’ bodies <a href="https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300078688/sacred-remains">while they made the long trip home</a>, and embalmers would sometimes follow the military troops to accept payment in advance for the procedure.</p>
<p>Today, the funeral industry has grown to a whopping <a href="https://www.us-funerals.com/the-us-funeral-industry-today/#:%7E:text=How%20much%20is%20the%20U.S.,funerals%20taking%20place%20each%20year">US$20 billion</a>, and embalming remains the predominant treatment for the body after death.</p>
<p>With the rise of the internet, funerals are once more undergoing rapid transformations. Scholar of death and dying <a href="https://www.baylor.edu/bic/index.php?id=961354">Candi Cann</a> has shown how the internet gives rise to new forms of social remembrance after <a href="https://www.universitypressscholarship.com/view/10.5810/kentucky/9780813145419.001.0001/upso-9780813145419">death</a>. These can include mourners going to Facebook or Instagram pages on the anniversary of the death and leaving a message about how much they miss the deceased. Online marketplaces allow for the purchase of individualized mourning <a href="https://decaljunky.com/in-loving-memory-decals/">paraphernalia</a> like T-shirts or bumper stickers, and public memorials at the site of <a href="http://ghostbikes.org/">death</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Photographs of people stacked one behind another in a park." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/442604/original/file-20220125-17-j5bt26.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">People tried to memorialize their loved one in different ways. Images of COVID-19 victims from Detroit are displayed in a drive-by memorial at Belle Isle State Park.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/images-of-covid-19-victims-from-detroit-are-displayed-in-a-news-photo/1270504868?utm_medium=organic&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=iptcurl">Aaron J. Thornton/Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Such tools thrived during the pandemic. During my research, several individuals who lost loved ones explained creating memorial items, including stickers and face masks commemorating a lost loved one, as a way to encourage others to wear masks. Virtual online communities of COVID-19 mourners adopted the <a href="https://www.yellowheartmemorial.com/">yellow heart</a> as a public expression of loss of a loved one to the pandemic in the U.S. and Europe.</p>
<h2>Unprocessed grief</h2>
<p>Funerals and other rituals surrounding death are important to begin the grieving process. Research has found that performing rituals has a major role in <a href="https://doi.org/10.1037/a0031772">alleviating grief</a> through increasing feelings of control and transitioning mourners to accepting their loss. Funerals can provide <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0030222820941296">important structures for families to say goodbye</a> that have been correlated with better grief outcomes. </p>
<p><a href="https://rsn.aarweb.org/articles/memoriam-jonathan-z-smith-1938%E2%80%932017">J.Z. Smith</a>, one of the most influential theorists of religion in recent years, said that “ritual relies for its power on the fact that it is concerned with quite <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/T/bo5951548.html">ordinary activities placed within an extraordinary setting</a>.” In other words, ritual takes elements from the ordinary world – words, gestures, symbols, etc. – and imbues them with extraordinary meaning. </p>
<p>We might cry or wear black clothing every day for any number of reasons, but in funeral rituals these activities have special significance and bring a sense of closure. It is this repurposing of ordinary things that makes rituals so effective. </p>
<p>Psychological studies too have shown that the greater the difference between what happens in the ritual and “normal” life, the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cognition.2012.03.004">more effective it is for individuals</a>. </p>
<p>But in my conversations with those who lost loved ones to COVID-19, it became apparent that for many, the transformations in funerals and rituals of mourning failed to help them in dealing with their grief. As one individual explained to me, “I knew my grandmother would pass away sometime, but I always imagined I would be there; I never imagined I would be watching it virtually on Facebook. It felt like a parody of a funeral.”</p>
<p>Another interviewee explained how the isolation necessary in the pandemic era fundamentally undermined the comfort these rituals could provide: “Because my family has been so terrified of COVID, we have not been able to gather together to process my mother’s death. That has been really hard for me culturally – especially in Indigenous families, you grieve together.” </p>
<p>Reverend Richard R. Andre, C.S.P. of St. Austin Catholic Parish in Austin, Texas, echoed these thoughts as he described assisting those losing loved ones in his own spiritual community: “The funeral helps you to start a process of closure. But without the funerals they envisioned, people are just getting stuck and are unable to grieve.” </p>
<p>The COVID-19 pandemic has forced us to consider how rituals can lose their extraordinary power when our sense of “normal” is shattered and remains shattered for years. As religion theorist J.Z. Smith noted, <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/T/bo5951548.html">rituals work by framing the ordinary as extraordinary</a>. But if nothing feels normal, then nothing can feel extraordinary either.</p>
<p>[<em>The most interesting religion stories from three major news organizations.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/this-week-in-religion-76/?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=religion-best-of-1">Get This Week in Religion.</a>]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/175302/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Natasha Mikles does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>A scholar conducted over 70 hours of interviews with people involved in the medical and funerary professions to understand the impact of changes in death rituals during the pandemic.Natasha Mikles, Assistant Professor in Philosophy and Religious Studies, Texas State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1738062021-12-15T13:20:46Z2021-12-15T13:20:46ZHow to understand your grief through writing<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/437749/original/file-20211215-17-d67g5j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/female-hands-pen-writing-on-notebook-275161592">Ivan Kruk/Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>“Bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love”, CS Lewis wrote in A Grief Observed (1966) and no time of year offers a greater sense of this than Christmas, with its traditions and jollity and its focus on family and friends. Losing a family member at such a time can bring with it an added level of grief. From then on, Christmas is coloured with their loss. </p>
<p>This makes subsequent Christmases particularly fraught. Walking into a brightly lit and decorated shop, with Christmas carols on a loop, can be an emotional minefield; a cruel reminder of a joy from which you now feel excluded.</p>
<p>When my father was dying in hospital at Christmas a few decades ago, I was struck by how kindly the staff had decorated his ward. There was a tree and most of the beds were decked with tinsel. Staff wore Santa hats and offered visitors mince pies and Christmas cake. Despite their efforts, it was very bleak. Never had Christmas jollity seemed so hollow.</p>
<p>As a writer I also found myself gathering these contradictory moments of joy and sorrow for future reference. It seemed a logical approach. Managing the awful realisation that my father had only days left, meant also observing everything closely – the way the tinsel moved with the ward’s heating, the presents we opened with my father even though he was unconscious and unable to enjoy them. </p>
<p>This sense of letting someone go while the rest of the world was partying was both horrible and, yet, creative. I decided that this scene would at some point find its way into a future novel or story. Managing grief in this creative way is not unusual and is healthy, according to the <a href="https://www.health.harvard.edu/mind-and-mood/writing-to-ease-grief#:%7E:text=Some%20research%20suggests%20that%20disclosing,rate%2C%20and%20increase%20muscle%20tension.">Harvard Medical School</a> who suggest that “disclosing deep emotions through writing can boost immune function as well as mood and wellbeing”. </p>
<p>I also think that we write to understand and to convey that understanding to our readers. “It is when faced with death that we turn most bookish”, French author <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-surprisingly-happy-journals-of-jules-renard">Jules Renard</a> wrote in 1925, and not much has changed since then – well, certainly not for me anyway. But people, like me, who love reading search for meaning in books and we also seek to understand our own emotional journey through grief by writing about it.</p>
<h2>Writing grief</h2>
<p>But writing your grief requires a specific kind of skill. </p>
<p>When writing from raw emotion it’s best not to self-censor or over fret about the work’s quality; not initially anyway. Getting your emotions down on the page is a good way to assuage your grief because it requires courage and honesty to pay homage to a lost loved one and also to your personal loss. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Joan Didion in her living room with her husband and daughter." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/437752/original/file-20211215-21-danyey.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Joan Didion wrote about the grief of losing her husband in The Year of Magical Thinking and then her daughter in Blue Nights.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://media.netflix.com/en/only-on-netflix/80117454/assets/eyJpZCI6ImYzbWg2bDZocCIsIm5hbWUiOiI3MDA2X01fSldfSm9hbi1RdWludGFuYS1Kb2huLTEuSlBHIn0=">Netflix</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The writer Joan Didion fearlessly chronicled her grief at the loss of her family in books like <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/feb/08/100-best-nonfiction-books-2-the-year-of-magical-thinking-joan-didion-robert-mccrum">The Year of Magical Thinking</a> and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/nov/11/blue-nights-joan-didion-review">Blue Nights</a>, though not everyone is comfortable reading them. The Australian reviewer, Andrew Reimer, <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/woman-of-constant-sorrow-20111124-1nvis.html">wrote</a> of how he felt like “an intruder into a very private sorrow” after reading Didion’s Blue Night.</p>
<p>Reading or writing about grief is not for the faint-hearted. Like all writing, it’s best not to edit too early. Let the work rest and come back to it when ready. Save that first raw draft and create a new version when you feel you’ve moved on to another, more objective stage. </p>
<p>Edit it slowly, allowing the meaning to rise while removing anything that no longer feels right. Use photo prompts to inspire reflection and memorialising. Think too of those small details – a swathe of tinsel moving in time with a respirator or a carol on an audio loop.</p>
<h2>The right time</h2>
<p>A decade after my father’s death, each Christmas afterwards transformed into something joyous but melancholy, rich with family and friends but also the absence of him. At that point, I wrote the poem below. The time seemed right:</p>
<p><strong>A birth, a death</strong></p>
<blockquote>
<p>We remember you when the Christmas lights are hung,<br>
bright globules of optimism against the early dark,<br>
and shop windows fill with reindeers, elves, beribboned boxes.<br>
Your hospital celebrated Christmas too,<br>
the coloured lights strung between ward stations,<br>
drips and defibrillators.<br>
The nurses made a good show of it,<br>
though you were too far gone for presents<br>
so we opened yours for you. </p>
<p>We celebrate a new life<br>
while remembering the end of yours,<br>
tinsel bright, star light.
When Christmas is over<br>
you linger, of course,<br>
into the new year, then Easter, mid-summer,<br>
and in the falling of the leaves,<br>
as you must,<br>
whatever the season.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The creative writing academic, Brooke Davis, <a href="https://www.aawp.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Davis.pdf">wrote</a>: “Grief is not neat like a narrative arc. It does not end; it is not ‘resolved’. It does not follow a checklist of emotions from beginning to end. It is not one thing, or the other thing; it is lots of things.”</p>
<p>That seems the way to approach both the emotion and the art that comes from it. </p>
<p>It’s a season of storytelling and memories. Whatever we do at Christmas, we share it with the living and the dead. Grief and happiness are perfect creative partners in bringing us back together.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/173806/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Catherine Cole does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Writing can help work through some of the emotions and boost wellbeing.Catherine Cole, Professor in Creative Writing, Associate Dean, Research and University Governor, Liverpool John Moores UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1735992021-12-14T14:29:33Z2021-12-14T14:29:33ZLoss and grief in the COVID pandemic: more than counting losses and moving on<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/436952/original/file-20211210-149721-1ppkg10.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Children, close relatives, friends at the funeral service of Johannesburg mayor Geoffrey Makhubo in July 14, 2021.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sharon Seretlo/Gallo Images via Getty images</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Over the past two years, the world’s news channels started to include COVID-19 statistics almost like the daily weather bulletin. Words like “daily rise in COVID-19 infections and COVID-19 related deaths” continuously run as subtitles on television screens. When a new variant of the virus is detected, scientists will be interviewed, new travel restrictions or pandemic regulations will be announced, and the world will just carry on. </p>
<p>It’s as if people have become desensitised.</p>
<p>At the time of writing this article, the World Health Organisation’s dashboard reported the following <a href="https://covid19.who.int/">global statistics</a>: 265,713,467 confirmed cases and 5,260,888 deaths. Suppose a family has four members. If one member gets infected with COVID-19, behind the 265,713,467 confirmed cases there are triple that number of people affected in one way or another. If one member of a family dies, behind the 5,260,888 deaths there are potentially more than 15 million people mourning. In fact, a recent <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2021.638874/full">study</a> estimated that on average, each COVID-19 death leaves nine bereaved family members.</p>
<p>But behind the statistics are real people with real life stories of illness, death, disruption, sorrow and even despair. These complex narratives cannot be calculated in numbers or presented as statistics. </p>
<p>The pandemic has introduced potential complications into the normal processes of mourning, which could make it more difficult for people to recover from their losses. This should be acknowledged and people should have psychosocial and mental health support just as much as medical support.</p>
<h2>Normal processes and complications</h2>
<p>Death is a normal part of the life cycle but is feared and dreaded by most people. The COVID-19 pandemic increased awareness of human mortality and left people vulnerable. COVID-19 related deaths tend to come unexpectedly and are often preceded by intense, traumatic, and isolated hospitalisation. </p>
<p>To mourn a loss is to outwardly express feelings of sorrow and to adapt to life after the loss. It is considered one of the most difficult human experiences and is a process which usually takes between 12 and 18 months. </p>
<p>Every person’s bereavement process is unique, but complications in normal grief responses pose risks for the <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/31535165/">development</a> of additional suffering. This can be in the form of <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/34690579/">prolonged grief disorder</a>, <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/23724578">complicated grief</a>, <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02682629908657467">disenfranchised grief</a> and Takosubo cardiomyopathy or <a href="https://emedicine.medscape.com/article/1513631-overview">Broken Heart Syndrome</a>. </p>
<p>Complications in death-related losses during the COVID-19 pandemic could have <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2021.638874/full">lasting effects</a> which may potentially turn into a variety of mental health issues. </p>
<p>Normal bereavement processes are being affected by COVID-19 restrictions – the number of people at funerals, memorial services and religious gatherings; visits to people in hospital; quarantine or isolation regulations; social distancing; and neglect of cultural and spiritual rituals. End-of-life care and burial practices have sometimes been impossible to follow.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2021.638874/full">Funeral rituals</a> have therapeutic purposes in the bereavement process: </p>
<ul>
<li><p>assisting family members and friends to recognise and confront the reality of the loss </p></li>
<li><p>offering the opportunity for introspection on death as a process integrated into life </p></li>
<li><p>fostering awareness and assimilation of the grief process. </p></li>
</ul>
<p>In pandemic times many bereaved families can’t get social or community support and participation in the usual culturally acceptable rituals.</p>
<p>Isolation and social distancing have <a href="https://www.discovery.co.za/corporate/reversing-impact-of-the-pandemic-on-mental-health">various physical, mental and social consequences</a> which may complicate grief. </p>
<p>Being overwhelmed with daily news and statistics about COVID-19 may also contribute towards two community responses: </p>
<ul>
<li><p>further isolation out of fear of contracting the disease </p></li>
<li><p>becoming desensitised to the realities of the pandemic. </p></li>
</ul>
<p>As a result, bereaved people may end up in disenfranchised grief, first <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02682629908657467">described</a> by Dr Kenneth Doka, emeritus professor in psychology, well-known author on death, dying, grief and bereavement, and currently senior vice-president for grief programmes at the Hospice Foundation of America. This is:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>the grief experienced by those who incur a loss that is not, or cannot be, openly acknowledged, publicly mourned or socially supported. </p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Supporting bereaved families and communities</h2>
<p>Complexities in death, loss, grief and bereavement in pandemic times should be acknowledged and supported. </p>
<p>The world is currently one big, bereaved community, yet continues to neglect the stories of pain, loss, sorrow, and grief caused by COVID-19 deaths. </p>
<p>It is time for society to recognise the losses suffered, reach out to those whose grief is not acknowledged and offer supportive responses and rituals.</p>
<p>The following responses might be helpful:</p>
<ul>
<li><p>Symbolic gestures of unity, such as lighting up landmarks for a period of time, especially during important cultural or religious periods. The <a href="https://news.nwu.ac.za/purple-signifies-excellence-remembrance-and-above-all-hope">North-West University</a> in South Africa, where I work, has such an initiative: the main gates of all the campuses are lit in purple for the month of December as a symbol of unity, care and hope.</p></li>
<li><p>Faith communities and social service agencies can invest in dedicated support groups for bereaved individuals and families.</p></li>
<li><p>Medical practitioners, professional nurses and allied health professionals should be aware of the complexities of grief so they can offer suitable health education and refer patients for psychosocial care if it’s needed.</p></li>
<li><p>Employers can revisit policies on compassionate leave following the death of a direct family member. Given the complexities of burials and funerals under pandemic restrictions and the possibility of losing more than one family member to COVID-19, the usual amount of leave may be insufficient.</p></li>
<li><p>Employee wellness programmes can incorporate psychosocial education on loss, grief and bereavement. Opportunities to acknowledge grief and talk about it can greatly contribute towards emotional healing.</p></li>
<li><p>The media can sensitively share stories of sorrow, pain and loss, as well as hope, healing and recovery.</p></li>
</ul><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/173599/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alida G Herbst receives funding from National Research Foundation of South Africa as C-3 rated researcher. She is a professor of social work and director of the School of Psychosocial Health at the North-West University and senior researcher in the Community Psychosocial Research entity.</span></em></p>Behind the statistics are real people with real life stories of illness, death, disruption, sorrow and even despair.Alida G Herbst, Director: School of Psychosocial Health, North-West UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1577312021-09-08T06:58:25Z2021-09-08T06:58:25ZLoneliness, loss and regret: what getting old really feels like – new study<p>Paula* had not been living in her retirement apartment for very long when I arrived for our interview. She welcomed me into a modern, comfortable home. We sat in the living room, taking in the impressive view from her balcony and our conversation unfolded.</p>
<p>Paula, 72, told me how four years ago she’d lost her husband. She had been his carer for over ten years, as he slowly declined from a degenerative condition. </p>
<p>She was his nurse, driver, carer, cook and “bottle-washer”. Paula said she got used to people always asking after her husband and forgetting about her. She told me: “You are almost invisible … you kind of go in the shadows as the carer.”</p>
<p>While she had obviously been finding life challenging, it was also abundantly clear that she loved her husband dearly and had struggled profoundly to cope with his death. I asked Paula how long it took for her to find her bearings, and she replied:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Nearly four years. And I suddenly woke up one day and thought, you idiot, you are letting your life fade away, you have got to do something.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There were photographs of Paula’s late husband on the wall behind her. I noticed a picture of him before his illness took hold. They seemed to be at some sort of party, or wedding, holding glasses of champagne. He had his arm around her. They looked happy. There was a picture of her husband in a wheelchair too. In this picture they both looked older. But still happy.</p>
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<p><strong><em>This story is part of Conversation Insights</em></strong>
<br><em>The Insights team generates <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/insights-series-71218">long-form journalism</a> and is working with academics from different backgrounds who have been engaged in projects to tackle societal and scientific challenges.</em> </p>
<hr>
<p>Losing her husband had left Paula with an irreplaceable void in her life that she was still working out how to fill. In our interview, I glimpsed the extent of the deep, unavoidable sense of loneliness that losing a spouse can create for the bereaved partner – a painful theme our team would revisit many times in our interviews with older people.</p>
<h2>The Loneliness Project</h2>
<p>The pandemic brought the longstanding issue of loneliness and isolation in the lives of older people back into the public consciousness. When COVID-19 hit, we had only just completed the 80 in-depth interviews which formed the dataset for what we called <a href="https://www.bath.ac.uk/projects/exploring-emotional-loneliness-in-older-people-living-in-retirement-communities/">The Loneliness Project</a> – a large-scale, in-depth exploration of how older people experience loneliness and what it means for them.</p>
<p>I (Sam) am a psychologist with a particular interest in exploring human relationships across the lifespan. Chao, meanwhile, is a research associate based in the Centre for Death and Society at the University of Bath. His research focuses on bereavement experiences and exploring emotional loneliness of people living in retirement communities. For the last two years, we’ve been working on the Loneliness Project with a small research team.</p>
<p>Above all, the project sought to listen to older people’s experiences. We were privileged to hear many people, like Paula, talk to us about their lives, and how growing old and ageing creates unique challenges in relation to loneliness and isolation.</p>
<p>The research – now published in <a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/ageing-and-society/article/abs/gradual-separation-from-the-world-a-qualitative-exploration-of-existential-loneliness-in-old-age/5567288AD35DFB878F3F756FF233FB1C">Ageing and Society</a> – generated over 130 hours of conversations and we started to make sense of what our participants told us with an <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwtJAmoHpsQ">animated</a> film.</p>
<p>We found that ageing brings about a series of inevitable losses that deeply challenge people’s sense of connection to the world around them. Loneliness can often be oversimplified or reduced to how many friends a person has or how often they see their loved ones.</p>
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<p>But a particular focus for us was to better understand what underpins feelings of loneliness in older people on a deeper level. Researchers have used the term <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0969733017748480?journalCode=neja">“existential loneliness”</a> to describe this deeper sense of feeling “separated from the world” – as though there is an insurmountable gap between oneself and the rest of society. Our objective was to listen carefully to how people experienced and responded to this. </p>
<p>The older people in our study helped us to better understand how they felt growing old had affected their sense of connecting to the world – and there were some core themes.</p>
<h2>Loss</h2>
<p>For many, ageing brought about an inevitable accumulation of losses. Put simply, some of the people we spoke to had lost things that had previously been a major part of feeling connected to something bigger than themselves. </p>
<p>Loss of a spouse or long-term partner (over half of our sample had lost their long-term spouse) was particularly palpable and underlined the deep-rooted sense of loneliness associated with losing someone irreplaceable. Reflecting on the loss of her husband, Paula said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>When he was gone, I didn’t know where I fitted anymore. I didn’t know who I was anymore because I wasn’t [upset] … You just existed. Went shopping, when you needed food. I didn’t want to see people. I didn’t go anywhere.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There was evidence of how painful this irreplaceable void was for people. Douglas, 86, lost his wife five years before speaking to us. He tried his best to articulate the sense of hopelessness, despair – and sheer loss of meaning – it had created for him. He said it hadn’t stopped being difficult, despite the passing of time, adding: “They say it gets better. It never gets better.”</p>
<p>Douglas explained how he never stops thinking about his wife. “It’s hard for people to understand a lot of the time,” he said.</p>
<p>People also talked about how learning to live in the world again felt alien, terrifying and, frequently, impossible. For Amy, 76, relearning how to do the “little things in life” was a lonely and challenging experience.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It took me a long time … just to go down for breakfast on my own … I’d have to bring a paper or a book to sit with. And never ever, I would never, ever go and have a cup of coffee on my own in a coffee shop. So, I literally ‘learnt’ to do that. And that was a biggy, just going to a coffee shop and having a coffee.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Amy said going into busy places on her own was hard because she thought everyone was looking at her. “I would always do it with Tony, my husband, whatever … But to do it on your own, a biggy. It’s stupid, I know, but anyway, hey ho.”</p>
<p>For Peter, 83, the loss of his wife had created a painful void around feelings of touch and physical intimacy that had always made him feel less alone.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I suppose all my life sex has been lovemaking. I mean, we are really getting personal now, but when my wife died, I missed that so, so much. It’s much more enjoyable in old age, you know, because, I mean, if I said it to you you’d think oh good grief, that horrible old body and all the spots and bumps and cuts and wounds and … takes off a wooden leg and … takes out the eye. Sorry [laughs] … But it’s not anything like that because you know you are in the same boat … you get round it, some peculiar way, you accept it all.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Another man, Philip, 73, also described the pain in this loss of intimacy. He said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>At my wife’s funeral, I said the one thing I will miss most is a kiss goodnight. And blow me, afterwards, one of our friends came round, and she said, ‘well, we can send each other kisses if you like but by text every night’, and would you believe, we still are, we still do.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>With the very old people we talked with, there was a sense that loss of close and meaningful connections was cumulative. Alice, 93, had lost her first husband, her subsequent partner, her siblings, her friends and, most recently, her only son. With a sense of sadness and weariness, she explained:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>You know, underneath it all I wouldn’t mind leaving this world. Everyone has died and I think I’m lonely.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a href="https://bmcgeriatr.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12877-017-0533-1">Researchers</a> at Malmö University, Sweden, have described an acute sense of existential loneliness in very old age, that is partly a reflection of an accumulated loss of close connections.</p>
<p>The study found that the result can be understood as if the older person “is in a process of letting go of life. This process involves the body, in that the older person is increasingly limited in his or her physical abilities. The older person’s long term relationships are gradually lost and finally the process results in the older person increasingly withdrawing into him or herself and turning off the outside world”.</p>
<h2>‘A stiff upper lip’</h2>
<p><a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0969733017748480">Studies of loneliness</a> have highlighted how an inability to communicate can bring about a feeling that “the soul is incarcerated in an insufferable prison”. </p>
<p>This was reflected in our study too. Many of our participants said they had trouble communicating because they simply didn’t have the tools required to convey such complicated emotions and deeper feelings. This led us to contemplate why some older people might not have developed such essential emotional tools.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/272546489_Behind_the_Stiff_Upper_Lip_War_Narratives_of_Older_Men_with_Dementia">Research has suggested</a> that older people born in the first half of the 20th century were unwittingly indoctrinated into the concept of the “stiff upper lip”. Through most of their lives – including wartime, peacetime employment, conscription to military service, and family life – there was a requirement to maintain high levels of cognitive control and low levels of emotional expression.</p>
<p>Some of our participants seemed to be implicitly aware of this phenomenon and how it had shaped their generation. Polly, 73, explained it succinctly for us:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>If you don’t think about it, if you don’t give it words, then you don’t have to feel the pain … How long is it since men cried in public? Never cry. Big boys don’t cry. That is certainly what was said when I was growing up. Different generation.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>People said that wartime childhoods had “hardened them”, led to them suppressing deeper feelings and feeling the need to maintain a sense of composure and control. </p>
<p>For example, Margaret, 86, was a “latchkey child” during the war. Her parents went out at 7am and she had to get up and make her own breakfast at the age of nine. She then had to catch a tram and a bus to get to school and when she got back at night her parents would still be out, working late.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>So I used to light the fire, get the dinner ready. But when you are a child, you don’t think about it, you just do it. I mean, no way did I count myself as a neglected child, it was just the way it was in the war, you just had to do it …“</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Margaret said it was "just an attitude”. She went to 11 schools, travelled around the country because of the war and had nothing really to do with other people. She added: “I think it makes you a little bit hard … I think sometimes I am a hard person because of it.”</p>
<p>As interviewers who have grown up in a culture that is perhaps more permissive of emotional expression than had been the case for many of the people we interviewed, it was sometimes difficult for us to witness how deep-rooted people’s inability to express their suffering could be. </p>
<p>Douglas was clearly struggling deeply after the death of his wife. But he lacked the tools and relationships to help him work through it. He said he had nobody who was close to him who he could confide in. “People never confided in my family. It was different growing up then,” he added.</p>
<h2>Heavy burdens</h2>
<p>The burden of loneliness for older people is intimately connected to what they are alone with. As we reach the end of our lives, we frequently carry heavy burdens that have accumulated along the way, such as feelings of regret, betrayal and rejection. And the wounds from past relationships can haunt people all their lives.</p>
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<p>Gerontologist professor, Malcolm Johnson, has used the term “<a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/spiritual-dimensions-of-ageing/spirituality-biographical-review-and-biographical-pain-at-the-end-of-life-in-old-age/0DFE8F5EC211BCFF0EEA7BFFB8307B4C">biographical pain</a>” to describe psychological and spiritual suffering in the old and frail that involves profoundly painful recollection and reliving of experienced wrongs, self-promises and regretted actions.</p>
<p>He has written that: “Living to be old is still considered to be a great benefit. But dying slowly and painfully, with too much time to reflect and with little or no prospect of redressing harms, deficits, deceits, and emotional pain, has few redeeming features.”</p>
<p>Many of those we spoke to told us how hard it was to be left alone with unresolved pain. For example Georgina, 83, said she learned in early childhood that she was “a bad person … stupid, ugly”. She remembered her brother, as an older man, dying in hospital, “connected to all these machines”. However, she could neither forgive nor forget the abuse he had inflicted upon her during childhood. “My faith told me to forgive him but, ultimately, he scratched me in my soul as a kid,” she added.</p>
<p>People carried memories and wounds from the past that they wanted to talk about, to make sense of and to share. Susan, 83, and Bob, 76, talked about painful and difficult memories from their early family lives. </p>
<p>Susan spoke about how she had a nervous breakdown when her family “disowned” her after she fell pregnant at the age of 17. She said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I come from this secret family. We all had to present as expected. If you didn’t, you were out, and that was the bottom line. I look back on my life and I wonder that I survived.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>While Bob remembered a life of violence at the hands of his father. “I copped so many hidings from him. Then one night … my old man had a bad habit. He would get up and walk past you and smack you in the ribs. I sensed it coming, I was out of my chair in a flash, I caught him, crossed his hands over his wrists, and jammed my knuckle into his Adam’s Apple. That was family life,” he said.</p>
<p>Janet, 75, explained to us that she felt what was lacking from her life was a space where she could talk about, make sense of, and reflect on the biographical pain she had accumulated.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>This is what I miss a lot, a private space to talk … All my life I’ve suffered … and some things I do find very hard … With everything that’s gone wrong, I would like to talk to somebody, no advice, I want to let off steam, make sense of it all, I suppose. But it doesn’t happen.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Your life mattered</h2>
<p>Thinking about how older people can be supported must involve a fuller understanding of what loneliness really means for them. Some of our own efforts have focused on ways of helping older people retain a sense that they are valued in the world and that they matter. </p>
<p>For example, the <a href="https://www.guildliving.co.uk/moiras-story-extraordinary-lives/">Extraordinary Lives Project</a> sought to listen to older people’s recollections, wisdom and reflections. Sharing these recollections with others, including younger generations, has been mutually beneficial and helped older people to feel that the lives they have lived counted for something.</p>
<p>There is also a need to consider how to support older people in relation to coping with some of the inevitable losses ageing creates that threaten their sense of connection to the world. Organisations seeking to connect people going through these struggles can play a role in developing a sense of “coping together”.</p>
<p>Such organisations already exist in relation to support for <a href="https://thejollydollies.co.uk/">widows</a>, provision of spaces like <a href="https://deathcafe.com/">death cafes</a> to talk about death and dying and improving access to and awareness of <a href="https://www.ageuk.org.uk/camden/our-services/counselling-psychotherapy-and-group-therapy/">psychological and emotional therapies</a> for older people. </p>
<p>So support is out there but it is often fragmented and difficult to find. A core challenge for the future is to create living environments in which these mechanisms of support are embedded and integrated into older people’s communities. </p>
<p>Listening to all these experiences helped us to appreciate that loneliness in later life runs deep – much deeper than we might think. We learned that growing old and approaching the end of life create unique sets of circumstances such as loss, physical deterioration and biographical pain and regret that can give rise to a unique sense of disconnection from the world. </p>
<p>Yet people can and did find their way through the significant challenges and disruptions that ageing had posed them. Before I (Sam) left her apartment, Paula made me a cup of tea and a ham sandwich and told me:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It’s funny, you know, I had a building which I had inherited, and I had some money in the bank but who was I, what was I anymore? That was my main challenge. But now, four years later, I’ve moved to a retirement village and I’m noticing there’s just a little thrill associated with being able to do exactly as I please – and if people say, ‘Oh but you should do this,’ I go, ‘No, I shouldn’t!’</p>
</blockquote>
<p><em>*All names in this article have been changed to protect the anonymity of those involved.</em></p>
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<li><p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/the-double-lives-of-gay-men-in-chinas-hainan-province-153945?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=TCUKengagement&utm_content=InsightsUK">The double lives of gay men in China’s Hainan province</a></em></p></li>
</ul>
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<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sam Carr receives funding from Guild Living. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chao Fang receives funding from Guild Living. </span></em></p>Over 130 hours of conversations with older people reveal the truth of what it’s like to get old and how to cope with loneliness.Sam Carr, Senior Lecturer in Education with Psychology, University of BathChao Fang, Research Associate, University of BathLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1653292021-08-13T03:47:05Z2021-08-13T03:47:05ZIt’s OK if you have a little cry in lockdown. You’re grieving<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/415954/original/file-20210813-25-1ijpqcr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=2%2C4%2C995%2C661&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/silhouette-womans-head-waving-hair-back-563555992">from www.shutterstock.com</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>If you are one of the millions of Australians in lockdown, you are not alone in feeling a range of emotions difficult to put into words. </p>
<p>Lockdown days are blurry, with <a href="https://theconversation.com/how-the-groundhog-day-grind-of-lockdown-scrambles-your-memory-and-sense-of-time-164951">time lost</a> within our own four walls. These walls are <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s42087-021-00185-3">far more visible</a> than we’ve noticed before. Our obsession with the never-ending news cycle leaves us both <a href="https://academic.oup.com/gerontologist/article/61/1/8/5877938">informed and overwhelmed</a>.</p>
<p>Whether it’s a day filled with anger and sadness or oscillating between feeling grateful and feeling lost, this lockdown feels harder than ever before.</p>
<p>And the sadness you may be feeling, but can’t quite put your finger on,
could be something called “disenfranchised grief”.</p>
<h2>Let’s admit how tough it’s been</h2>
<p>The COVID-19 pandemic has brought <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/2516602620937922">changes to our lives</a> we never imagined. It has <a href="https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0245009">transformed the world</a> we live in, our sense of safety, our behaviours and how connected we feel to our loved ones.</p>
<p>It’s highlighted the <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-we-are-wired-to-connect/">importance of human connection</a>. We’ve learned a lack of connection with others can bring social pain, just as real as physical pain.</p>
<p>We’ve heard <a href="https://hbr.org/2020/11/its-okay-to-not-be-okay">it’s OK to not be OK</a>. Just last week, Lifeline recorded its busiest ever day, <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-08-04/lifeline-records-highest-daily-calls-on-record/100350522">receiving 3,345 calls</a> for help.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/lockdowns-dont-get-easier-the-more-we-have-them-melbourne-here-are-6-tips-to-help-you-cope-161991">Lockdowns don't get easier the more we have them. Melbourne, here are 6 tips to help you cope</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What is disenfranchised grief?</h2>
<p>The sadness you may be feeling can be down to a number of reasons. And feeling sad is not necessarily a sign of a mental health disorder. In fact feeling sad is one of the range of emotions that make us human, and has <a href="https://theconversation.com/why-bad-moods-are-good-for-you-the-surprising-benefits-of-sadness-75402">benefits</a>.</p>
<p>But this doesn’t really explain the sadness many of us are feeling in lockdown right now — disenfranchised grief.</p>
<p>US researcher and professor Kenneth Doka <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02682629908657467?journalCode=rber20">introduced this notion</a> about 30 years ago. He described disenfranchised grief as a loss not “openly acknowledged, socially validated, or publicly mourned”.</p>
<p>This fits with what we know about COVID-19, with stories of intangible losses including loss of safety, control, community, dignity and independence. Feelings of loss seem to envelope us wherever we turn.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1406003414149079040"}"></div></p>
<p>Grandparents <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/13545701.2020.1860246?journalCode=rfec20">lost time with their grandkids</a>; children have lost parts of their childhood, the milestones, the sleepovers, the ability to play with other children outside the home. Parents <a href="https://www.childhood.org.au/app/uploads/2020/08/A_Lasting_Legacy_-_The_Impact_of_COVID19_on_Children_and_Parents_Final.pdf">lost their village</a> of support and parents-to-be <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/birt.12569">lost their birthing plans</a>.</p>
<p>Refugees and temporary migrants <a href="https://apo.org.au/sites/default/files/resource-files/2020-09/apo-nid308305.pdf">lost the safety</a> of new-found homes, with the loss of jobs, accommodation and support services; citizens lost the predictability of being able to come home. </p>
<p>Students were <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s13384-021-00436-w">robbed of in-person learning</a> and parents were robbed of celebrating their children’s transition to the next phase in life. As well as birthdays and graduations, we lost funerals and weddings.</p>
<p>And when it came to grieving and loss, <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2021.638874/full">we lost access</a> to the places and people that allow us to grieve collectively — our wider family and community, as well as places of worship. </p>
<h2>Is it OK to grieve about this?</h2>
<p>Societal and cultural norms, <a href="https://bmcpregnancychildbirth.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12884-020-03514-6">including gender norms</a>, dictate how we grieve. These norms allow us to mourn the death of a loved one. Yet it feels more challenging to mourn the loss of our way of life.</p>
<p>Grieving can feel complicated in a pandemic when others may have it worse. People may question whether it’s legitimate for them to grieve the loss of their way of life. Researchers also talk about a <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.2190/OM.66.2.a?journalCode=omea">hierarchy of loss</a>, a sliding scale of who has a socially acceptable right to grieve, rather than a simple “yes” or “no”.</p>
<p>Disenfranchised grief may also <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/274725506_Assisting_Clients_With_Disenfranchised_Grief_The_Role_of_a_Mental_Health_Nurse">cloud our ability</a> to identify and validate our difficult emotions, such as feelings of shame. This may be especially so when <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/24183108/">others don’t see these losses</a>.</p>
<p>This impacts our capacity to express emotions as well as seek appropriate support when needed.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/lockdowns-make-people-lonely-here-are-3-steps-we-can-take-now-to-help-each-other-165256">Lockdowns make people lonely. Here are 3 steps we can take now to help each other</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What can I do?</h2>
<p>Grief is real even when it feels impossible to explain what you’re feeling. So it’s important to acknowledge the loss. </p>
<p>Grieving is allowing yourself permission to say out aloud what you have lost. It can be validating to also label the emotions you’re feeling, even if they sound contradictory, such as feelings of both anger and guilt. </p>
<p>Although the risk of depression and anxiety symptoms for people with vulnerabilities has <a href="https://www.mja.com.au/journal/2021/214/10/trajectories-depression-and-anxiety-symptoms-during-covid-19-pandemic">increased during the pandemic</a>, it is not helpful to always pathologise valid human emotions that tell us we are not doing so well. These emotions act as a compass for us to slow down, reset expectations, and seek support when necessary.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-five-stages-of-grief-dont-come-in-fixed-steps-everyone-feels-differently-96111">The five stages of grief don't come in fixed steps – everyone feels differently</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Setting practical and achievable short-term goals can help direct our behaviour to be more purposeful. Sticking to a routine (as closely as possible to what you did before lockdown) can also support our sense of control.</p>
<p>Check in with yourself and each other. Use social media for support, which many <a href="https://www.westernsydney.edu.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0006/1837896/SocialMedia_LGBTQIA_YPReport_Final.pdf">young people in the LGBTQIA+ community</a> have found beneficial during the pandemic. It’s vital for us to hear others’ experiences that can normalise our own. </p>
<p>Finally, nothing is more important than reminding ourselves we are living through a one-in-one hundred year event. We are all doing the best we can. And that’s not only OK, it’s enough.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, please call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or GriefLine on 1300 845 745.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/165329/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Neeraja Sanmuhanathan is a Senior Sexual Assault Counsellor with NSW Health at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, Sydney. She received the Australian Research Training Program Scholarship to complete her PhD at the University of Sydney.</span></em></p>We are living through a one-in-one hundred year event. We are all doing the best we can. And that’s not only OK, it’s enough.Neeraja Sanmuhanathan, Lecturer in Counselling, University of Notre Dame AustraliaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1636902021-07-19T13:34:33Z2021-07-19T13:34:33ZAs COVID-19 restrictions lift, grief literacy can help us support those around us<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409992/original/file-20210706-13-bnnb4q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=16%2C8%2C5537%2C3763&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Concerns have been raised over grief being severely, negatively impacted by the pandemic.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://genderphotos.vice.com/">(Zackary Drucker/The Gender Spectrum Collection)</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>COVID-19 has brought about <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/16/arts/design/divya-mehra-night-gallery.html">many losses</a> and <a href="https://ontario.cmha.ca/documents/loss-and-grief-during-the-covid-19-pandemic/">many deaths</a>. </p>
<p>The number of deaths worldwide has reached almost <a href="https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/#countries">four million, and 26,000 of those deaths</a> are in Canada. The <a href="https://www.canadiangriefalliance.ca/">Canadian Grief Alliance’s grief counter</a> estimates that there are more than three million Canadians grieving. Canadians are also experiencing countless other losses that are not deaths or death-related. </p>
<p>Concerns have been raised over <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.psychres.2020.113031">grief being severely</a> <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0030222820966928">negatively impacted by the pandemic</a> and the resulting restrictions. Some even say there may be a <a href="https://doi.org/10.1136/bmjopen-2020-046872">tsunami of grief</a>. </p>
<p>Understanding this, we have undertaken a number of studies about Canadians’ grief. Some of the results of one study are discussed here. In addition, we offer some suggestions about how to <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/2632352420988009">better understand grief and to support</a> those who are grieving.</p>
<h2>Tsunami of grief?</h2>
<p>We completed a study of more than 900 francophones (mostly in Québec) who experienced the death of someone during the pandemic. The project, <a href="http://covideuil.ca/"><em>Covideuil</em></a> (deuil means grief in French) surveyed people between March and May 2021. </p>
<p>Most of the participants (77 per cent) were not able to be with the dying person, while many grievers (65 per cent) were not able to have people gather after the death of their loved one. Seventy-six per cent were not able to hold the funeral rituals they would have desired. </p>
<p>Some of those surveyed were able to create new or personalize older rituals — the study’s analysis is ongoing and we hope to share some of these creative approaches in the future. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Woman sitting on the floor crying with her hand on her face" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C7%2C5142%2C3993&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=468&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=468&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=468&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=588&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=588&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409986/original/file-20210706-21-qwjxgk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=588&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The Canadian Grief Alliance’s grief counter estimates that there are more than three million Canadians grieving.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Claudia Wolff/Unsplash)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our study revealed that the occurrence <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/complicated-grief/symptoms-causes/syc-20360374">of complicated grief</a> or prolonged grief, which refers to being stuck in a loss for long periods of time, is not as high as some predictions feared. But it is higher than in non-pandemic times. </p>
<p>The <a href="https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0121101">public health model of bereavement support</a> suggests five to 10 per cent of grievers are at risk of developing complicated grief. Our study has demonstrated that about 15 per cent of participants may develop complicated grief. </p>
<p>Since there is no known study of Canadian grievers, we have to rely on international data. The 15 per cent of participants in our study is higher than <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/2632352420935132">pre-pandemic estimates</a>. However, it is important to underline that those numbers mean that 85 per cent are not at risk of complicated grief. </p>
<p>Despite the increased numbers, can grief during the pandemic really be considered a tsunami?</p>
<h2>Grief literacy</h2>
<p>Understanding and normalizing grief can benefit everyone, from frontline health-care workers to children and educators as well as those who have experienced a death during the pandemic. The grief literacy movement aims to increase everyone’s ability to recognize grief and become more proficient in supporting ourselves and others. </p>
<p>We define <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/07481187.2020.1739780">grief literacy</a> as the ability to understand loss and act upon that understanding. It is multi-dimensional in that it includes “knowledge to facilitate understanding and reflection, skills to enable action and values to inspire compassion and care.” </p>
<p>The knowledge, skills and values are specific to the social contexts that directly influence how we grieve. This definition includes attending to socio-cultural diversities, inequities and privileges that shape grief experiences. </p>
<p>As pandemic restrictions are being lifted, each one of us may feel grief in new ways. Perhaps we are able to spend time with someone whose partner died, or we return to a workplace with missing co-workers — either deceased or laid off. Grief literacy can help us anticipate and attend to these possibilities.</p>
<h2>Coping with grief</h2>
<p>What can we do to better respond to grief here in Canada? </p>
<p>First, we need to begin with ourselves by recognizing and acknowledging our own grief. There is so much shame and stigma surrounding grief — that feeling of <em>Am I doing it right?</em> — especially given the impossible social norm that tells us we need to be productive and happy. </p>
<p>We have become estranged from an essential component of the human condition: honouring our embodied responses to loss. Countering these pressures, we need to integrate the knowledge that grief is a normal, natural response to loss and there is nothing to be ashamed of. </p>
<p>We must learn how to tend to our personal sorrow with gentleness and understand the nature of grief, especially by turning inward. We can tap into our compassion and humility as we turn back outward to support others. </p>
<p>An important piece is knowing that it is natural to feel nervous and uncomfortable in this work. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A group of people support a grieving man" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/409991/original/file-20210706-15-1pm3r09.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">We have become estranged from an essential component of the human condition: honouring our embodied responses to loss.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We have collectively adopted a problematic social script that actually hurts grievers. From the perspective of those who are grieving, support usually dissipates quickly and they feel abandoned or experience silence from people around them. </p>
<p>With family, friends, co-workers and neighbours, share a memory of the person who has died. Do not be afraid to talk about the person for fear of reminding the grieving person of their loss. They are very aware of it as they live the daily reality. It is fine to simply say that you do not know what to say and that you are there for them. </p>
<p>With restrictions easing and the ability to gather increasing, we need to better understand and respond to the impact of the pandemic and explore our collective and individual grief. We need to stop neglecting it at the expense of our well-being and ability to connect with others. </p>
<p>A shift is required for developing grief literacy in Canada and internationally. It must include addressing context-specific barriers and opportunities for change, generating more inclusive spaces for diverse responses to loss and accepting grief as something normal that we all experience throughout life.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/163690/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Susan Cadell receives funding from SSHRC and CIHR. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jacques Cherblanc receives funding from RISUQ (<a href="https://risuq.uquebec.ca/">https://risuq.uquebec.ca/</a>) for the Covideuil project. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Karima Joy receives funding as a PhD Candidate from the University of Toronto (2021-2022) and previously a SSHRC Joseph-Armand Bombardier Canada Graduate Scholarship – Doctoral Scholarship (2016-2020). She is affiliated with the University of Toronto's Grief Education Program launching Fall 2021. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Mary Ellen Macdonald receives funding from CIHR, FRQS, and SSHRC. She is affiliated with McGill University. </span></em></p>The negative impact of the pandemic on grief has raised concerns. Our study shows that 15 per cent of people dealing with grief are at risk of what’s known as complicated grief.Susan Cadell, Professor, Social Work, University of WaterlooJacques Cherblanc, Professor, Humanities and Social Sciences, Université du Québec à Chicoutimi (UQAC)Karima Joy, PhD Candidate, Social Worker, Program Lead - Grief Education Program, University of TorontoMary Ellen Macdonald, Associate Professor, Faculty of Dentistry, McGill UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1639752021-07-08T20:09:37Z2021-07-08T20:09:37ZLoss in the pandemic: when a loved one dies, being cut off from the grieving process can make things harder<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/410249/original/file-20210708-15-gystib.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=34%2C11%2C3888%2C2572&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/photos/fvl4b1gjpbk">Mike Labrum/Unsplash</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>COVID-19 has affected many facets of our lives. Public health measures to stop the spread of the virus have impacted the way we work, connect with others and socialise.</p>
<p>The pandemic has changed the way we’ve been able to celebrate milestones in our lives, and, importantly, the way we’ve been able to grieve losses. </p>
<p>Border restrictions, both domestic and international, have meant some people have been unable to travel interstate or overseas to be with loved ones at the end of their lives, or to attend their funeral. </p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1412423957882486789"}"></div></p>
<p>Others may have been able to be at the funeral, but the way it was conducted might have been different, whether remotely or with limited mourners. </p>
<p>Further, people with loved ones in hospital or aged care at the end of life may have not been able to visit as much as they wanted to, or at all.</p>
<p>I’ve seen both patients in my work as a psychologist and people in my personal life who have been affected in these ways. </p>
<p>As well as making the experience of losing a close friend or family member harder than it already is, not being able to be with loved ones or attend the funeral can make it more difficult for people to deal with and adapt to their loss. This can take a toll on their mental health. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/different-faiths-same-pain-how-to-grieve-a-death-in-the-coronavirus-pandemic-138185">Different faiths, same pain: How to grieve a death in the coronavirus pandemic</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What is grief?</h2>
<p>Grief is an adjustment to a loss, usually <a href="https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Associations-between-self-compassion-and-grief-in-Vara-Thimm/6a3782c97d346acc33a2d90cf6ac17a012071428">in response to the death of a loved one</a>.</p>
<p>When grief is acute, a person is likely to experience <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/da.22965?casa_token=QYGf4DxSn8IAAAAA%3A2s2TdOj0B_YKT_8tYcxMflqckO34ZyHmXQhamDPH5nY_9XqQxNK6HAUi3uCShVicZrSP39gNzv4">a range of intense emotions</a> such as sadness, despair and helplessness. They will also be preoccupied with thoughts and memories of their deceased loved one. </p>
<p>In most cultures, the grieving process is facilitated by rituals that enable the bereaved person to connect with their lost loved one. These <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/19304810/">include</a> being with the person at end of life moments, planning and attending the funeral, and <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/07481187.2019.1636897?needAccess=true&journalCode=udst20">talking to and being with others</a> who were also close to the person. </p>
<p>These rituals <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/337173701_Facilitating_grief_An_exploration_of_the_function_of_funerals_and_rituals_in_relation_to_grief_reactions">help people</a> to experience and manage challenging emotions, understand and accept their grief, and establish a connection to their memories of the lost person.</p>
<p>With time, most people come to accept their loss, and adapt to the reality of their life without the person. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Two women sit on a couch, appear distressed." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410248/original/file-20210708-25-1bnuhv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Grief is normal when a loved one dies.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/photos/e92L8PwcHD4">Ben White/Unsplash</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>What if you can’t be part of this process in person?</h2>
<p>When someone experiences the death of a loved one and is unable to be with them or attend the funeral, this can compromise their ability to <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0889159120303482?casa_token=WJtWmfW5mCkAAAAA:MHHmDwKGxWi0Rq3TwvIn6YrOU03z0-9BEuJzFSZ2DqxSWev7wTWHKpDcv9Wjw83MHo6K-g">grieve or process their loss</a>. </p>
<p>When this happens, <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0885392420302074?casa_token=gvDY9bST30IAAAAA:4TolKcpkhsphbRFV6nuWCFR8qAGLC9mflsbXNS_gPGS1J_tlExDmhCjHxUS3eQsik4bwSw">the bereaved person may experience</a>: </p>
<ul>
<li><p>frequent and ongoing intrusive thoughts of the person who has died</p></li>
<li><p>preoccupation with sorrow</p></li>
<li><p>excessive anger or bitterness</p></li>
<li><p>disconnection from social relationships</p></li>
<li><p>difficulty accepting the death</p></li>
<li><p>thoughts of hopelessness and helplessness. </p></li>
</ul>
<p>These feelings may persist and have a significant impact on the person’s day-to-day functioning. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/patients-with-covid-19-shouldnt-have-to-die-alone-heres-how-a-loved-one-could-be-there-at-the-end-145324">Patients with COVID-19 shouldn't have to die alone. Here's how a loved one could be there at the end</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What can help in these situations?</h2>
<p>There are a number of things you can do when the pandemic or other circumstances limit opportunities to participate in traditional grieving rituals in person.</p>
<p><strong>1. Get in touch with the memories of the person you have lost</strong> </p>
<p>Take the time to <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0005796708001897?casa_token=Fw_FwNYYaM4AAAAA:eNJt9zsgHz8qUlY6LzY-3w2A3-fmAvmapnr3wh02na96NQX7XTct4RxJQ8wL4RiSV2dnRQ">think about memories</a> of the person (both good and bad). Look at photos, videos and other materials you have that help you remember them. </p>
<p>You could even create a space dedicated to the person where you put pictures or other sentimental objects. This could be in your home or another place of significance.</p>
<p><strong>2. If possible, attend the funeral virtually</strong> </p>
<p>While many of us are tired of online meetings, a virtual funeral is likely to be more <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/0030222820941296">helpful than not attending at all</a>. </p>
<p>If you do this, try to have others around you when you watch it who can offer support. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="An urn with ashes at a funeral service." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/410251/original/file-20210708-15-143414j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Traditional rituals help with the grieving process.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/metal-urn-ashes-dead-person-on-1178969077">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><strong>3. Connect with others who also knew the person</strong> </p>
<p>Talk about memories of the person. Again, you might need to do this virtually, but being with others who are going through a similar experience can help you accept the loss. </p>
<p><strong>4. Normalise and accept the frustration of not being able to be there</strong> </p>
<p>You will likely feel intense emotions like frustration or anger about not being able to be with your loved one to say goodbye, or with other loved ones who are also grieving the loss.</p>
<p>You are best served by accepting these feelings as normal and inevitable. This can help to minimise the degree to which they get in the way of the pain of your loss.</p>
<p><strong>5. Prioritise self-care</strong> </p>
<p>During these times, self-care is particularly important. This includes things like maintaining good sleep, nutrition, social connectedness, exercise and avoiding risky substance use. </p>
<p><strong>6. Access professional help if you need to</strong> </p>
<p>Intense emotions are a normal part of grief and in most cases, they pass with time. But if these feelings are persisting and you feel you’re not coping, <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/247434805_Let's_Be_Realistic_When_Grief_Counseling_Is_Effective_and_When_It's_Not">professional support can be helpful</a>. </p>
<p>One option would be grief therapy with a psychologist. Grief therapy involves helping the bereaved person <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/da.22965?casa_token=QYGf4DxSn8IAAAAA%3A2s2TdOj0B_YKT_8tYcxMflqckO34ZyHmXQhamDPH5nY_9XqQxNK6HAUi3uCShVicZrSP39gNzv4">accept and cope with</a> the loss while simultaneously assisting them to adapt to life without their loved one.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-your-mental-health-deteriorating-during-the-coronavirus-pandemic-heres-what-to-look-out-for-134827">Is your mental health deteriorating during the coronavirus pandemic? Here's what to look out for</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/163975/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Glen Hosking does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>COVID-19 has impacted an important moment in many people’s lives: grieving the loss of a loved one. Here are some things that can help if you’re far away.Glen Hosking, Senior Lecturer in Psychology. Clinical Psychologist, Victoria UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1623302021-06-15T13:42:27Z2021-06-15T13:42:27ZWhat Greek epics taught me about the special relationship between fathers and sons<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/405985/original/file-20210611-27-1140y10.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C81%2C3615%2C2489&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Odysseus reuniting with his father, Laertes.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/odysseus-and-his-father-laertes-king-of-the-cephallenians-news-photo/167069604?adppopup=true">Leemage/Universal Images Group via Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Father’s Day inspires mixed emotions for many of us. Looking at advertisements of happy families could recall difficult memories and broken relationships for some. But for others, the day could invite unbidden nostalgic thoughts of parents who have long since died.</p>
<p>As a <a href="https://www.brandeis.edu/facultyguide/person.html?emplid=1be7ee967d45605afddf7da9ad4ca2c049a26c0b">scholar of ancient Greek poetry</a>, I find myself reflecting on two of the most powerful paternal moments in Greek literature. <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134%3Abook%3D24%3Acard%3D507">At the end of Homer’s classic poem, “The Iliad</a>,” Priam, the king of Troy, begs his son’s killer, Achilles, to return the body of Hektor, the city’s greatest warrior, for burial. Once Achilles puts aside his famous rage and agrees, the two weep together before sharing a meal, Priam lamenting the loss of his son while Achilles contemplates that he will never see his own father again.</p>
<p>The final book of another Greek classic, “The Odyssey,” brings together a father and son as well. After 10 years of war and as many traveling at sea, Odysseus returns home and goes through a series of reunions, ending with his father, Laertes. <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0136%3Abook%3D24%3Acard%3D232">When Odysseus meets his father</a>, however, he doesn’t greet him right away. Instead, he pretends to be someone who met Odysseus and lies about his location. </p>
<p>When Laertes weeps over his son’s continued absence, Odysseus loses control of his emotions too, shouting his name to his father only to be disbelieved. He reveals a scar he received as a child and Laertes still doubts him. But then Odysseus points to the trees in their orchards and begins to recount their numbers and names, the stories Laertes told him when he was young.</p>
<p>Since the time of Aristotle, interpreters have questioned “The Odyssey"’s final book. Some have wondered why Odysseus is cruel to his father, while others have asked why reuniting with him even matters. Why spend precious narrative time talking about trees when the audience is waiting to hear if Odysseus will suffer at the hands of the families whose sons he has killed?</p>
<p>I lingered in such confusion myself until I lost my own father, John, too young at 61. Reading and teaching "The Odyssey” in the same two-year period that I lost him and welcomed two children to the world changed the way I understood the father-son relationship in these poems. I realized then in the final scene, what Odysseus needed from his father was something more important: the comfort of being a son. </p>
<h2>Fathers and sons</h2>
<p>Fathers occupy an outsized place in Greek myth. They are kings and models, and too often challenges to be overcome. In Greek epic, fathers are markers of absence and dislocation. When Achilles learns his lover and friend, Patroklos, has died in “The Iliad,” he weeps and says that he always imagined his best friend returning home and <a href="https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134%3Abook%3D19%3Acard%3D309">introducing Achilles’ son, Neoptolemus, to Achilles’s father, Peleus</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Son of the warrior Achilles and the princess Deidamia in a scene from the Greek mythology." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=386&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=386&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=386&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406240/original/file-20210614-125373-kj2k0m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Greek myths highlight many moments in father-son relationships.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/the-repentance-of-neoptolemus-1880-son-of-the-warrior-news-photo/654314530?adppopup=true">The Print Collector/Hulton Archive/Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The Trojan Prince Hektor’s most humanizing moment is when he laughs at his son’s <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134%3Abook%3D6%3Acard%3D414">startled cry at seeing his father’s</a> bloodied armor. Priam’s grief for Hektor’s loss stands in for the grief of all parents bereft of children taken too soon. When he hears of the death of his son, he lies prostrate on the earth, covering his head with ash and weeping. The sweetness of Hektor’s laugh foreshadows the bitter agony of his father’s pain.</p>
<p>I don’t think I had a grasp of either before I became a father and lost one.</p>
<h2>How stories bring us home</h2>
<p>Odysseus’ reunion with his father is crucial to the completion of his story, of his return home. In Greek the word “nostos,” or homecoming, is more than about a mere return to a place: It is a restoration of the self, a kind of reentry to the world of the living. For Odysseus, as I explore in my recent book “<a href="https://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/9781501752346/the-many-minded-man/">The Many-Minded Man: The Odyssey, Modern Psychology, and the Therapy of Epic</a>,” this means returning to who he was before the war, trying to reconcile his identities as a king, a suffering veteran, a man with a wife and a father, as well as a son himself.</p>
<p>Odysseus achieves his “nostos” by telling and listening to stories. As psychologists who specialize in <a href="https://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/9781501752346/the-many-minded-man/">narrative therapy</a> explain, our identity <a href="https://www.apa.org/pubs/books/4317515">comprises the stories we tell and believe about ourselves</a>. </p>
<p>The stories we tell about ourselves condition how we act in the world. Psychological studies have shown how losing a sense of agency, the belief that we can shape what happens to us, can keep us trapped in cycles of inaction and make us more prone to depression and <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3905522/">addiction</a>. </p>
<p>And the pain of losing a loved one can make anyone feel helpless. In recent years, researchers have investigated how <a href="https://dx.doi.org/10.31887/DCNS.2012.14.2/mshear">unresolved or complicated</a> grief – an ongoing, heightened state of mourning – upends lives and changes the way someone sees oneself in the world. And more pain comes from other people not knowing our stories, from not truly knowing who we are. Psychologists have shown that when people do not acknowledge their mental or emotional states, they experience “<a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6212305/">emotional invalidation</a>” that can have negative mental and physical consequences from depression to chronic pain.</p>
<p>Odysseus does not recognize the landscape of his home island of Ithaca when he first arrives; he needs to go through a process of reunions and observation first. But when Odysseus tells his father the stories of the trees they tended together, he reminds them both of their shared story, of the relationship and the place that brings them together. </p>
<p>[<em>3 media outlets, 1 religion newsletter.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/this-week-in-religion-76/?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=religion-3-in-1">Get stories from The Conversation, AP and RNS.</a>]</p>
<h2>Family trees</h2>
<p>“The Odyssey” teaches us that home is not just a physical place, it is where memories live – it is a reminder of the stories that have shaped us.</p>
<p>When I was in third grade, my father bought several acres in the middle of the woods in southern Maine. He spent the rest of his life clearing those acres, shaping gardens, planting trees. By the time I was in high school, it took several hours to mow the lawn. He and I repaired old stone walls, dug beds for phlox, and planted rhododendron bushes and a maple tree.</p>
<p>My father was not an uncomplicated man. I probably remember the work we did on that property so well because our relationship was otherwise distant. He was almost completely deaf from birth, and this shaped the way he engaged with the world and the kinds of experiences he shared with his family. My mother tells me he was worried about having children because he wouldn’t be able to hear them cry. </p>
<p>He died in the winter of 2011, and I returned home in the summer to honor his wishes and spread his ashes on a mountain in central Maine with my brother. I had not lived in Maine for over a decade before his passing. The pine trees I used to climb were unrecognizable; the trees and bushes I had planted with my father were in the same place, but they had changed: they were larger, grown wilder, identifiable only because of where they were planted in relation to one another.</p>
<p>That was when I was no longer confused about the walk Odysseus took through the trees with his father, Laertes. I cannot help but imagine what it would be like to walk that land with my father again, to joke about the absurdity of turning pine forests into lawn.</p>
<p>“The Odyssey” ends with Laertes and Odysseus standing together with the third generation, the young Telemachus. In a way, Odysseus gets the fantasy ending Achilles couldn’t even imagine for himself: He stands together in his home with his father and his son.</p>
<p>In my father’s last year, I introduced him to his first grandchild, my daughter. Ten years later, as I try to ignore another painful reminder of his absence, I can only imagine how the birth of my third, another daughter, would have lit up his face. </p>
<p>“The Odyssey,” I believe, teaches us that we are shaped by the people who recognize us and the stories we share together. When we lose our loved ones, we can fear that there are no new stories to be told. But then we find the stories that we can tell our children. </p>
<p>This year, as I celebrate a 10th Father’s Day as a father and without one, I keep this close to heart: Telling these stories to my children creates a new home and makes that impossible return less painful.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/162330/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joel Christensen does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>On Father’s Day, a scholar of ancient Greek poetry explains how he came to understand the father-son relationship and his journey of loss and yearning through reading the epics.Joel Christensen, Professor of Classical Studies, Brandeis UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1538242021-02-16T19:47:38Z2021-02-16T19:47:38ZCoping with loss: We need a national strategy to address grief beyond the coronavirus pandemic<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383933/original/file-20210212-23-3nk7ml.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=69%2C0%2C4591%2C2620&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Grief is inevitable, and its effects on individuals, communities and populations need to be recognized and addressed.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The new president of the United States has been referred to as having <a href="https://nationalpost.com/news/world/along-the-way-joe-biden-turned-his-grief-into-a-superpower">grief as a superpower</a>. U.S. citizens have expectations about their president as “<a href="https://millercenter.org/presidents-role-comforter-chief">comforter-in-chief</a>,” something at which <a href="https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-donald-trump-miserably-failed-in-the-role-of-comforter-in-chief/">President Biden’s predecessor failed miserably</a>. </p>
<p>As we surpass the grim milestone of <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/news/world/coronavirus-covid19-canada-world-february2-2021-1.5895760">20,000 deaths in Canada to COVID-19</a>, I am left wondering who is demonstrating leadership around grief in Canada.</p>
<p>Leadership around grief is not just recounting numbers. Neither is it small gestures alone, such as <a href="https://www.niagarafallsreview.ca/opinion/editorials/2021/01/29/with-over-300-niagarans-dead-from-covid-19-where-are-those-who-should-be-leading-us-in-mourning.html">flying flags at half mast</a>. Public education is needed to better equip all of us at dealing with grief: <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/07481187.2020.1739780">to recognize it in ourselves and therefore be better able to support one another</a>. </p>
<p>Research in <a href="https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0121101">Australia on support services for those who are grieving</a> has demonstrated that fewer than 10 per cent accessed or needed professional services after a death. However, people can benefit from the support of those around them: their neighbours, colleagues, members of their faith communities and other communities to which they belong.</p>
<h2>The inevitability of grief</h2>
<p>That <a href="https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/death-and-taxes.html">old saying, “nothing is certain but death and taxes</a>,” should be amended to include grief. Grief is the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0030222820976298">psychological, emotional, physical and social reaction to loss</a>. Grief occurs after any kind of loss, <a href="https://www.routledge.com/The-Price-of-Love-The-selected-works-of-Colin-Murray-Parkes/Parkes/p/book/9781138026100">not just the death of a person</a>.</p>
<p>As a social work researcher who studies grief, I am concerned that we are not very good at the <a href="https://self-compassion.org/">compassion toward ourselves</a> and others that is required in grief. <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/07481187.2020.1716888">In my current research in grief</a>, I have heard time and time again that those who are grieving tend to feel isolated and avoided.</p>
<p>Since the beginning of the global pandemic, <a href="https://hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief">there has been a surge of articles about grief</a>. We are experiencing <a href="https://ontario.cmha.ca/documents/loss-and-grief-during-the-covid-19-pandemic/">so many losses that may be causing us grief</a>: jobs, freedom, security, housing, human touch, ceremony (funerals, graduations), as well as deaths. <a href="https://www.macleans.ca/society/covid-19-pandemic-disrupted-death-mourning-grief/">Our rituals around death and grief have changed</a>, for which there may be <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/covid-19-pandemic-will-be-outlasted-grief-pandemic-no-one-ncna1242788">long-term consequences</a>.</p>
<p>Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is no stranger to loss — he is a bereaved son and brother. He spoke eloquently and very publicly at his father’s funeral. His brother Michel died at age 23 in 1998. Justin <a href="https://www.narcity.com/en-ca/news/justin-trudeaus-brother-has-been-honoured-quite-a-few-times-by-the-prime-minister">honours him on his birthday, for special milestones, publicly in his social media</a>. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Justin Trudeau’s eulogy for his father.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Each one of us should be able to make decisions about how public or private we are with our own grief. I respect our prime minister’s right to privacy about his personal losses; however, I am saddened he does not take leadership in terms of grief for the rest of us. He is not our comforter-in-chief. No one has ever described him as having grief as a superpower. </p>
<h2>Counting death</h2>
<p>No one counts how many people are grieving. Deaths are counted: per day, per year, per location. Deaths from COVID-19 are being <a href="https://coronavirus.jhu.edu/map.html">counted every day</a>. People continue to die of other causes in the midst of the pandemic. Those deaths are overshadowed by the media’s coverage of COVID-19 deaths. But those people count to those who care about them. </p>
<p>It is estimated that for every one person who dies, <a href="https://www.pallium.ca/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Not-to-be-Forgotten-Care-of-Vulnerable-Canadians-2011.pdf">there are five who grieve</a>. With the increase in deaths due to the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, it has been estimated that there are <a href="https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2007476117">nine grievers for each death</a>. </p>
<p>None of these numbers account for Black, Indigenous or people of colour populations, who are disproportionately affected. </p>
<p>Nor do the numbers account for those who have been <a href="https://www.canadianscholars.ca/books/under-served">traumatized by colonialism</a> or <a href="https://www.routledge.com/African-American-Grief/Rosenblatt-Wallace/p/book/9780415951524">racial violence as those traumas affect their grief</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A Muslim man at a rally holding up a copy of the Quran and crying" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383932/original/file-20210212-21-159v70b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Grief can be complicated for members of marginalized communities. A man crying after hearing the names of the victims of the Québec mosque attack during a rally in Toronto, Ont. on Feb. 4, 2017.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Addressing national grief</h2>
<p>The <a href="https://www.virtualhospice.ca/canadian-grief-alliance">Canadian Grief Alliance (CGA)</a> was formed in 2020 by <a href="https://www.virtualhospice.ca/en_US/Main+Site+Navigation/Home.aspx">Canadian Virtual Hospice</a>, which has been providing web-based support about palliative and end-of-life care for two decades. Since then, the CGA has called for the government to fund a national grief strategy that includes public awareness campaigns, educational initiatives and increased funding for grief-related research.</p>
<p>And yet, many months later, there is no national strategy. </p>
<p>In contrast to the <a href="https://www.harpersbazaar.com/uk/culture/a34627926/for-those-who-have-felt-loss-joe-biden-is-the-president-we-need/">feelings of hope</a> in the <a href="https://whatsyourgrief.com/speaking-up-celebrity-grief-vol-6/">grief community</a> in the U.S. with the election of President Biden, this is disappointing. It is up to our political leaders to change this.</p>
<p>While I would like to live in a society where we all support one another in grief, and no superpowers are needed, we are not yet there. It is time for our leaders, especially our prime minister, to show that grief can be their superpower.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/153824/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Susan Cadell receives funding from SSHRC. She consults for Canadian Virtual Hospice. She is affiliated with and is a former candidate for the NDP.</span></em></p>The Canadian government needs to develop a national grief strategy to address the needs of its citizens during and after the pandemic.Susan Cadell, Professor, Social Work, University of WaterlooLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1537292021-01-22T14:03:10Z2021-01-22T14:03:10ZWhat we’ve learned about bereavement during the pandemic<p>The coronavirus pandemic has been extremely distressing for those who are bereaved and grieving, regardless of whether COVID-19 was the actual cause of death of their loved one. We know anecdotally and from emerging <a href="https://www.cardiff.ac.uk/news/view/2480146-new-study-highlights-exceptional-challenges-of-bereavement-during-covid-19-pandemic">research</a> that people who have lost someone during the pandemic were less likely to have visited them before they died or able to attend the funeral. </p>
<p>Our <a href="https://www.cruse.org.uk/sites/default/files/default_images/pdf/Documents-and-fact-sheets/J0339%20Cruse_Lockdown_Diaries.pdf">Bereavement Diaries project</a>, which gathered pandemic diaries of people supporting the bereaved in assisted living and retirement villages, or who trained as <a href="https://www.cruse.org.uk/get-help/coronavirus-bereavement-and-grief">Cruse bereavement volunteers</a>, adds nuance to this narrative. The 43 diary entries we received between May and September 2020 offer some important, real-time insights into how grief and bereavement have been experienced during the pandemic, and the everyday ways in which people have given and continue to give one another support. </p>
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<h2>Personal testimony</h2>
<p>In the early days of the pandemic, there seemed to be a familiar demographic pattern in terms of deaths, but as we now know, <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-55476982">increasingly younger people are dying too</a>.</p>
<p>One of our diarists told us about her friend Eunice, whose grandson was gravely ill in hospital with COVID-19. Lockdown restrictions meant that she wasn’t able to see his mother (her daughter), which was so distressing for her that she became ill and staff had to call an ambulance. In a later entry, our diarist tells us that while Eunice did not end up in hospital, her grandson died, saying: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I did go round and see her. I didn’t break the rules. She was in the bedroom and I was in the passage just talking to her. I spent quite a few hours with her, because she was absolutely down, absolutely, absolutely devastated.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This diarist continues to give Eunice neighbourly love, support and comfort. We have learned that this sort of compassionate listening and support have been vital for many during lockdown, often involving telephone calls to support those who are lonely or grieving. </p>
<p>As another participant in the project put it:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We don’t have the answers, but we can stand or sit alongside others … The fallout [from COVID-19] is immense throughout the village … Being able to talk things through and share stories with others has been helpful.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Diarists also told us that, when there was no opportunity to collectively grieve and acknowledge someone’s death, then the grieving process was put “on hold”. Lockdown measures have greatly restricted funeral gatherings and the chance to remember loved ones who have died. </p>
<p>We heard from one diarist that people were responding to this by organising alternative memorial events, perhaps taking more active control over their collective grieving than they normally would: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>We had a funeral on Wednesday … That girl not only lost not only her mum, she lost her father and she lost her grandfather. So Mavis and Heather printed out some songs … The staff came out to stand outside and I told some of the residents, ringing round saying to quite a few people that if they wanted to go down or stand on their balconies. They had a prayer and some songs and they talked about her for about 15 minutes and then the hearse came round and stopped a bit. It was very very moving and personal.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Different kinds of loss</h2>
<p>We heard a great deal from our Cruse volunteer diarists about how people had very mixed feelings about bereavement during lockdown. For some, the absence of normal grieving rituals has been very challenging, taking away what one diarist described as vital “restoration after loss activities”.</p>
<p>For others though, we heard how the curtailment of normal social activities and not being at work enabled people to grieve according to their own schedule and rhythm, without the pressure to appear happy when they didn’t feel like that inside. We also heard how not being confronted with things like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day celebrations was a welcome relief for some who find such celebrations simply amplify the sense of loss. </p>
<p>Finally, our diarists told us that there was a lot of grieving going on with residents, not necessarily about a recent death, but rather over other losses:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Grieving about not seeing family, not seeing friends. Grieving for the losses that aren’t about death. All those little things make a lot of difference.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The impact of COVID-19 on assisted living residents was made clear in a collective feeling of uncertainty, losing confidence and missing opportunities that, for some, may never come again. </p>
<p>Diarists’ accounts echo the emerging consensus that there are additional layers of complexity to the experiences of loss, grief and bereavement during this pandemic. But they also bring into question how we memorialise death in so-called normal times. Some bereaved people have <a href="http://endoflifecareambitions.org.uk/category/community-prepared-to-help/">reported experiencing solace</a> in the way neighbours have pitched in with alternative memorials that don’t involve a great deal of expense but bring people together as a compassionate community. </p>
<p>These accounts have also demonstrated the value of listening and neighbourliness, and the role of volunteers in supporting those who are bereaved without requiring expensive talking therapies or clinical support. </p>
<p>Importantly, they have highlighted how having the opportunity to get off life’s “normal” social merry-go-round is actually helpful and welcomed by some of those grieving right now. They also serve as a reminder that the pandemic involves a great deal of other kinds of losses that still need to be mourned.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/153729/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The testimonies of bereavement counsellors reveals devastatingly lonely experiences of grief, unexpected feelings of loss and even some silver linings.Karen West, Professor of Social Policy and Ageing, University of BristolHannah Rumble, Senior Research Associate in Death, Dying and Funerals, University of BristolLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1498132020-11-11T00:20:43Z2020-11-11T00:20:43ZIn appealing to ‘give each other a chance,’ Biden recalls the democratic charity of Abraham Lincoln<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368697/original/file-20201110-15-1jkx5t6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C53%2C6000%2C3736&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">President-elect Joe Biden speaks on Nov. 7, 2020, in Wilmington, Del. </span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newsroom.ap.org/detail/APTOPIXElection2020Biden/c84dfa04ec37439d9b16ce439bfbae16/photo?Query=joe%20biden%20nov.%207&mediaType=photo&sortBy=&dateRange=Anytime&totalCount=1561&currentItemNo=3">AP Photo/Andrew Harnik</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>On Nov. 7, in his hometown of Wilmington, Delaware, Joe Biden delivered his <a href="https://www.latimes.com/politics/story/2020-11-07/joe-biden-victory-speech-2020-election-transcript">first speech as president-elect</a>. In declaring victory, Biden spoke directly to those who didn’t support him. </p>
<p>“And to those who voted for President Trump, I understand your disappointment tonight. I’ve lost a couple of elections myself. But now, let’s give each other a chance. It’s time to put away the harsh rhetoric. To lower the temperature. To see each other again. To listen to each other again. To make progress. We must stop treating our opponents as our enemy. We are not enemies. We are Americans.”</p>
<p>I am a <a href="https://polisci.la.psu.edu/people/cxb518">scholar of democracy and ethics</a>, and Biden’s words call to mind Abraham Lincoln’s second inaugural address. Delivered on March 4, 1865, after his reelection and at a time when Union victory was in sight, that speech – like Biden’s – called for a new beginning after a time of extreme division. </p>
<p>Both speeches also reflect an idea of democratic charity – that we all deserve to be heard, respected and given the benefit of the doubt. </p>
<h2>Opponents, not enemies</h2>
<p>Biden’s words, “We are not enemies. We are Americans,” also recall Abraham Lincoln’s first inaugural speech, delivered in 1861. Lincoln used the occasion to make a poignant but vain appeal to his fellow citizens to forgo the looming American Civil War. Ending his speech, <a href="https://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/lincoln1.asp">Lincoln said</a>:</p>
<p>“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=468&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=468&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=468&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=588&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=588&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368698/original/file-20201110-17-wjedd9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=588&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A scene in front of the Capitol during Lincoln’s second inauguration, 1865.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newsroom.ap.org/detail/LINCOLNSECONDINAUGURAL/79bd2625fbe6da11af9f0014c2589dfb/photo?Query=lincoln%20second%20inaugural&mediaType=photo&sortBy=&dateRange=Anytime&totalCount=18&currentItemNo=0">AP Photo</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But to me, the more important part of Biden’s speech was his plea that we “give each other a chance.” These words summon Lincoln’s second inaugural address. That speech ended with these words:</p>
<p>“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” These words are carved on the wall of the Lincoln memorial in Washington, D.C.</p>
<p>Both Lincoln’s speech and Biden’s call for a new beginning after a time of extreme division. And both reflect a specifically democratic idea of charity that all Americans ought to strive for. </p>
<h2>Democratic charity</h2>
<p>For most people, charity refers to instances when someone gives away something that the other person needs: food, shelter or just a cash donation. There is usually, therefore, a power imbalance between the giver and the receiver. </p>
<p><a href="https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/is_there_something_wrong_with_philanthropy">Scholars and philanthropists alike acknowledge</a> that paternalism and even condescension are always risks associated with such an unbalanced relationship. </p>
<p>Democratic charity is different. It doesn’t start with an unequal relationship. Instead, it reflects the ideal that in a democratic society we are equal. And all citizens are both givers and receivers. </p>
<p>Democratic charity means assuming, at least to start, that just like me, <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/civility-now-foreign-concept-americans-politics-how-did-we-get-ncna873491">my opponent is a person of goodwill</a>, who loves his or her country, and conveys beliefs honestly. </p>
<p>Lincoln’s call for charity rested on the Christian notion that all Americans have fallen short of God’s judgment. While he plainly believed that slavery was an affront to God, <a href="https://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/lincoln2.asp">he also encouraged</a> those in the North to “judge not, lest we be judged.” </p>
<p>That phrase comes from the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%207:5&version=NIV">Gospel of Matthew</a>, in which Jesus admonishes his followers that they should concern themselves more with their own sin and less with the sins of others.</p>
<p>The point is that all people have fallen short. And knowing that, <a href="https://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/lincoln2.asp">Lincoln says</a>, ought to make Americans more likely to practice charity toward those on the other side, even the other side of a bloody civil war. </p>
<h2>Charity starts with humility</h2>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=740&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=740&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=740&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=930&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=930&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368699/original/file-20201110-15-2zgqoa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=930&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newsroom.ap.org/detail/LincolnMemorialinWashington/8963d80c19e04a99ae70c7b7019a402c/photo?Query=lincoln%20second%20inaugural&mediaType=photo&sortBy=&dateRange=Anytime&totalCount=18&currentItemNo=13">AP Photo</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>For Lincoln, charity starts with humility. Contemporary research by <a href="https://psychsciences.case.edu/faculty/julie-exline/">Julie Exline</a> and <a href="https://cct.biola.edu/people/peter-c-hill/">Peter Hill</a> <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/17439760.2012.671348">confirms this insight</a>. In three separate studies, their results show that humility is “a consistent and robust predictor of generosity.” </p>
<p>What’s more, this is a common refrain within Christian, and especially Catholic, theology. St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a monk and <a href="https://www.usccb.org/myusccb/upload/twim-33-fact-of-faith.pdf">doctor of the Catholic Church</a>, <a href="https://richardconlin.files.wordpress.com/2016/05/st-bernard-of-clairvaux-the-twelve-degrees-of-humility-and-pride.pdf">argued</a> in the 12th century that it is only after the monk fully understands his own sinfulness that he can genuinely serve others. In 2019, Pope Francis echoed this sentiment when he said that charity without humility is “<a href="https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/charity-without-meekness-and-humility-is-sterile-pope-reflects">sterile</a>.” </p>
<p>But while humility readily stems from the Christian concept of sin, that is not the only foundation. <a href="https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781498511445/Democratic-Humility-Reinhold-Niebuhr-Neuroscience-and-America%E2%80%99s-Political-Crisis">In my own work</a>, I have argued that humility can start from the fact that all human beings are subject to motivated reasoning and confirmation bias. </p>
<p>Just like sin, these effects too are universal and inescapable. As a result, no one sees the world just as it is. When one recognizes this fact, it is likewise possible to develop a more generous perspective toward those on the other side. Here too, democratic charity toward others begins with a democratic sense of humility about the self.</p>
<p>[<em>Insight, in your inbox each day.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/the-daily-3?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=insight">You can get it with The Conversation’s email newsletter</a>.]</p>
<h2>How we move forward</h2>
<p>The end of an election can be an opportunity to reaffirm a shared commitment to one another as Americans. This is no small thing. Accepting a loss in which one has invested so much hope, time and treasure is never easy. </p>
<p>But right now, as with the end of the civil war, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/magazine/2020/10/26/gene-weingarten-divided-country-healing/?arc404=true">divisions are deep and fraught with distrust</a>, rancor and, in many cases, outright hatred. <a href="https://apnews.com/article/mitt-romney-no-evidence-vote-fraud-0ac291da7ab09f6336d24290ef81f53b">Baseless and reckless claims of voter fraud</a> are perhaps the latest manifestation of that condition. To many, Biden’s words may therefore seem woefully insufficient to the task. </p>
<p>But as it was true for Lincoln, the effort itself is worthy. Democratic charity offers Americans the opportunity to take a step back from hatred and give one another a chance.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/149813/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Christopher Beem does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>On Nov. 7, when President-elect Joe Biden urged in his address that we “give each other a chance,” his words summoned Abraham Lincoln’s second inaugural address of 1865.Christopher Beem, Managing Director of the McCourtney Institute of Democracy, Co-host of Democracy Works Podcast, Penn StateLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1458272020-09-21T12:14:36Z2020-09-21T12:14:36ZWhat the Greek classics tell us about grief and the importance of mourning the dead<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/358867/original/file-20200918-22-1viwdci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=73%2C0%2C4010%2C3206&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Greek hero Achilles with the body of Hector, his main opponent in the Trojan War.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/25/Achilles_Displaying_the_Body_of_Hector_at_the_Feet_of_Patroclus%2C_by_Jean_Joseph_Taillason%2C_1769%2C_oil_on_canvas_-_Krannert_Art_Museum%2C_UIUC_-_DSC06264.jpg/4096px-Achilles_Displaying_the_Body_of_Hector_at_the_Feet_of_Patroclus%2C_by_Jean_Joseph_Taillason%2C_1769%2C_oil_on_canvas_-_Krannert_Art_Museum%2C_UIUC_-_DSC06264.jpg">Jean-Joseph Taillasson/Krannert Art Museum</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>As the coronavirus pandemic hit New York in March, the death toll quickly went up with few chances for families and communities to perform traditional rites for their loved ones.</p>
<p>A reporter for <a href="https://time.com/5839056/new-york-city-burials-coronavirus/">Time magazine described</a> how bodies were put on a ramp, then onto a loading dock and stacked on wooden racks. Emergency morgues were set up to handle the large number of dead. By official count, New York City alone had <a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2020/05/28/863710050/reckoning-with-the-dead-journalist-goes-inside-an-nyc-covid-19-disaster-morgue">20,000 dead</a> over a period of two months. </p>
<p>Months later, our ability to mourn and process death remains disrupted due to the ever-present fear of the threat of the coronavirus and the need to observe social distancing.</p>
<p>As a <a href="https://www.brandeis.edu/facultyguide/person.html?emplid=1be7ee967d45605afddf7da9ad4ca2c049a26c0b">scholar of classical studies</a>, I tend to look to the past to help understand the present. Ancient literature, especially ancient Greek epics, explore what it means to be human and part of a community. </p>
<p>In the Greek classic “The Iliad,” Homer specifies few universal rights, but one that emerges clearly is the expectation of proper lamentation, burial and memorial. </p>
<h2>Valuing life in death</h2>
<p>Homer’s “Iliad” explores the themes of 10 years of war – the Trojan War – over a narrative that lasts around 50 days. It shows the internal strife and the struggles of the Greeks as they try to defend themselves against the Trojans.</p>
<p>It humanizes the city of Troy by emphasizing the scale of loss and suffering and not just the boastful nature of its kings and warlords. </p>
<p>The epic <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.01.0134">begins with the recognition</a> that the rage of its main character, Achilles, on account of a slight to his honor, “created myriad griefs” for the Greeks and “sent many strong heroes to the underworld.” </p>
<p>The epic’s conflict <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Hom.+Il.+1.100&fromdoc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134">starts</a> when king Agamemnon, leader of the Greek army, deprives the semi-divine hero Achilles of Briseis, an enslaved woman he was awarded as a prize earlier in the war. </p>
<p>Briseis is said to be Achilles’ “geras,” a physical token indicating the esteem his fellow Greeks have for him. The meaning of the word “geras” develops as the poem progresses. But as readers learn alongside Achilles, physical objects are essentially meaningless when one is going to die anyway.</p>
<p>By the end of the epic, physical tokens of honor are replaced in importance by burial rites. Zeus accepts that his mortal son Sarpedon can at best receive “the geras of the dead” when he is <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134%3Abook%3D16%3Acard%3D394">buried and mourned</a>. Achilles too insists that mourning is “the geras of the dead” when he gathers the Greeks to <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134%3Abook%3D23%3Acard%3D1">honor his fallen comrade, Patroklos</a>.</p>
<p>The epic ends with a justification for the burial of Achilles’ opponent, Hector, the greatest of the Trojan warriors and another victim of Achilles’ rage.</p>
<p>For Hector’s funerary rites, the Greeks and the Trojans agree to an armistice. The Trojans gather and clean Hector’s body, cremate him, and bury his remains below a monumental tomb. The women of the city tell the story of the brave hero <a href="https://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/6668">in their laments</a>. </p>
<p>This is its foundational narrative – that burial rites are essential to the collective work of communities. Failure to observe burial provokes crisis. In the Iliad, the gods meet to resolve <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0134%3Abook%3D24%3Acard%3D22">the problem of Hector’s unburied body</a>: Achilles must quit his rage and give Hector’s body back to his family. </p>
<h2>A divine right</h2>
<p>This narrative is repeated in other ancient Greek myths. Best known, perhaps, is Sophocles’ “Antigone,” a Greek tragedy dating from the 440s B.C. In this play, two brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, are killed in their fight for control of the city.</p>
<p>Creon, their uncle, who takes over the city, <a href="http://philosophyfaculty.ucsd.edu/faculty/ewatkins/Phil107S13/Sophocles-Antigone.pdf">forbids burial of one</a>. The play’s conflict centers around their sister Antigone, who buries her brother against the new king’s wishes, consigning herself to death. </p>
<p>In opposing this basic right, Creon is shown to suffer in turn, losing his wife and son to suicide in the process. In response to the capital punishment of Antigone for performing the rites due to her brother, his son Haemon takes his life and his mother Eurydice follows him.</p>
<p>Properly honoring the dead – especially those who have died serving their people – is from this perspective a divinely sanctioned right. Furthermore, mistreatment of the dead brings infamy on the city and pollution. Plague often curses cities and peoples who fail to honor their fallen. </p>
<p>This is central to the plot of “<a href="http://classics.mit.edu/Euripides/suppliants.html">The Suppliants</a>,” another Greek play telling us the story of the conflict between the sons of Oedipus, king of the Greek city of Thebes. In this play by Euripides, the Thebans refuse to bury any of the warriors who fought against their city. The crisis is resolved only when the Athenian hero Theseus leads an army to force them to honor the dead.</p>
<p>One of the most famous examples of classical rhetoric shares in the tradition of honoring the dead as a public duty. Greek historian Thucydides writes about the funeral oration of Pericles, who was a popular leader in Athens during the 430s B.C.</p>
<p>On the occasion of offering the “<a href="https://oxfordre.com/classics/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-2461">epitaphios</a>,” a speech over the fallen war dead, Pericles articulates his vision of the Athenians as standing against foreign threats in the past.</p>
<p>Memories of the past were an important guide to the future. This is in part why the funeral oration became so important in Athenian life: It provided an opportunity to explain why those lives were sacrificed in service of a shared civic mission and identity.</p>
<h2>Communities of memory</h2>
<p>Even today, memories are shaped by stories. From local communities to nations, the stories we tell will shape what we will remember about the past. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/358875/original/file-20200918-24-1004252.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A body being loaded onto a refrigerated container truck used as a temporary morgue in New York in March.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newsroom.ap.org/detail/VirusOutbreakNewYork/cdc500f7a9a1401bbb7f3c2b3ba773e0/photo?Query=covid%20refrigerated%20trucks&mediaType=photo&sortBy=&dateRange=Anytime&totalCount=26&currentItemNo=14">AP Photo/John Minchillo</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Researchers from the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation predict that an estimated 200,000 people in the U.S. will have died from the coronavirus <a href="https://www.cbsnews.com/news/covid-19-united-states-coronavirus-deaths-projection-400000-by-end-of-year/">by Sept. 26</a> and some 400,000 by the year-end. </p>
<p>Many people who see loved ones die will deal with unresolved loss, or “<a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/complicated-grief/symptoms-causes/syc-20360374">complicated grief</a>” – grief that results from not knowing what happened to one’s loved ones or without having the social structures to process their loss. That grief has been compounded by the current isolation. It has prevented many from carrying out those very rites that help us learn to live with our grief. </p>
<p>Just recently, I lost my 91-year-old grandmother, <a href="https://www.rivertowns.net/obituaries/obits/6665780-Beverly-Jean-Mjolsness">Beverly Mjolsness</a>, to a non-coronavirus death. My family made the hard decision not to travel across the country to bury her. Instead, we gathered for a video memorial of a celebration of a life well-lived. As we did so, I could see my family struggling to know how to proceed without the rituals and the comfort of being together. </p>
<p>[<em>You’re smart and curious about the world. So are The Conversation’s authors and editors.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/the-daily-3?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=youresmart">You can read us daily by subscribing to our newsletter</a>.]</p>
<p>Such grief that does not allow for collective in-person memorialization can turn into <a href="https://www.apa.org/news/apa/2020/04/grief-covid-19">debilitating trauma</a>. Our public discourse, however, when it has not tried to minimize the number of the dead or the continuing threat, has not sought to <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/national-mourning-coronavirus/2020/05/15/b47fc670-9577-11ea-82b4-c8db161ff6e5_story.html">provide any plan for memorials</a>, now or in the future. </p>
<p>What Homer and Sophocles demonstrate is that the rites we give to the dead help us understand what it takes to go on living. I believe we need to start honoring those we have lost to this epidemic. It will not just bring comfort to the living, but remind us that we share a community in which our lives – and deaths – have meaning.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/145827/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joel Christensen does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Families who lost their loved ones during the pandemic could not even properly grieve. Greek epics show why lamentation and memorial are so important and what we can learn in these times.Joel Christensen, Associate Professor of Classical Studies, Brandeis UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1376852020-05-28T12:16:17Z2020-05-28T12:16:17ZArchiving the pandemic: ‘Coronavirus Lost and Found’ documents how we cope with catastrophe<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337995/original/file-20200527-20255-19pmhug.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C849%2C5430%2C3056&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The pandemic has left holes in all our lives.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/chest-of-drawers-royalty-free-image/512153011?adppopup=true">weerapatkiatdumrong/iStock / Getty Images Plus</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>There is so much to mourn at the moment. Even those of us spared the worst of the coronavirus pandemic are missing things: favorite pastimes, places and people. </p>
<p>At the same time, pleasure takes unexpected forms, as we find ways to sustain ourselves and others despite sadness and upheaval.</p>
<p>To document the everyday ways people are living and coping with this catastrophe, I launched <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/">“Coronavirus Lost and Found</a>,” an online public archive where anyone can log any losses they’re mourning or solaces they’ve found in recent months. Since mid-April, dozens of people from across the United States and the world have contributed posts. </p>
<p>I never intended to inventory a pandemic. My <a href="https://rebeccaaadelman.com/">academic research</a> usually focuses on the role of emotion in American wartime culture, especially the forms of suffering that often get overlooked in periods of crisis. </p>
<p>But like most people, I spent much of the early spring unmaking plans. Canceling weekend adventures, gatherings with family and friends and professional opportunities I had worked so hard to arrange was dispiriting enough. I found the thought they would vanish without record to be unspeakably sad. </p>
<p>I created the archive as a space for people to memorialize what could have been – and to record what can now emerge, in its absence. </p>
<h2>What’s been lost</h2>
<p>Alyssa Samek, a communications professor in Southern California, is expecting her second child and had been <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/weightlessness-and-water/">looking forward to more frequent swims</a> in the campus pool as her pregnancy progressed. </p>
<p>With the pool closed now, Samek writes, she misses “the feeling of gratitude for the gentleness of the water holding my body so softly, the beauty of the sunny blue sky above me as I lie back at the end of my swim.”</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337997/original/file-20200527-20233-15k2pep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Pool’s closed.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/high-angle-view-of-swimming-pool-royalty-free-image/1195042611?adppopup=true">Kanchanalak Chanthaphun / EyeEm</a></span>
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</figure>
<p>Jessica Grim of Ohio, a retired academic librarian and published poet, lost her “<a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/my-other-life/">other life</a>” – as a Peace Corps volunteer in Myanmar. Grim was 14 months into her 27-month term teaching English to middle schoolers there when coronavirus forced a hasty evacuation. </p>
<p>The pandemic snapped Grim out of a landscape of “pomelo, rambutan, snakefruit, durian, jackfruit, 15 varieties of mango, 25 varieties of banana,” she writes. Lost, too, are the “quiet streets at dawn in the Muslim quarter.” </p>
<p>Other contributors to the archive lament <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/a-physical-audience-2/">creative projects interrupted</a> and disconnection from the communities that animated their work. For 15 years Steve Loya, an elementary school art teacher in Sterling, Virginia, has run a popular <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/i-lost-my-art-club/">after-school art club</a>, now canceled. </p>
<p>In one favorite project, Loya encourages experimenting when the kids build whatever they want out of scrap wood. Normally, the final product is a “physical testament to what young people are capable of doing when their imaginations are unlocked and free to wander,” Loya writes. </p>
<p>This year, the sculptures remain unbuilt. </p>
<h2>What’s been found</h2>
<p>I’ve been astonished by the weight of all the loss shared in “Coronavirus Lost and Found.” But I’m also amazed by the ingenuity with which people have sought and found comfort, even delight. </p>
<p>As the pandemic has scrambled routines, for example, some people have discovered news ways to be with their loved ones. </p>
<p>For weeks, the aggressive pandemic response in Israel compelled Ilana Blumberg, who teaches literature and writing at Bar Ilan University, to stay within 100 meters of her Jerusalem home. That made getting her 10,000 steps a day exasperatingly difficult. </p>
<p>So on “one of the many corona nights,” Blumberg writes, she and her 16-year-old daughter threw themselves an <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/the-body-that-gave-birth-to-my-daughter/">impromptu dance party</a>. As they laughed and sweated, Blumberg found renewed wonder at parenthood, marveling “that I gave birth to the body now next to me, independent and strong and eager.” </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=777&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=777&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=777&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=977&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=977&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337998/original/file-20200527-20215-1a70a04.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=977&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Family is a theme of the ‘Coronavirus Lost and Found.’</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/shadows-of-parents-lifting-child-royalty-free-image/162235269?adppopup=true&uiloc=thumbnail_similar_images_adp">okeyphotos</a></span>
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<p>Jessica Sanfilippo-Schulz’s “Coronavirus Lost and Found” contribution reflects her perspective as both a <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/daughters-and-mothers/">mother and a daughter</a>. Time feels different these days, she realizes, opening up new ways to experience both those roles. </p>
<p>Reflecting on a routine maintained for more than two months now, Sanfilippo-Schulz – who lives in Germany – says she has “found every morning a pleasure for long slow phone calls” with her mother, who lives near hard-hit Milan, Italy. And then, “I found in my teenage daughter a keenness to cook slow recipes at lunchtime with me.” </p>
<p>Mara, a health researcher from Seattle, wanted to set <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/special-time-with-my-sons-harmony-with-their-dad/">new arrangements for co-parenting</a> her two boys, ages 3 and 9, in the midst of her pandemic routine of “juggling, improvising, cleaning, half-working, trying to breathe.” </p>
<p>Ensuring the kids get one-on-one time with both parents under these circumstances, Mara writes, she has learned to be more “patient, understanding, responsive, and appreciative” of her ex-partner. She has even discovered “compassion for his days without [the children], because I know that emptiness and loss.” </p>
<h2>Losing and finding at once</h2>
<p>The pandemic is measured on a massive scale – in <a href="https://coronavirus.jhu.edu/map.html">millions of cases</a>, <a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2020/04/24/coronavirus-pandemics-impact-on-the-global-economy-in-7-charts.html">trillions of dollars</a> and a global <a href="https://theconversation.com/death-by-numbers-how-vietnam-war-and-coronavirus-changed-the-way-we-mourn-137675">death toll that ticks upward</a> by the thousands. </p>
<p>But as “Coronavirus Lost and Found” reveals, the losses that truly stagger us are often much smaller. They can’t easily be counted, and they’ll never make the news. The selected stories I featured here, with permission of the authors, testify to the magnitude of a calamity affecting every facet of our lives. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=11%2C0%2C3882%2C2592&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=11%2C0%2C3882%2C2592&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337993/original/file-20200527-20245-dyufbn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Plans unmade, projects incomplete.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/assorted-jigsaw-puzzle-royalty-free-image/1224927718?adppopup=true">maksime/iStock/Getty Images Plus</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>And although the archive requires contributors to categorize their entries as “lost” or “found,” the distinction is not so tidy. (Add an entry to
“Coronavirus Lost and Found” <a href="https://pandemicarchive.com/add-to-the-archive/">here</a>.)</p>
<p>When we grieve a loss, we realize how much something meant before it was gone – a mournful accounting of past pleasures. And any happiness we “find” during the pandemic may well be tinged with sadness. </p>
<p>As the archive grows, accounts of refreshed hope stack up next to stories of days emptied out. The losses and founds do not diminish one another, but simply continue to accumulate, side by side, no end in sight. </p>
<p>[<em>You need to understand the coronavirus pandemic, and we can help.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=upper-coronavirus-help">Read The Conversation’s newsletter</a>.]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/137685/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rebecca A. Adelman does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Even those of us spared the worst of COVID-19 are missing our favorite pastimes, places and people. But pleasure can also take unexpected new forms in a pandemic.Rebecca A. Adelman, Associate Professor - Department of Media Communication Studies, University of Maryland, Baltimore CountyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1353482020-04-27T20:14:57Z2020-04-27T20:14:57ZChildren’s grief in coronavirus quarantine may look like anger. Here’s how parents can respond<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330402/original/file-20200424-163122-9k11uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=15%2C3%2C2519%2C1550&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Children may be struggling with feelings of abandonment and a loss of security in their lives.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.who.int/health-topics/coronavirus#tab=tab_1">COVID-19 has taken the world by storm</a> and profoundly changed the lives of children and families. Children aren’t going to school and many businesses have temporarily shut down. Many parents are working from home and essential front-line workers like doctors and nurses are working longer hours with increased risk and stress.</p>
<p>This is a scary and uncertain time for all of us, but especially for children. Through media and conversations at home, children are likely hearing about COVID-19 frequently. They are also witnessing the obvious changes the virus has had on their lives and daily routine. </p>
<h2>Childhood grief and loss</h2>
<p>Loss can be <a href="https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781442222748/Understanding-Loss-and-Grief-A-Guide-Through-Life-Changing-Events">defined as a universal experience of change</a>. We typically think of loss in terms of the finality of death. However, there are many experiences of loss in a lifetime. Everything that involves change involves loss — such as the change in normalcy or in children’s daily routine as a result of COVID-19.</p>
<p>Grief is our <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.ca/books/On-Grief-and-Grieving/Elisabeth-Kubler-Ross/9781476775555">emotional responses</a> to change and loss. This includes reactions we experience through feelings, physical sensations, thoughts and behaviours. The change related to COVID-19 has created feelings of <a href="https://hbr-org.cdn.ampproject.org/c/s/hbr.org/amp/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief">grief</a> for both children and adults. It’s imperative that parents support children’s unique grief experiences and expressions during this difficult time.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C8%2C5471%2C2858&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330379/original/file-20200424-163077-1f56ktb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Grief includes feelings, physical sensations, thoughts and behaviours.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Bruno Nascimento/Unsplash)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Children’s expression of grief</h2>
<p>The psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross developed a model of the <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca/blog/love-and-sex-in-the-digital-age/202003/covid-19-and-the-grief-process">five common stages of grief</a>. These stages are fluid and may not occur in a predictable order. Children may experience variations of the same stage more than once, and others may skip a stage or two.</p>
<p>The first stage is denial, which helps children to cope with the loss. Denial is characterised by reactions such as avoidance, confusion, shock and fear. Children may be confused as to why they can’t go to school, or why they can’t do fun things with their friends and families because of a virus. This might look like avoiding educational activities and conversations about the virus or their current circumstances.</p>
<p>The second stage is anger, characterized by frustration and anxiety. During this stage, children will express feelings which they have been suppressing. As a result of COVID-19, children may feel <a href="http://www.ascd.org/publications/educational-leadership/oct97/vol55/num02/Reaching-Out-to-Grieving-Students.aspx">abandonment</a> by their friends and teachers, and a loss of security and control in their lives. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/what-the-lion-king-teaches-us-about-childrens-grief-121544">What 'The Lion King' teaches us about children’s grief</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
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<p>This may be especially true for children who feel safer at school due to less stable, nurturing and supportive home or family life. Children don’t have the experiences in life to <a href="https://doi.org/10.17744/mehc.33.1.a2m06x0835352741">explore these thoughts and feelings</a> as rationally as adults.</p>
<p>Therefore, children often express <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Grieving-Child/Helen-Fitzgerald/9780671767624">undesirable behaviours</a> like clinginess, bed wetting, difficulty sleeping, thumb sucking, temper tantrums and difficulty concentrating. These may all be expressions of their confusion about what is happening in their world.</p>
<p>The third stage is bargaining. During this stage, children attempt to bargain with their parent or a higher power to negotiate a new reality. They may promise to clean up their toys, wash their hands really well or wear a mask — if only they could go back to school, see their friends or play at the park.</p>
<p>The fourth stage is depression, characterized by feelings of helplessness. Children may enter this stage when they realize their bargaining will not change their circumstances. The child may withdraw, avoid interactions with parents and siblings, and decline invitations to spend time playing or engaging with loved ones. Depression may also manifest in physical symptoms such as stomach aches, headaches and exhaustion.</p>
<p>The final stage is acceptance, marked by feelings of security and readjustment. During this stage, the child comes to terms with their new routine and reality. At this point, children understand that just because things are different for the moment, it doesn’t mean things won’t go back to normal later.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330411/original/file-20200424-163072-4w3n0e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Spending time physically close to children can help them feel safe and to freely express their emotions.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Tips for parents</h2>
<p>To encourage and facilitate children’s expression of grief, parents can:</p>
<p><strong>Provide children with <a href="https://kidshealth.org/en/parents/coronavirus-landing-page.html">honest and simple information</a>:</strong> Children need accurate information about the virus and the changes happening in their life so they can avoid filling in the gaps with misinformation and increasing worries. </p>
<p><strong>Respond to children’s fears and emotions</strong>: Respond sensitively to children’s needs and think about the environment your family creates and maintains. For example, playing the news in the background can feel scary and may increase children’s worries and physical stress responses. It’s important for developing trust that parents tell children the truth; it’s OK to admit you don’t know or to respond to the child’s emotion.</p>
<p><strong>Stick to your routine:</strong> Children naturally thrive in a routine. This is important for <a href="https://fpg.unc.edu/sites/fpg.unc.edu/files/resources/reports-and-policy-briefs/PromotingSelf-RegulationIntheFirstFiveYears.pdf">their development of self-regulation</a>. </p>
<p>Significant change in a child’s routine can create a sense of loss in control and may cause changes in a child’s behaviours. Provide children with some structure and some autonomy over their daily tasks. Setting expectations for children of what they need to accomplish in their day, such as reading a chapter or short story. This will provide them some support for <a href="https://cwrp.ca/sites/default/files/publications/en/loss-and-grief-final-mb.pdf">self-regulating</a> difficult feelings such as loss or fear.</p>
<p><strong>Invite nonverbal cues:</strong> Children are resilient and can get through this scary time with the support of a loved one. You can create a caring, warm and loving environment by sitting next to or hugging your children, which makes them feel safe and allows them freely express their emotions. Children may express themselves through drawing, writing in a journal, singing, dancing, crafts or taking pictures. </p>
<p>Finally, everyone may experience these stages of change and loss as we get through this unpredictable and unknowable time. Be kind to yourself; allow yourself time and space to experience and process your own grief experience.</p>
<p>As a parent, listen and love. Encourage expression in any way that is comfortable and healing to them, and to you.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/135348/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Grief encompasses our emotional responses to change and loss, and children’s grief might be expressed in what psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross described as the five common stages of grief.Elena Merenda, Assistant Program Head of Early Childhood Studies, University of Guelph-HumberNikki Martyn, Program Head of Early Childhood Studies, University of Guelph-HumberLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1355882020-04-16T09:11:01Z2020-04-16T09:11:01ZWhy can’t I stop thinking about my dead parents?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/326543/original/file-20200408-80225-sawjwl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Always with us.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/silhouette-father-son-holding-hands-walking-1105369889">Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>“How can someone stop thinking about his or her dead parents? Is this really possible?”</em> Mirka, by email.</p>
<p>After I finished my studies I worked as a carer for the elderly for a few months. It was a difficult job, but there are some people I remember fondly. One of them was a woman in her 90s, with memory loss and hearing problems. I’d cook lunch for her and then sit and listen as she’d eat and share stories about her life. She had been married and had several children. But the people that she talked about the most, that she seemed to remember best, were her parents. </p>
<p>The thought scared me. Even when we are very old, and we forget what we did yesterday or who our neighbours are, we remember our parents. It scared me because it showed that there are things that we can never leave behind, that memories from a distant past can come back to haunt (or, of course, delight) us. We are not in control of what we remember. Time does not heal everything. It does not wash it all away like a benevolent numbing wave.</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/313328/original/file-20200203-41485-1foofme.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<span class="caption"></span>
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<p><strong><em>This article is part of <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/lifes-big-questions-80040?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=TCUKengagement&utm_content=LifesBigQuestionsUK">Life’s Big Questions</a></em></strong>
<br><em>The Conversation’s new series, co-published with BBC Future, seeks to answer our readers’ nagging questions about life, love, death and the universe. We work with professional researchers who have dedicated their lives to uncovering new perspectives on the questions that shape our lives.</em></p>
<hr>
<p>It seems we simply cannot leave some people behind, especially people who are dead and whom we may wish to forget, because remembering hurts. It may hurt because we miss them and our ongoing love for them is painful. It may hurt because we feel guilty for not appreciating them more. Or it may hurt because we still can’t forgive them.</p>
<p>Whatever the reason, we may wish to live in a world in which they do not exist, not even in our minds, because we cannot feel the loss of something that we never think about. So we believe that, if only we could forget, there would be no loss, nor pain. We may even believe that forgetting about our parents will somehow make us free to finally be ourselves. </p>
<p>Perhaps all this is true, but perhaps that is also the wrong way to think about it. </p>
<p>Here is a thought that you may find either soothing or terrifying: I don’t think it is possible to ever experience a world in which our parents are completely absent. To start with the obvious reasons, our parents are part of us, biologically and psychologically. We are who we are <a href="https://pediatrics.aappublications.org/content/pediatrics/104/Supplement_1/164.full.pdf">because of who they are</a>, or were.</p>
<p>There are always going to be moments when we’ll look in the mirror and recognise their smile in the way we smile, or remember the way they waved their hands in the air in frustration, because we do that too. Perhaps we have a temper, like them; perhaps we are good with children, just as they were. Our confidence or insecurity, our particular fears and the way we love, are influenced by them.</p>
<p>Of course we have some freedom and independence as well, because there are parts of ourselves that have been shaped by factors that have nothing to do with our parents, and because we can partly <a href="https://theconversation.com/free-thought-can-you-ever-be-a-truly-independent-thinker-129033">choose who we are</a>. But there are always traces of our parents in us – some good, others less so. </p>
<p>Most parents leave a legacy that is a mixture of positives and negatives. That is only human. And if we have children, we will be present in them in the same way, and so on. That’s how the reproduction of life works, and we join in the dance. </p>
<p>Indeed, if we want, we can go further and think about all the history and generations and natural factors that went into the making of ourselves. It is a bit dizzying, but also an incredibly expansive thought. To borrow <a href="https://poets.org/poem/song-myself-51">a line</a> from American <a href="https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/transcendentalism/">transcendentalist</a> poet Walt Whitman, you can say: “I contain multitudes.”</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326546/original/file-20200408-3457-1pnor4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Childhood memories are resilient.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/father-holding-his-daughters-hand-513368548">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We can think about this as a matter of biology, a matter of culture, <a href="https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/identity-personal/#Fis">a philosophical question of personal identity</a> or as a spiritual perspective. I like to think that the separation between these approaches is porous, and we can adopt all of them together.</p>
<p>None of this denies our individuality. It is rather about recognising that our individuality is not independent of what we conceive as “not us”, and that parents are a big part of the individual we are. </p>
<h2>The nature of memory</h2>
<p>Psychologically, two factors explain the <a href="https://www.apa.org/monitor/2011/09/memorie">pervasive nature of memories</a> related to our parents: one is the fact that emotionally intense experiences last longer in our memory. The other is that we are more likely to create memories when things are new – and childhood is the time of our lives when so many <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyg.2020.00322/full">things we experience are novel</a> and important. </p>
<p>Parents are typically central in both cases. Our first emotions take place with them. They are present during our first explorations of the world and of ourselves. So if we put them together it becomes clear that parent-related situations have a greater chance of being impressed in our memories than almost anything else. </p>
<p>But does this mean that we are stuck with memories of our parents, sometimes painful, replaying in our minds all the time, day after day? Not at all. </p>
<p>I think that we can use the inescapable presence of our parents within us as a spring to move forward and as a liberating knowledge to project ourselves outward into the world. That someone is part of us does not mean that we must think about them all the time. Or even at all. It means that we are free, in fact, to think about everything else, because we don’t have to keep our thoughts fixed on them in order for them to be present. They already, always, are. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/326539/original/file-20200408-76090-1awh6ao.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Memories…</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/happy-family-together-parents-their-little-268477379">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>If we have made peace with this composite identity, if we have incorporated and allowed their legacy into us in ways that serve us and we can accept, then we do not need to tend to it. We are able to place our full attention on to the things in the world that require it, without feeling the guilt of letting our parents go. If anything, we are carrying them forward. </p>
<h2>Confronting darkness</h2>
<p>Sometimes, though, the aspects of ourselves that are shaped by our parents are causes of suffering, and we need to observe them and work on them. There may be haunting memories – or legacies – that we cannot ignore. Perhaps the English poet Philip Larkin captured this sense of negative inheritance most memorably in his searingly frank <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse">This Be The Verse</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>They fuck you up, your mum and dad.<br>
They may not mean to, but they do.<br>
They fill you with the faults they had<br>
And add some extra, just for you.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>If this is the case, we may need to remember to go back to the roots of the suffering and examine them, <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/psychoanalysis-unplugged/201801/why-does-your-therapist-ask-about-your-childhood">to try to resolve them</a>. This is often worth doing, particularly if we have trouble forgiving our parents for having wronged us. Regretting the fact that we never forgave them, or feeling shame because we still love the people who humiliated and hurt us can be a deep source of trauma. The easy option is often to try to forget about it.</p>
<p>But confronting the memories can help us move on. Perhaps it is possible, <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse">as Larkin also pointed out</a>, that however much our parents wronged us, they were also let down by their parents, who were in turn let down by their parents. This doesn’t justify their actions. But accepting that they were to some extent also victims, or that they also had some good qualities, can be a way of breaking a dark cycle – a way of refusing to inherit such behaviour.</p>
<p>So coming to terms with dark memories, and carrying them with us, can make us exceptional people. And if we still can’t forgive our parents, thinking about them could at least help us to accept that we can’t forgive them. And that acceptance may make our memories less painful – fleeting, occasional thoughts rather than relentless, towering waves of pain and anxiety.</p>
<p>The same is true for feelings of guilt. Sure, we could have all shown our parents more love and care. But chances are they felt exactly the same about their parents, and therefore always understood that we loved them more than we could say. It’s a comforting thought.</p>
<p>Ultimately, we are bound up with the people who generated us and who brought us up (sometimes they are the same, sometimes they are not). </p>
<p>But we can choose where to turn our gaze. Indeed, I’d argue that it is precisely because of the inescapable presence of these people, that we have greater freedom to direct our attention elsewhere, outward, to wherever it is needed. And we can be assured they will be with us, in some way, whichever path we choose to take.</p>
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<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Silvia Caprioglio Panizza does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Whether we miss them, feel guilty about not having appreciated them more or struggle to forgive them, remembering our parents can hurt. Here’s how to move on.Silvia Caprioglio Panizza, Teaching Fellow, University College DublinLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1222522019-11-15T13:29:43Z2019-11-15T13:29:43ZDo we actually grow from adversity?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/301659/original/file-20191113-77300-1ugmjb6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=81%2C8%2C5349%2C3497&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">We like to narrate our lives in terms of the challenges we've confronted and the setbacks we've overcome.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/surreal-concept-man-rising-stairs-try-1473864617">frankie's/shutterstock.com </a></span></figcaption></figure><p>In our culture, there’s this idea that enduring a tragedy <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/25/magazine/post-traumatic-stresss-surprisingly-positive-flip-side.html">can be good for your personal growth</a>. You’ll have a newfound appreciation for life. You’ll be grateful for your friends and family. You’ll learn from the experience. You’ll become more resilient.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/thestoryexchange/2018/12/13/a-sandy-hook-moms-powerful-lesson-in-resilience/#135d9d417a9b">This theme</a> appears in media coverage, <a href="https://philadelphia.cbslocal.com/2019/04/22/these-are-resilient-people-shock-of-sri-lanka-terrorist-attack-felt-in-philadelphia/">time</a> and <a href="https://abcnews.go.com/Health/japan-victims-show-resilience-earthquake-tsunami-sign-sense/story?id=13135355">again</a>, in the wake of natural disasters and terrorist attacks. </p>
<p>But what does the science say? </p>
<p>Is there actually value in pain and suffering? Was philosopher Frederich Nietzsche onto something when <a href="http://www.handprint.com/SC/NIE/GotDamer.html">he said</a>, “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger”?</p>
<h2>A powerful narrative</h2>
<p>As psychologists, we’ve been <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721419827017">studying this question</a> for the better part of the last decade. </p>
<p>We’re not the first to grapple with these questions. Psychologists Richard Tedeschi and Lawrence Calhoun have <a href="http://www.apa.org/monitor/2016/11/growth-trauma.aspx">written about</a> how, after experiencing loss or trauma, people reported feeling a greater appreciation for life, closer to their friends and family, stronger, more spiritual and more inspired. They dubbed this phenomenon “post-traumatic growth.”</p>
<p>The appeal of this finding is obvious. It shows there’s a silver lining to tragedy. It’s also consistent with the biblical theme of <a href="https://www.gotquestions.org/redemption.html">redemption</a>, which says that all pain and suffering will ultimately lead to freedom. </p>
<p>The findings also help us make sense of our own lives. Psychologists <a href="https://www.sesp.northwestern.edu/foley/research/redemptiveself/">have demonstrated</a> that we like to narrate our lives in terms of the challenges we’ve confronted and the setbacks we’ve overcome. We like to believe good things can emerge from a bad turn of events because it’s often a key element of the stories we tell about our own lives.</p>
<h2>How can you predict a traumatic event?</h2>
<p>The cultural narrative of “growth from adversity” might sound compelling. </p>
<p>But our own examination of the existing research on the topic identified some red flags.</p>
<p>For one, it’s difficult to collect data on people before and after they’ve experienced trauma. For example, there’s no way of knowing who’s going to lose their home in a hurricane. </p>
<p>For this reason, most research on post-traumatic growth has asked people to estimate how much they’ve changed as a result of their trauma. While this might seem like a sensible way to assess personal growth – you might ask this question of a friend or even yourself – there are <a href="https://doi.org/10.1002/per.1963">significant problems</a> with this approach. </p>
<p><a href="https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Crystal_Park/publication/26281342_Does_Self-Reported_Posttraumatic_Growth_Reflect_Genuine_Positive_Change/links/5b36e05fa6fdcc8506dfae18/Does-Self-Reported-Posttraumatic-Growth-Reflect-Genuine-Positive-Change.pdf">Studies</a> <a href="https://doi.org/10.1521/jscp.2011.30.7.699">have</a> <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0265407518811662">found</a> that people aren’t very good at accurately remembering what they were like before a traumatic event. <a href="https://doi.org/10.1002/per.1963">Or participants will say they’ve grown from the event</a> when, in fact, they’re still <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/2167702614549800">struggling</a>. Their reports of growth <a href="https://doi.org/10.1521/jscp.2010.29.5.546">don’t always match</a> what their friends and family think and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jrp.2016.04.001">may not reflect actual changes in their behaviors</a>. </p>
<p>Telling others that you’ve grown might actually be a way to cope with the pain you’re still experiencing. Western culture <a href="https://doi.org/10.2190/OM.60.3.c">permits little time to grieve</a>; eventually, the expectation is that people are supposed to “get over it and move on.”</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/301661/original/file-20191113-77342-z9rb7k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">How much people believe they’ve changed often isn’t associated with how much they’ve actually changed.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/man-defeated-by-his-shadow-boxing-629681300">frankie's/Shutterstock.com</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>That pressure may even be embedded in the test itself; the questions typically used by trauma researchers tend to ask only about positive changes – whether the person has a newfound appreciation for their life, has pursued new goals or has become more religious. An expectation of recovery and self-improvement is baked into this line of questioning. In other cases, people may simply report that they’ve become stronger because they’re in denial about the actual pain that they are experiencing. </p>
<p>Yet the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/2167702614549800">best-designed studies</a> examining growth have found that how much people believed they had changed following a traumatic experience was not associated with how much they actually changed over time. </p>
<p>In fact, those who reported that they had experienced the most personal growth in the wake of a tragedy <a href="https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9280.2009.02381.x">were more likely to be still experiencing</a> symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. </p>
<h2>The jury’s still out</h2>
<p>In many ways, it’s problematic to embrace the idea that personal growth and resilience are typical outcomes of adversity. </p>
<p>Think about what it communicates: Suffering is good in the long run, and people who have experienced trauma are stronger than those who haven’t. </p>
<p>But moving on from a tragedy isn’t easy. Sometimes, the trauma of certain tragedies, such as the death of a child or a spouse, never fully goes away. </p>
<p>And then there are those who are open about the fact that they’re struggling after a loss months, even years later. If “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” were true, these people might be viewed as “weak,” or seen as having something “wrong” with them.</p>
<p>Here’s what we do know from the best science that’s been done: People can indeed grow from adversity. They can become stronger, improve the quality of their relationships and <a href="https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2018-64399-001">increase their self-esteem</a>. But it probably doesn’t happen nearly as often as most people and some researchers believe. </p>
<p>What’s more, not everyone will grow in the same way and at the same speed. People will continue to need the help and social support of their families, friends and communities in the wake of a traumatic event. The availability of these resources <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/2167702615601001">actually play a big role</a> in determining whether people do, in fact, grow. </p>
<p>Nor should growth be thought of as a goal for everyone. For many people, just getting back to where they were before the trauma may be an ambitious enough goal. </p>
<p>While it’s certainly possible for adversity to lead to new insights and wisdom, science is still unclear about the “when” and “how.” </p>
<p>Stories of growth stemming from trauma <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2013/12/10/living/nelson-mandela-character-identity/index.html">are certainly powerful</a>. They can serve as inspiration for our own lives. But we need to do better research to know whether such stories are the norm or the exception.</p>
<p>[ <em>Insight, in your inbox each day.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=insight">You can get it with The Conversation’s email newsletter</a>. ]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/122252/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Eranda Jayawickreme receives funding from the John Templeton Foundation, the Templeton World Charity Foundation and the European Association for Personality Psychology. The content is solely his responsibility and does not necessarily represent the official views of the funding agencies.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Frank J. Infurna currently receives research funding from the John Templeton Foundation and National Institute on Aging. The content is solely his responsibility and does not necessarily represent the official views of the funding agencies.</span></em></p>We like to think there’s a silver lining to tragedy – and this may be influencing both how studies on post-traumatic growth are constructed and how subjects are responding.Eranda Jayawickreme, Associate Professor of Psychology, Wake Forest UniversityFrank J. Infurna, Associate Professor of Psychology, Arizona State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.