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The Dance of Relationships
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The Dance of Relationships: Grief and Families of Language

     "Meaning, purpose and direction in life surface in the ongoing interrogation of who you are and who you are becoming--always in relationship" (p.96)

     You Don't Have to Like it But You Do Have to Live It

               A. Barbara Coyne, Ph.D, MSN

 

The Dance of Relationships

     Grief unfolds within the dance of relationships; the music of that dance is reflected in the rhythm of "families of language" (see Coyne,Introduction: on the power of language). Today we will look at what I mean by families of language, offer an example of one that is very familiar to us because it has shaped the very way we think about grief. Then we will explore how families of language influence the work-of-grief focusing on two very familiar ones.

 

Families of Language

     What is a family of Language? Throughout life, we learn that certain words just go together and we come to learn how they are connected so that when we hear one of the words, we immediately connect it to its' "family". Even though each word has a meaning as it stands alone, it takes on a larger significance when we associate it with its' family. Many families of language influence our lives in different contexts of living: for example, the one that most influences our thinking about grief is the very familiar language of sickness.

 

     A familiar example; we all know the family of language of sickness: 

       symptoms, stages, treatment,

             management, recovery    

     We clearly understand that if you attend to the symptoms of an illness, treat and manage it appropriately within the identified stage, you can expect to recover from it. This is the language of the medical model associated with the diagnosis and treatment of illness and for decades now, it is the family of language that most informs our understanding of grief. We have been so inundated with the language of sickness in talking about grief that we have effectively equated it with the process of sickness. Is it any wonder that people in grief expect to "get over it"..."get better" or indeed, to "recover"...after all, that is what recovery means.

      Since we have come to understand grief within the context of the family of language of sickness, when we hear symptoms or stages or management of grief, our thoughts immediately connect to recovery and when we do not "recover", we often ask: what is wrong with me? There is nothing wrong with you...I am suggesting that, at least in part, it is the language we use that leads us down the garden path to diagnosing/treating/managing and recovering from grief. It doesn't work that way, because simply put...grief is not a sickness! (Coyne, Chapter II for a very different perspective of grief).

     This is one very familiar example of what I mean by a "family of language"...words that connect with each other to influence the way we interpret life experiences. We have seen how the human experience of grief is interpreted through the family of language of sickness. Now, let's explore how families of language influence the work-of-grief and then, discuss those other two familiar ones.

 

The Work-of-Grief and Families of Language

     "The work-of-grief is embedded in the myriad on-going changes that make up the threads of the unique tapestry of your living landscape. When someone dies, you review relationships and your participation in them; it is a way of looking forward to how your life is changing" (Coyne, p 92).

     The nature of the work-of-grief (not to be confused with the therapeutic concept of "working through issues") has to do with healing the pain of loss. (Chapter IV, The Essence of the Work-of-Grief, explores this in detail). 

     As we engage the process of the work-of-grief, we struggle through the rollercoaster of thoughts-feelings-sensations accompanying our grief and we inevitably review relationships and our participation in them. This inevitable review is an often painful yet always crucial aspect of the process. It is common that many people often find themselves drowing in guilt, ashamed of things said or done and in myriad other ways find themselves lacking. As we bring this review of relationships into focus, we can explore opportunities to grow. And we do this through the families of language we choose in living the existential reality of the awful intimacy of loss.

 

Two Families of Language Influencing the Work-of-Grief

     The words of the first of these two families are familiar to everyone and troubling to many:

    fault, blame, guilt, shame, punishment 

     We learned very early in life that when something "goes wrong", we assign blame...it is a language we understand well. It is also a language that connotes a value judgment of good or bad...a value usually interpreted as having to do with the person, not necessarily, the deed. So, if we are seen as "bad", we are alerted to defend, justify or exonerate, and, of course, if we are at fault, or to blame, we are certainly guilty, perhaps shamed and often, punishment follows. This is a family of language, then, that has come to signify a flaw in our character and so, calls us to defend what often feels indefensible.

     It is within this restrictive family of language that we review our participation in a situation of illness, dying and death and often find ourselves wanting. Inevitably we revert to early messages of fault, guilt and a now self imposed value of "bad" or "weak".        

     The words of this first family of language, then, are narrow in scope and focus us on our thoughts-feelings-sensations. This keeps us centered on the power of the what of experience, that is, what we are thinking-feeling-sensing related to a particular situation...so, we narrow our view to the thinking-feeling-sensing...which reminds us of the thoughtless words or actions...which awakens our disbelief that we could have said or done "that"...intensifies the guilt....circles once again to the words or actions...which holds us in what I have come to call a "circle of regret". While it is important to explore the regrets, it is also important to "break out" of the "circle"; the second family of language helps to move us toward that end.

     The words of the second family are also familiar:

         participation, choice, responsibility

             accountability, consequences       

     They are broader in scope and invite us to a deeper exploration as they reveal to us the "how" of our participation in a given situation, and by extension, in the very rhythm of our lives. Exploring how something came to be offers the opportunity to break out of the circle of regret and begin to release the pain of our grief as we struggle to explore the shifting meaning and purposes of our lives.

     The broader scope of this second family of language implies reliability, dependability and an orientation toward authentic growth....often a very painful process. The growth is inherent in acknowledging responsibility for our choices as we participate in unfolding situations, always within the dance of relationships. The "how" of our participation is always bounded by limitations of the human condition: this does not refer to the commonly expressed wisdom of "knowing your strengths and weaknesses"...actually sometimes your strengths are your weaknesses and vice versa. Learn how and when to use the gifts of your strengths and weaknesses that reside, always, within the limitations of the human condition.

     The limitations of the human condition describe our freedom to choose and while we are free to choose in every situation, our options are limited within the circumstances of each situation. Because our choices are always made as the situation is unfolding, we cannot know the full measure of the options possible or all of the potential consequences at the time of the choosing: that is the dilemma of "freedom to choose"! It is only in looking back on our choices that we can evaluate...and learn. The philosopher, Kierkegaard, reminds us of this powerful wisdom as he proposes that "we live life forward but we understand it backward".

     When we consider what it means to be responsible, then, we refer to our willingness to embrace obligations within our power. It also implies that we are willing to be held accountable, that is, to explain or justify the choices we made..to others and to ourselves. And it further signifies that we willingly live the consequences, intended or unintended, of our choices. How we embrace obligations and live consequences is related to many things, not least of which is the history inherent in the dance of intimate, personal relationships. Given this dance, one of the difficulties resides in how we have come to view "what is in our power".

     In the existential reality of the human condition, we relate with people in a spontaneous way that unfolds within the rhythm and dance of the existing relational pattern and always subject to the ever-changing circumstances of living (in chapter V, I talk about this as the "tyranny of spontaneity"..p.106). It is this spontaneity that surfaces given a "perfect storm" of circumstances when we may indeed do or say something which we regret; it is in this way of knowing ourselves that we must confront our guilt, fault and blame.

     Do not turn away from your guilt: it is in your willingness to honor the truth of whatever surfaces in exploring all thoughts-feelings-sensations that opens you to the opportunity to grow through your grief. And do not let well-meaning others try to "fix it" for you by reminding you that "you took such good care of your mother (or whomever) and should not feel guilty"....you know that being impatient, mean or inconsiderate is not acceptable and we always know when we have violated our own internal standard. So, as you explore your fault, guilt and blame, remember to locate it within the broader perspective of the family of language of participation and choice: a language that has the power to release you from the recriminations of guilt, fault and blame and focus you on authentic growth.

     These two families, then, are not separate and distinct: within the wholeness of human experience, they coexist in the shadow of each other and are influenced by the long-held identification of grief in the language of sickness. For many reasons, not least of which is our long history of dualistic either/or thinking, we focus on one family of language, often to the exclusion of the other. In light of this, as you engage the profound work-of-grief, you may find yourself "taking up residence" in the circle of regret and may need to deliberately shift your focus. To that end, I propose this premise to guide your exploration:

 

We always do the best we know how to do in any situation.. but often......our best is not good enough.

 

     The "not good enough" is a conclusion about the nature of being-human; it is not a judgement about character: human beings are not now...never were...never will be perfect. Often, things do not turn out the way we intended, wanted or hoped for and we see this only as we "look backward". We discover that while we did our best, within the very nature of our humanness, our best was often wanting! It is in embracing this truth that we can begin to release the pain of our guilt...for it is the generosity of our humanness that shows us when we have fallen into the cracks of our human frailty...and it is also this very generosity that teaches us to release the pain of that falling and make room for the learning.

     In summary then, it is clear that the work-of-grief is deeply influenced by the language we choose. After someone dies, we engage the review of relationships in an attempt to understand the meaning and purpose of all life as we re-think the changing purpose of our life in the glaring absence of the one who died. We confront the limitations of our humanness in struggling with the terrible ambiguity of living, we ponder the mystery and meaning of a life lived and now ended. We seek to understand our inability to save or protect those with whom we are connected, to evaluate our care and attention to/with them...we are confronted with the fact that no matter what we did, we could not hold off death...we wonder if we contributed to their pain or suffering...we berate our thoughtlessness...we regret "that look", words said or left unsaid, things done or left undone and so much more. And invariably, we arrive at punishment: we beat ourselves with the club of guilt and shame, staying too long in the "circle of regret".

     In conclusion....honor the truth of whatever  surfaces in your work-of-grief, engage it within the broader family of language and be willing to explore your participation in a given situation, evaluate the choices made, tolerate the pain of that truth, which will help you to acknowledge your responsibility without minimizing, justifying or excusing. As you openly acknowledge responsibility, you embrace accountability revealed in how you choose to live the consequences...knowing that you cannot change "what was": you may not have been as gentle or sensitive, did not see what you should have seen...did not do what you might have done, etc. but...you have learned.

     It is within the rhythm of this family of language that we learn the lessons grief has to teach....what it means to be human, to acknowledge the limitations of that humanness and both in spite of and because of it, we grow...more gentle and sensitive, more giving and caring, more open and honest, more authentic and secure in the knowledge that when...not if...we fall again, we remember this bit of wisdom from Saint-Exupery in The Little Prince:

 

"A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us, for to live is to be slowly born".

     So, welcome "the stranger within" as you continue on the path of being "slowly born"...choose to focus your guilt within the broader family of language that will guide you on your path. And until the next time,

My very best,

Barbara            


A. Barbara Coyne, Ph.D., MSN
The Dwelling Place:Center for Health