Grief Revisited

Each year brings more insights and growth. Just when you think you really understand something, you encounter new perspectives. For example, I have considered myself someone who understands the grief process. I've worked for many years helping others work through their losses. I've had some significant losses myself (brother's death at an early age, father's death, sister-in-law's premature death, and some very dear friends)and I've managed to work these through.

I was very close to my father and his death when I was just 36 was devastating. It took me three years to begin to integrate that loss. I was lucky to have had a wonderfully close and meaningful relationship with my father. I was not as close to my mother and really didn't get to know her until after my father's death. I sometimes think that if he had not died, I might never have gotten to know my mother the way I did in the years since his death. And, then, it took lots of time and required both she and I to open to each other in a new way.

So, at some level, I always imagined that when my mother died, I would be better able to cope. After all, she lived to 92! And yet, her sudden death last summer has deeply affected me. I think about her all the time and just cannot believe that she is no longer on the planet. Now, I do feel her presence and I do believe that she is with me, but that just isn't enough. As I told a friend this evening, I think about her more since she died than I did when she was living. The loss is painfully acute. Maybe this is because I was not close to her for more than half my life.

We lived in separate cities, she in New York and I in Miami. We only saw each other about six times a year, but we spoke at least once a week, we emailed, and we had just reached the point of comfort to profess our feelings about each other. I have no problem expressing love to most of my dear ones, but with her, because she was not one of those who ended phone conversations with an I love you, it was difficult for me to tell her how much she meant to me. She did tell me in an email last year that she loved me very much. That meant the world to me.

I wasn't one bit ready to have her die. Isn't that so often the truth? I have always said that the deaths of those with whom we've had complicated relationships are the hardest. And now, the truth of that is so poignantly with me.

Puzzle Therapy

One of my favorite pasttimes is solving jigsaw puzzles. I love the feel of the pieces and the shapes. I only like 500 - 750 piece puzzles with intense, vivid colors. I begin by finding the edge pieces so that the rest of the puzzle will find a context in which to fit.

Over time I have discovered that there are several therapeutic levels to my puzzling. I find that if I am stressed, my anxiety abates as I do the puzzle. I am able to sort through current problems and concerns. And, if I am grieving putting together a puzzle is especially helpful. I suppose it is something about being able to put together something that is broken, to bring order back from chaos.

When our family cat died years ago, I found that assembling cat puzzles was very comforting. There was something wonderful about finding the puzzle cats' faces, tails, and fur that helped soothe me for a time.

Then, after 9/11, I found some comfort in completing puzzles of New York City that contained the World Trade Center. This was much more satisfying than merely seeing pictures of my world intact. As I fitted the pieces of the Twin Towers together, I felt I was mending something deep within my psyche.

Recently, I attribute an even greater value to my puzzle activities. About three months ago, my mother died. She was a very active woman who, in her early nineties, was still working full time as an attorney. She was still driving from her home in Manhattan to her country home in Connecticut and entertaining friends, attending opera at Lincoln Center and walking home alone at night. Suddenly, she had a stroke and was gone within four days.

The shock of all this affected my thought process. I would start doing something and then forget to finish. I'd lose a book and then discover it had been right in front of my eyes. I couldn't seem to find my place in the world and was only really focused when I was working in my office with clients.

I became very busy with the paperwork of death and had little time for anything else. Puzzles I had purchased just before Mother's stroke remained in their boxes. I had no interest in them. But then, about three days ago, I decided to clear some space on my desk and attempt a new puzzle. And, the funniest thing has happened. As I search for the pieces, my mind is synthesizing everything else again. I have begun to feel like myself once more. I am not as scattered and my focus has improved. The colors of my world are more vivid. This goes beyond my conscious awareness; it is as if the pieces of my mind are again fitting together.