When you undergo a significant loss, you find that
anniversaries--be they actual wedding anniversaries, birthdays of a deceased
family member, diagnosis dates, or the date that a loved one passed away—pack
an intense wallop that can knock you off your feet (and game) in the days and
weeks leading up to them.
One might presume that the first of these anniversaries
would be the most devastating, but that assumption would be incorrect. The
truth is, you don’t know how the day will feel until it arrives. The second, or
fifth, or twelfth might hit you just as hard, or perhaps even more so, than the
first.
Sorrow takes many shapes (most of them ugly) and morphs into
its various forms at the most inopportune moments, creating a temperamental
typhoon that’s not entirely predictable, and certainly not preventable. In
fact, the more rigidly you try to control it, the more likely you are to come
unhinged.
A vague sense of anxiety, an uptick in sadness, negative
thought patterns, an explosive anger that resists every attempt to tame it,
insomnia, or a cold, gut-churning case of fear—any of these may appear as
symptoms as the dreaded date approaches.
The trick to taming the rocky rush of grief is to allow your
feelings to overtake you, trusting that they will eventually pass. Acknowledge
each turbulent wave of emotion, noticing and naming the rush of emotion and
letting it suck you under until it spits you out on the sandy shore of reason,
where you can regain your footing.
As the crescendo of grief rises, do whatever you need to do
to get through it, whether that’s crying, punching something soft, or writing
in a journal. Repetitive, rhythmic physical activities that don’t require much
thought—walking, running, chopping anything from wood to vegetables, playing an
instrument, knitting, and so on—can be calming.
As for the actual anniversary, a combination of ritual—a
ceremonial act that effectively captures the essence of the loss—followed by a
planned, out-of-the-daily-norm distraction can help to defuse the mournful mass
of landmines that lurk within the psyche.
As the first anniversary of our baby’s birth and death
approached, we decided as a family to take a personal day to mark it. We went
to the cemetery, and then out to breakfast, followed by a day trip to an outlet
mall and a dog track.
Our method may have been unorthodox, but the escape from the
confines of our regular routine enabled us to set aside time and space to celebrate
and grieve Anna’s brief life, and to engage in activities that she would have
enjoyed, had she been with us.
We made a pact at the end of that day to continue the
practice of skipping out of our responsibilities and focusing our attention on
our missing family member as a new family tradition.
Anna’s birthday always begins with a visit to her grave,
followed by the small indulgence of a restaurant breakfast. The rest of the day
tends to unfold into pure escapism, like the year we visited the Green Bay
Packer Hall of Fame and toured Lambeau Field on a weekday. It’s not exactly a holiday, but being together makes the day
bearable.
We don’t bother trying to pretend that it’s a day like any
other. This temporary release from the prison of expectation has proven to be
the key to maintaining our equilibrium.
Incompatible with Life: A story of hope
Incompatible with Life: A story of hope