Annie | Annie Bolitho

Feb/March End of life workshop series

Annie — Tue, 09 Feb 2021 01:49:54 +0000

Eaglemont Artists’ Hub is a beautiful space. Perfect for sessions about a rich and sensitive topic, end of life. Well this is what the owner, mover and shaker, Carol Ryan thinks. She’s as convinced as I am that things can go much smoother for a person’s family if they’ve had a bit of a think about what matters to them.

We’ll kick off on Thurs 25th Feb. 10.30am. I’ll be facilitating what Carol has titled a Good Karma Café. It’ll draw on my experience of facilitating over 30 Death Cafes.

We’ll talk about ‘Death a love project’ the key idea in my book. We’ll get a bit creative – optional of course – with simple processes with textiles and paper.

The Café will introduce the three workshops [Mar. 4, 11, 18 10.30-12.30pm] about end of life. There’s a lovely table at the Hub, where we’ll be chatting about experiences and wishes, and participants can ask questions of me and each other.

Message Carol on 0400 978 096 to register your interest. Attend one or all workshops.

Follow Death a love project on Instagram the Eaglemont Artisans Hub here.

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This is a love project. Tattoos in the grief journey.

Annie — Fri, 31 Jul 2020 03:13:16 +0000

Oh I wish I had a tattoo! Even though my parents died before I even thought of having one, they would have been scandalised! If I had got one it’d have been by ex de Medici. She practised in Canberra. Now a celebrated artist with work in major collections, her work with tattoos still inspires her approach, say with the language of flower painting juxtaposed against emblems of power and death. See her 2019 watercolour exhibition, The Wreckers here.

My parents’ views held me back. And yet that tattoo would have celebrated them. I came from them, and they were so shockingly impermanent that it took me decades to come to terms with their absence from my life.

Tattoos are a unique love project for people who have suffered traumatic loss. I heard and saw this in the ‘Death Matters’ workshops which Grant Broadbent and I’ve run. A tattoo is a continuing bond with the person who died. If I’d had a tattoo I could have stroked it when I was feeling sad. It would have been an unambiguous gesture, a step to recovery. An internalised, external sign.

I met Chris Latimer and Danielle Pullin at the 2019 Story Conference in Melbourne. Danielle and I heard Chris present on her work with a Transport Accident Commission’s Road Trauma Support Services program. She stood up front and relayed her experience of traumatic loss. Chris has spoken to thousands of people in government agencies, community groups, prisons and schools about how her daughters lost their lives through separate car accidents involving others’ culpable driving. Like me, people in her audiences shiver. How can one person suffer so much? And then be so warm and open towards all of us?

Chris, Danielle and I sat on the lawn for lunch. I noticed Chris’ tattoos. I saw that Danielle has one also. Text. I’m a sucker for tattoos in text! When I asked them to tell me about their tattoos I knew there were big stories behind them. I thought they might hesitate. Not a bit of it, as my mother would say. We hardly had time to eat our lunches, and had to make a date to follow up in my studio another day.

Death, a love project – the role of tattoos in traumatic loss

Annie: I don’t have any tattoo and I’m sure that’s to do with how my parents thought about them. What about you?

Chris: My mum and dad were very against them. In those days they were for people from the navy, the ones who ran away to sea. They were vagabonds, rough men. It’s different now. Yeah getting a tattoo went against the values I grew up with.

Danielle: ‘I hope that’s not permanent,’ my mum said when she saw mine. She was devastated. She came from an upper class family and an era where you did not put marks on your body. “Well, no, it’s not permanent, it’s only going to last about 40 years!” I said.

‘I was thinking about how it wasn’t permanent because it’ll go with me. She was dying then, and I think she faded back into sleep. We never spoke about it again.’

Danielle – everything is impermanent, nothing lasts forever

Annie: So you were thinking of your own death in those times, with her dying … Can you say a bit about the line you chose – it’s Shakespeare isn’t it?

Danielle: That in black ink my love may still shine bright. It’s from Shakespeare’s sonnet no. 69.

‘I’d wanted this tattoo since I was 15. So when I did it in my late thirties I felt my independence. I felt excitement. New identity.

‘I’d had a child. I was sleep deprived and isolated. You have to re-invent yourself when you’ve entered into all that and don’t know who you are any more! I booked a trip to Sydney by myself for seven days. The first thing I did was find a leading female tattooist – well known for her cursive – and I cut my hair, and skipped the conference I was booked for!’

Annie: What did you say about cursive?

Danielle: It’s fine line work … when you put words on your body you want the text to be perfectly clear and to stay that way.

Annie: Chris calls herself the grandma with the dragonfly tattoo, what about you?

Danielle: I don’t know … I have to think about that.

Chris: The rebel …

Danielle: I am so not a rebel! The significance of those words are: firstly that I’ve always loved writing and literature. Then the line also conveys the Buddhist idea of anicca – everything is impermanent, nothing lasts forever.

‘I can remember clearly at 15 being at the beach. I’d memorised that poem. At that time I was obsessed with death …

Chris: … like all the other 15 year-olds …

Danielle: And I thought: as soon as I’m old enough I’ll have those words as a tattoo. It was a statement that spoke directly to my question: How on earth to find solace from fear of death?

Annie: That’s such a big story, what you had on your mind as a young woman, and how it led to getting the tattoo done. Chris can I ask what you noticed when you knew you were going to get your tattoos?

Chris, the grandma with the dragonfly tattoo

Chris: With my first tattoo, my daughter Nicky had already designed it and had it drawn on her wrist at one time to see how it’d look. It has the central motif of a star from the Swedish heavy metal band H.I.M. and her design around the outside. After her crash I was going through her things with my niece and we found it.

‘We went together. She also had Nicky’s design done. The same design on the other foot to me.

‘I felt great anticipation that I was going to have something of Nicky forever. The design was something she’d put thought into. I was 52. After that I thought I’d never ever have another tattoo. It was so painful.

‘But there was another one.

‘Six years after her crash, my daughter Nicole died from complications of the brain injury that she received. My sister had come down from Queensland. We were planning the funeral. It was a tragic, chaotic time.

‘I was called to the door by a neighbour coming round. I hardly had the energy to stand there talking, but suddenly, unexpectedly I saw a dragonfly. When I saw that dragonfly at my window I felt inspired again. We’d never seen a dragonfly at our place, and I knew that it was … I felt conviction. The dragonfly is a symbol of change. I related it back to Nicky and the changes she had in her life and how she adapted to those changes with courage and laughter. My life was going to change again forever.

‘My sister also had the dragonfly tattoo done. We went together. That’s where the tattooist christened me ‘the grandma with the dragonfly tattoo’.

‘Later, a year after this terrible loss, I was in Cambodia with ten other women. I wasn’t in a great place in myself. We went to the Killing Fields. There in that terrible place where these horrific things had happened, where the Killing Fields stretched out for miles, there were thousands of butterflies. I strongly associate butterflies with my other daughters who’d died in the other accident, Melissa and Wendy. I knew I had to find a place that did tattoos and we only had three days before coming home.

‘One of the girls found a tattooist, up, up, up above a bar totally in the open. She turned out to be an Australian. And she did a beautiful job.

‘What I noticed was that I felt a sense of urgency to get that tattoo done. It was about the connection to the country of Cambodia and the collective suffering of the people. It meant so much more that I was able to have it done there.

Motherhood, life from a place of heart and survival

Annie: Can you talk about the tattoos as part of your imaginative life you two?

Chris: I love them. It gives me a sense of difference. No one has these marks. My stories are unique. No one has the same story. Though my sister and my niece have the same tattoos they have different stories as the aunt and cousin. The artistry tells the story on my body.

Danielle: I identify with that – mine makes me feel different. When I had it done I felt I’d become part of the secret club of people who have tattoos. I’ve got an idea that I’ll have more done. I picture flowers threading through it. Mum’s favourite flowers. Poppies, she loved poppies. Violets for my grandmother. The colours of flowers weaving through the black text.

Annie: I’m very touched by your story. One day you’ll be celebrating your mum and your grandmother colourfully, in such a feminine way. Chris, can you talk about the connection that the tattoos create for you?

Chris: People do ask me about them. And there will be a reference to my daughters. I do talk about my daughters a lot. They’ll ask “What’s the meaning of this one?” I wear mid sleeves, I’ve always worn them. The images are on my forearms. I need to be able to see them.

Danielle: I’m surprised how few people ask me about mine … even some of my closest friends. You’re one of the first people to ask me Annie. I see people discreetly try to read it …

Chris: Like I did! …

Danielle: And I just want to say come on, you can ask about it!

‘For me it’s a lot to do with motherhood – in relation to my own mother, and to my daughter, and me as a mother. Mum was so important to me. She really did turn me into someone who loves writing and literature.’

Annie: Chris if you were with someone who’d experienced traumatic loss what might you say to them about getting a tattoo?

‘I’d encourage it. It’s not for everyone of course, but I’d say ‘Do it!’ because I love them. They’re a statement of … they’re almost like battle scars. Even though they’re pretty pictures they’re not. They’re battle scars. Not that you need to have something visible and tangible to remember someone you’ve lost. The big guys I work with in prison know. They’ll say, “You’re a warrior, you’re a fighter.”

‘The purpose that grew for me from the death of the girls is something that’s led me into all sorts of different experiences. My girls all died in road accidents that could have been avoided. My purpose is to let people know that.

‘The tattoos are very very personal and heartfelt. It’s almost like there’s a need for a bit of pain also when you’re making your way through such difficult times. There’s value in a tattoo. You have to pay good money for one. It’s an investment. It’s going to be there forever. You want it to be the best it can be.’

Annie: Danielle I meet quite a few people at events that I run who are or have been obsessed with death. It’s troubled them deeply. What would you say to them about your experience of getting your tattoo?

‘Well I don’t know if a tattoo would cure an existential crisis! But it’s a gesture that says you’re not alone. Maybe no one understands, but you’re not alone. My fear of death really took a toll on me. I had to move through it.

‘These words represent the only way I’ve found to be at peace with the fact that we’re all hurtling towards the inevitable. You have to live now. This moment will pass, and you have to accept that in its good and its bad sense. This will change. There’s the timelessness of that. Time can become such an enemy … you have to accept that it’s going to get you.

Chris: When you’re young death is such an unknown …

Danielle: And we don’t talk about it in our culture. Annie does, but we don’t talk about it. No wonder young people feel alone with that.

Chris: I’m not afraid of death now and I think that’s because I’ve had so much death around me. Mum, Dad, my girls, now my brother. It doesn’t frighten me. It’s given me life in a sense, or an appreciation of life. My life comes from a place of heart and also a place of survival. I have three choices – I can continue with purpose, end it sooner, or live in the wreckage. I do what I do – and it’s hard work – it’s the choice I make.

Wrapping up

Annie: So there’s just one thing I want to say … Danielle, I hope that you do those flowers around the words. I can see just see it …

Chris: Oh yes Danielle do! What you described is so beautiful. I can see it too. Do it, it’s all your journey.

Annie: Even if you just do some work on the design for the moment … that could be so enjoyable … looking at all the books in which people have represented flowers. It could take ages.

Danielle: It could! And, wow it’s three o’clock already, I must get going to pick up my daughter.

Annie: Oh Chris and Danielle, thanks so much, it’s been such a rich conversation. And do you want to take some basil from the garden?

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Out of sync? April 2020.

Annie — Fri, 24 Apr 2020 06:20:43 +0000

Do you feel out of sync I’m wondering? Are you sometimes surprised by how it is now, out of the blue?

Did you know you can do a virtual tour of the State Library? When I did it I saw the spot where I often used to work at the Russell Street entrance. I used to drink in the ambiance. Seeing it I almost cried. People who are suddenly bereaved can feel that what’s happened isn’t real. But then they know it absolutely is.

The weight of what’s happened to us, to the world is sombre. It’s all happened so suddenly. A feeling that’s not exactly sadness seems to run beneath my everyday. Perhaps it’s simply awareness of the big changes in and around me. I’ll be going along with a task, not thinking. Then I’m stopped in my tracks. ‘Is it all just a dream?’

No wonder we’re feeling out of sync with ourselves. I’m looking at cards we use in grief and bereavement training. The box says: No Script to Follow.

This card says: You tumble out of sync with others. You struggle to find new purpose, rhythm and roles.

Out of sync. We’re all doing it differently

Everyone’s doing it differently. I just got off the phone with someone who hasn’t had time to herself in weeks. ‘People say they’re learning a new hobby!’ Hobby? What are you talking about? I’ve got a four-year old, I’m working full-time. I’m flat chat!’ For someone who’s lost all sense of purpose and role through the upheaval it’s totallly different. ‘I’m realising I may never be able to offer those programs again,’ a friend says. She’s in mourning.

Some are on a steep learning curve with online meeting platforms. To others it’s old hat. Some are struggling to learn to stay at home. For others it’s no big deal.

I’m an introvert at ease with quiet and time to do my own thing. But even I’m lonely. I’ve heard a number of extraverts say how much they’re missing company. It’s so quiet! They’re embracing their 20-year old, and posting pics of themselves on Facebook. Why? Not sure. I’m sick of self-isolating. Solitude’s become lonely and at times sad.

It’s an individual journey to find a way of being that fits. Who am I in this new situation? And it’s a group journey navigating different needs and approaches in a household. Turbulent times with moods up and moods down, financial anxieties and the sheer pressure of home schooling.

A friend comes by and we talk across distance. She’s going crazy. Being alone and only having yourself to talk to is awful. How to get through this and stay sane? I text her this link to Lody Njiokiktjien’s sweet cartoons later.

Sometimes we need to turn to someone who cares about us and say what’s churning around inside.

This card is a reminder that there is support if you look around you.

No script to follow, no experts in loss

For most of my life I’ve been part of a culture that turns to experts for answers. People who know stuff that we don’t, who might have the right advice. Right now many great experts are putting out a mass of material to help us through the crisis at work, and in our personal lives. Yet at some level it’s like froth on the deep waters of our un-knowing and uncertain future. Perhaps we know in our heart of hearts that no-one outside of ourselves can help us make sense of this.

It’s the first thing we say in our workshop: there are no experts in loss. There’s no right way to do this time, no script to follow.

The discomfort of having things turned upside down is hard. It’s unwelcome. It’s human to say to oneself: I can’t stand it. I just don’t want to have to deal with this. In shock, loss and bereavement a person is stretched beyond normal limits.

There are times when the universe uses us. It takes time for great upheavals to abate. And people do recover from going through very difficult times.

Making the best of how it is

My friend Lina says she’s ‘trying to work with the limitations of this time’ rather than against them. What might this look like?

I’m appreciating the change of pace. Wow! the details of a snowpea, the gravity of a line of writing, the sweetness of words from a friend. Someone asks on Facebook: ‘Have you noticed that the birds are really loud. They’re having parties!’ This time is a special opportunity for noticing.

It’s good to have practices that settle body heart and mind. So many are talking about the benefits of meditation. Sitting down for ten or fifteen, twenty or thirty minutes without expectations, to suck it and see. If you started a practice a few weeks’ ago and it’s fallen away, be persistent. Get back to it. Or you might want a guided relaxation break or anxiety relief. Try Meditation Oasis

How we speak and how we write make a difference. It’s a time to think about one’s audience in all communications. Are they well supported? Are they alone? Might they be doing it hard, or having an okay kind of a retreat? It may not be the time to be using the words scary, terrifying or chilling in article or email headlines.

How about this for a description of how very big our words can be? Poet Ali Cobby Eckerman talks of the angels coming to appraise the song/in the amphitheatres of our mouths … To my mind Cobby Eckerman is the great Australian poet of lamentation. You can find of her work here .

I do believe that in upheaval people tend to grow, and to come through in their own way. On their own terms. At their own pace. With their own inner resources. There’s no script to follow.

I’m awestruck by the efforts I see everyone around me making. And I’m letting the deli assistant, the post office manager, the market stall owner, and especially the parents know.

** Thanks to my colleague Grant Broadbent-Smith who devised No Script to Follow to respond to the needs of his clients in the Victims’ Assistance Program (VAP) after sudden traumatic bereavement. We have co-led many workshops for workers dealing with clients’ grief and bereavement.

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We are bereaved. March 2020.

Annie — Wed, 25 Mar 2020 04:26:11 +0000

I feel it and now I’m saying it – we are bereaved. Yes, in my chosen self-isolation in Melbourne I’m waving goodbye to long-held, basic expectations around:

expressing and receiving care with physical touch.
work and meetings with colleagues and clients regularly.
socialising wherever I like.

Shock and relationships

It’d be hard to catalogue how my expectations and worldview have foundered. I’m dealing with the shock of it all.

As at any time of bereavement and loss, it’s an intense time of gathering with close people. Like I say in my book, Death, a love project, relationships and individuals can be delicate. There’s quite some variability about how people react in stressful circumstances. This makes it a time for careful communication.

Telling symptoms.

Feeling sad and at a loss? I am. I’ve seen many on social media saying that they’re tired. Or that they can’t concentrate or are very easily distracted. I’ve found I’m clumsier than usual. And like so many, my sleep isn’t great.

Taking care

With so much important information sharing on social media think about your use. Can you firmly cap it, and limit being on devices in this way at home, especially after eight at night?

Eating well can be very enjoyable. Try not to combine with device use. Make a ritual of lighting a candle when it’s time to eat.

Meditation and other grounding practices. Many sites and apps are available. I’d say that if you do meditate, don’t expect to settle for a little. It’s been uniquely stressful. Give yourself five, ten or even fifteen minutes for your body/mind to begin to harmonise. Try meditating with your eyes cast down, softly open, not focused on any particular object. Closed eyes can turn attention inwards on to compelling mental proliferation.

Not sleeping? Again plenty of apps and sites. Yoga nidra is an old favourite for good reason. Get back in that body! Jennifer Piercey on InsightTimer has been recommended to me – I like her allowing approach. Have you ever tried softly rubbing your heart or massaging your tummy? Can be good.

It’s been less than a week of this huge shift in expectations. I’m trying to cut myself some slack. That’s what I’d suggest to anyone who’s bereaved. There is so much change to process, so much to try and make sense of.

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End of life care MOOC. Enhance your death literacy.

Annie — Fri, 31 Jan 2020 03:53:45 +0000

A MOOC, an ‘End of Life Care’ MOOC. Yes! I’ll do an online course with the University of Glasgow.

I did. If you’re considering it I hope this review will either get you moving or stop you in your tracks! It’s being offered again in February 2020.

Time commitment: 12-20 hours or as much as you want to commit

Cost: free

End of Life Care, challenges and innovation. What was good?

The End of Life Care academics are knowledgeable. Even better the community of learners brings rich perspectives, from social work, palliative care, aged care, personal experience, gerontology, general medical practice, the arts, community health and policy.

The course introduces key aspects of contemporary death literacy: what is meant by end of life today; community oriented initiatives such as Death Café and Compassionate Communities; assisted dying; personal options at end of life, including funerals.

One area of study struck me as most thought provoking – ‘rational suicide in old age’. Worldwide, it is the most common suicide demographic when chronically ill, and many consider it. The ethical issues raised are not dissimilar to assisted dying, but other concerns came to the fore for many learners.

What might not be as satisfying for some learners?

End of Life Care is an academic course, not a practical introduction to end of life care. The central discipline is sociology with some interdisciplinary elements especially from Palliative Care and Community Development. However the perspectives from the many different learners introduced some practice aspects.

The case studies are very much U.K. and somewhat Commonwealth focused. Interesting that there was little attention to fantastic academic and community work in Australia and the U.S.

The course is minimally moderated so there’s no great opportunity to explore subject matter in depth.

For those in Victoria, NSW and WA where there has been long and sophisticated debate on assisted dying this theme was presented in a tentative and hypothetical way.

Summary, End of Life Care, MOOC

Do it if you’d like to upskill in death literacy. It’s free, provides some great readings and a network of serious learners.

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Create a love project and cherish the legacy of important people

Annie — Tue, 24 Sep 2019 02:49:42 +0000

I recently published ‘Death, a love project, a guide to exploring the life in death and finding the way together.’ Feels like a good time to re-publish the post that started it all! I published this post back in April 2016 and the idea of ‘love projects’ struck a chord with readers. It went from there! So here’s the post …

All the sadness in love and loss. We can only experience it. And yet there’s also a pull to make sense of it. The journey to make loss meaningful can be painfully long. Somehow memorials play a role in this. Then as time passes, there’s something left, something to refer to, a special place to go and find something of that lost love again. We don’t want to lose what’s precious.

I was in Gippsland recently and I stepped into a wonderful restaurant, Catinalla’s. The owner Deanna is seventh generation Australian. When she married a second generation Italian, a big part of her learning was about food. What they’d eaten at home was different. Great food but so different!

Food is a love project

Deanna learned cooking from her mother-in-law, Catinalla. Sugos, stocks, fritattas. This experience lives on in the restaurant. Deanna qualified as a chef in 2015 to formalise her knowledge of cooking. Running beneath the outward effort has been a concern that real family grown food traditions don’t get lost.

That’s a memorial isn’t it? Her mother-in- law passed away in 2014. And in Traralgon, Deanna can keep the traditions going. When Catinalla was still alive, Deanna registered the business name and ran ideas past her, checked things with her. She found out the story behind the unique spelling of her name.

Intent for a love project, the vision and the will

I was a guest at the public event held in 2015 at Hamer Hall to celebrate Neilma Gantner’s rich and generous life. The program was packed with admiring speakers. One was a Parks Victoria employee who had got to know here very very well in the late 60s. Neilma had approached the government about building a hut in the Alpine National Park in memory of her son Vallejo.

Vallejo had died very young, and she was determined to create a fitting memorial that reflected his love of the mountains. She wanted it to be a beautiful place that would benefit all comers. What seemed an impossibility – putting an aesthetically extraordinary hut into the high country – became a reality, the MacAlister Springs Hut. The hut is deeply loved by bushwalkers. Designed by architect David McGlashan, with a copper roof, it is listed on the Victorian Heritage Register.

Buried, cremated or turned to goodness?

My friend Uncle Fletcher Roberts, a Bundjalung elder in Lismore, NSW, once questioned me about where I planned to be when I died. He was old and rarely left Lismore, in case he died while he was away. He asked me if it bothered me that I wouldn’t be in the same place as my parents since I’d moved to Australia.

Where were they buried?

No, they were cremated.

Where are their ashes?

When I said that we’d scattered them in our garden, and that we’d sold the property, he was shocked. On reflection I think he was spot on. What might I have learned by going back to visit the place where we’d let their remains go? How would those owners react if they knew that along with being proud owners of a modernist Johannesburg home, they are caretakers of my parents’ bodily remains?

I now know that loss can be thoughtfully marked in ways that are far from a marble dark cemetery. Through one’s own life. As a physical memorial. The memorial might be a venture like Catinalla’s, immediate and personal. It might be a lasting public legacy like the Gantner hut.

Now I can’t help thinking of all the goodness that’s been created in the world through people dreaming up plans not to lose the legacy of important people.

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Extraordinary crazy life affirming opportunities

Annie — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 07:46:18 +0000

‘A life affirming book about death’ says a reader of my book ‘Death, a Love Project’ on Twitter. After spending a couple of years writing it I’m appreciating the feedback readers are sending through and posting on social media.

Extraordinary crazy opportunities – all kinds of love projects

My understanding of life affirming is that we appreciate life’s extraordinary opportunities. Those of you who’ve read a little way into the book will know that my friend Glenda’s story weaves through it. When the boxes of books arrived and we’d begun sending them out I had a strong impulse to share the news with her. She was a generous supporter of her friends and such a gift giver.

It was a Saturday morning. Parcels were piled up round the room. I was surprised by how strongly I felt that I should tell her it was all done. But along with my thought came the rational pause button. ‘Isn’t that a bit kooky?’ Strangely I felt I might be judged for wanting to express myself to a person who died several years’ ago.

I’d just successfully completed a guide ‘exploring the life in death’. A conundrum that can’t be sorted out logically. In the book I try to say that life and death aren’t best understood by using one’s brain. A well worked out linear logical trajectory may miss what could equally compel us in setting a course of action – that something simply feels right. The heart knows.

Yet deeply sown in me is the value of being reasonable, the dread of being seen as crazy or odd. It was interesting to notice how easily an impulse could be dampened by fear.

Cultivating. I care.

Glenda’s work created the legacy of a small public garden, and it’s not too far away. I went there taking seed and cuttings to plant. I felt good as I lit a candle and a stick of incense. ‘Hello dear buddy,’ I said, ’the book and your story are soon going to be read.’ That was all.

It’s been a great rainy season in Melbourne and weeds were running rampant. A possum or a person had trampled a feijoa tree. For the next couple of hours I fixed the tree, weeded and planted and picked up rubbish.

That garden has always been an extraordinary crazy opportunity. Glenda’s life is still love project for me. And it’s life affirming.

Choking on a name

In South African language there’s an expression ‘Wat die hart van vol is, loop die mond vol oor’, in rough translation ‘what is filling the heart pours out of the mouth.’ It appears in songs about losing love, and wanting to hug someone who isn’t there.

With this verity in mind, why wouldn’t a bereaved person want to talk about the person who died? Yet for some it’s very very difficult even to speak the name. Perhaps, as I allude to in the book this is the social discomfort of not wanting to give way to tears. The fear of not being able to hold up the self one normally presents.

I was recently a guest at a small event, in a roomful of a friend’s family members who were grieving. Hearts were very full. Here we were, gathered to remember this beloved man who’d died some months before. I waited for memories and stories to be shared but none came. And I felt as if, in that room many were choking, unable to say his name.

Easy to feel a freer conversation should or could be had. Yet the circumstances of each situation are what they are.

Making it a little easier

In circumstances like these a facilitator can make it easier to talk and share. When in this role, I see awkwardness as an opportunity. If a group is avoiding what is really going on, even little openings can feel quite a relief. Self-consciousness can be turned out to others. Behind someone’s controlled self presentation is often a person who feels a lot. Who knows what they might say? And silence is okay.

Although so much in the space of death and grieving has to be taken care of alone, there’s quite a bit that has to be navigated with family or friends. You don’t have to do these difficult or awkward things without support. A companion who knows the territory can help. Wanting to talk in a group isn’t crazy. If you’re ever looking for this kind of help with a gathering, do get in touch.

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Suicide and friendship; friends & the funeral

Annie — Thu, 28 Feb 2019 16:24:04 +0000

Death by suicide is on my mind at the time of the Pell verdict, knowing that the trauma of abuse has led to agonising secrecy, substance abuse and if not suicide per se, certainly most traumatic death, with irretrievable loss left behind. I’m thinking of the two young boys in the sacristy. When I read Louise Milligan’s account of the Kid and the Choirboy I’m drawn into a story in which traumatic death and friendship are deeply connected. I feel, like many others, the unbearable-ness of Pell’s victim having died without being able to tell his story. Judge Peter Kidd’s statement invites me to confront the reality that each child’s deep shame was intensified by knowing that the other had seen.

In Facebook commentary by a victim’s partner, I read that Ballarat has an exceptionally high rate of suicide. It is higher than the overall average in Victoria or Australia. Coverage in Thursday’s Herald Sun suggests the likelihood of self harm as a result of suffering the St Alipius school environment.

My mind turns to the deep suffering when someone loses a friend or family member to suicide. And I think of suicide and friendship, and its role in the funerals I’ve helped to shape and facilitate after death by suicide. I’ve seen how much friendship groups add to the life celebration of the person who has died. Family has an assumed position in any death. But the position friends occupy is often very important.

The person who has died has been through a lot. Friends are often key supports. Sometimes there have been unsatisfactory family relationships at one time or another. The person may have fended for himself or herself, and chosen to live their life with friends. Sometimes the person who has died is young, and the sudden and shocking loss has to be absorbed by their peer cohort.

Grieving with family and friends after death by suicide

After a sudden death people speak of their sense of reality not lining up, or of not being able to bring it into focus.

The funeral marks the start of grieving process. The more collaborative friends and family are able to be, depending on particular circumstances of course, the more satisfactory the beginnings of a grieving process are. This may be the most difficult event ever in some of the mourners’ lives. Hearing stories and witnessing the qualities of important bonds helps everyone to grieve.

Shock, anger, shame and confusion are difficult emotions to navigate. However a key intent with a funeral is firstly to find the individual and community story that people can take away and ‘live in’ in future. That story will be made meaningful in the way friends are included.

‘What I liked about Steve’s funeral’ said Nicky, ‘is that the speakers painted an incredible picture of his unique contribution. Yet they didn’t shy away from talking about his difficulties.’ She paused. ‘He had the most interesting friends.’

Trusting conversations between strangers

Another thing we want from a funeral is to create opportunities for connection between people who knew the person who died but don’t know each other. When I’m helping with planning, my aim is to create a space where people can trust in having a conversation with strangers.

I look to set up the most favourable context for friends and family to feel that there’s a way of going forward together after death by suicide. I can be contacted through my website – it outlines more about how I work. Below I’ve listed a few useful resources.

Headspace’s resource You can talk about suicide

Beyond Blue’s Guiding their way back

Bereaving from Suicide a useful Canadian resource

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3 lessons for a great ceremony (from the 10th anniversary of the Victorian bushfires)

Annie — Fri, 08 Feb 2019 04:45:33 +0000

I took away three lessons for a great ceremony on Monday evening this week. Hundreds of people headed to the Exhibition Buildings after work. Ten years on the Victorian Government was holding a ceremony to honour the victims and survivors of the 2009 bushfires.

Yes, as with the 2009 ceremony the organisers got this one right. People left satisfied, heartened, and of course sad. A woman I spoke to said ‘That hit exactly the right note’.

Lessons from this ceremony

No one is more important than those who have lost beloved people. The ceremony needs to put them front of mind. The speakers’ role is to honour and remind. Words drawn from experience, from the heart do just this. The Governor Her Excellency the Hon. Linda Dessau AC had met with many survivors. Dr Kathy Rowe had lost her husband in the fires. Their opening words set the tone for the rest of the event.
The MC or celebrant knows it’s not their ceremony. MC Craig Willis was clear, straightforward and well briefed. He had a chair well to the side of the stage where he sat during the majority of the proceedings. This to me is the sign of a quality MC or celebrant at a ceremony.
A well balanced program with the right mix of speakers, music and reflection. The number of leaders at the commemoration was impressive. But the voice of the community from Jane Hayward, Principal of Strathewan Primary, was vital. Children came through those fires. Their participation through video footage and in person with their mentor Dave Wandon gave hope and inspiration for the future. CFA Chief Officer, Steve Warrington, brought the gravitas of being able to look back on the experience of the fires and forward based on its lessons. The Premier, Daniel Andrews and the Leader of the Opposition, Michael O’Brien, both read poems which provided food for thought.

Strathewen Bushfire memorial. Thanks to the Victorian Government for this photo.

I felt that the Didgeridoo by Gnarnayarrahe Waitairie and his collaborator made the ceremony, in the way their sounds seemed to capture a spiritual and heartfelt response from the whole country to the tragedy. Talking to a woman I’d never met as we left she agreed, saying ‘It was as if they were whispering to everyone saying “it’s going to be okay.”’

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2019 – Melbourne Death Cafe and more events

Annie — Fri, 01 Feb 2019 00:45:58 +0000

These are some workshops and Melbourne Death Cafes for the first part of 2019.

Seasonal Melbourne Death Cafe dates for 2019 are:
Autumn Equinox Death Cafe 21 March – 6.30-8pm
Winter Solstice Death Cafe 26 June – 6.00-7.30pm

Death Cafe is by donation to cover the costs of putting on the event. Suggested donation is $10. To find out more about this global movement check Death Cafe. or the Melbourne Death Cafe facebook page.

I’m also running Poetry & End of Life Events with limited spaces available.
Poetry and End of Life, a gentle workshop 20 March 12.30-2pm Kathleen Syme Library and Community Centre, Carlton
Poetry and End of Life, a gentle workshop 2 May 6.30-8pm venue t.b.a.

# I also run workshops for organisations if you’re interested.

Thanks to the City of Melbourne for assisting me to keep these events as affordable as possible through reduced venue costs.

Here’s some more on Poetry and End of Life to whet your appetite!

And dear readers, always appreciate your shares on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and Linked in.

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