Talking to the dead. Crazy? Or life affirming.

The heart knows

‘A life affirming book about death’ a reader posted on Twitter not long after its publication.

My understanding of life affirming is that we know that life’s extraordinary opportunities arise from the heart as well as the head.

If you’ve read a little way into the book you’ll 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 such a generous supporter.

Parcels were piled up round the room. I was surprised how strongly I felt that I should tell her it was all done. But along with this feeling came the rational pause button. ‘Isn’t that a bit kooky?

Here was the book, a guide ‘exploring the life in death’, a conundrum that cannot be sorted out logically. I’d written that life and death aren’t best understood by using one’s brain. Sometimes something 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. Interesting to notice how easily an impulse can be dampened by fear.

Hello, here it is!

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 my buddy,’ I said, ’the book’s done! Your story’s come through so well!’ 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.

It felt so 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.

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.

That was just how it was.

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.