Mistaken Ideas About Grief Had People Thinking She Was Doing It Wrong
Lucy Schulte Danziger's father died on Father's Day in an unexpected drowning. She writes in "Modern Love" in The New York Times:
WHEN friends and colleagues heard that my father had died in an unexpected drowning -- on Father's Day, no less -- they couldn't believe I was at work the next day, that I went swimming in the morning, that I was not at home weeping.They said: "You are in shock. ...It hasn't hit you yet. ...You're in denial."
I wasn't. It had hit me, but more like a warm hug than a punch.
...Everything around and within me is partly because of his fatherly advice, his example and even the fact that he could get impatient and stubborn. His good parts: mentoring young people and being generous with his time and advice. And his bad parts: the occasional eye-rolling and teasing and inability to take criticism.
My dad was so bright that he had skipped a grade, then always seemed to judge us when we delivered anything but high marks at school.
But he also was in awe of my brother's and my physical feats, the marathons and triathlons we competed in. The next morning when I got in the pool I thought about the fact that I didn't have to call him and update him on my triathlon training, because he would just "know" things were going well, since he was all around me and within me now. I didn't need to cry.
I went to work and told the story to my colleagues, and after a little weepiness in the telling, I said, "Look, I want to be here." I canceled nothing and kept going. There was no moment in which I would have said, "And then it hit me," although I might have said, "And then it hugged me."
I felt loved and embraced by the e-mails and texts from friends, and by the comments on Facebook, where I'd put a picture of me with my dad at my wedding party, hugging me and laughing.
But every time I spoke to someone and they said, "I am so sorry about your father," I replied: "Thank you, I'm fine. He died doing what he loved, living fully. No regrets. He loved us and we loved him and we all knew it."
Then they looked at me as if they needed or even wanted to see me cry. In fact, many people who had lost their fathers burst into tears telling me how sorry they were. They were reliving their own grief. I ended up comforting them.
"There is no right way to say goodbye," I told friends who questioned why I wasn't crying, why I was at work. Where else should I be? In a dark room, looking at the walls?
My dad would be at work...
Listen to my show with Dr. George Bonanno on how much of what we believe about grief is not supported by evidence -- like the notion that there are predictable "stages" everyone goes through (there aren't) and the widely held belief that if one doesn't do "grief work," repressed grief will come back up to bite them.
There is much truth in what Ms Schulte has to say above. Having lost a parent, and in all likelihood, losing the other soon, I understand what she is telling us, and it is a story sorely in need of telling.
I don't grieve with tears either.
There is indeed much truth in Schulte's words, but there is little humility. She is quite right. We all grieve differently.
Would that Schulte could understand better how others grieve as well. Isn't that what she is asking for?
railmeat at August 12, 2012 11:05 PM
Isn't this illustrative of the popular notion that any tragedy must immobilize the entire continent?
I mean, please. Years ago, when Texas A&M students died building a bonfire, it was memorialized at the ensuing football game with a "missing man" flyby by the Air Force!
Radwaste at August 13, 2012 2:30 AM
The junk science of grief is propagated by the ever-present "grief counselor" industry. They show up at every tragedy, big or small, whether they're wanted or unwanted, and they're often there at the expense of the taxpayers. There is big money at stake.
The industry is a sham, and it often does more harm than good. There's nothing so devastating to someone who is grieving than to be chastised for "doing it wrong" or "hiding your feelings." You want pain? Try hearing that your outward signs of grief aren't sufficient - the implication is that your inner pain is not legitimate... that you don't care as much as the "properly grieving" person.
AB at August 13, 2012 4:25 AM
It's an interesting story, Amy. However, I can't help but find it curious that you, who doesn't believe in an afterlife, would share this story, especially as supportive of your position on grieving.
This woman not only believes in an afterlife, but is convinced of it.
Patrick at August 13, 2012 5:30 AM
Amy Alkon
https://www.advicegoddess.com/archives/2012/08/mistaken-ideas.html#comment-3301679">comment from PatrickI don't need to share a person's every belief to like their story. I posted this because, as I wrote in the blog post, she doesn't grieve in expected ways. Per my show with Dr. George Bonanno, who actually studies grief and bereavement, and like others who take an evidence-based approach (Camille Wortman, Randy Nesse), understands that the "stages of grief" are BS, etc.
Amy Alkon
at August 13, 2012 5:41 AM
Would she grieve the same way had that been her child rather than her parent?
Goo at August 13, 2012 6:27 AM
Amy Alkon
https://www.advicegoddess.com/archives/2012/08/mistaken-ideas.html#comment-3301716">comment from GooHer dad had a full life and gave her a lot of foundation. I don't think that would be the case with a child. A child's death is especially tragic because they're cut out of life before they've had a chance to live.
Amy Alkon
at August 13, 2012 6:29 AM
My lady passed unexpectedly on a Saturday. On Sunday I met with her daughter and the daughter's husband at the funeral home to make arrangements for her cremation.
We also scheduled her internment for a few months later in her native California. And did the initial planning for a memorial service the following Saturday. I went back to work on Monday.
What was I supposed to do -- sit home with the cat and cry?
Jim P. at August 13, 2012 6:55 AM
I will not mourn when my dad finally passes, it'll be a welcome relief. He is so not the man I knew growing up; he's got dementia, he's a raging alcoholic, going through withdrawal right now in the nursing home and he has turned into an abusive and nasty person. He has no recollection of his previous life, his wife, or his children. I'm done crying and mourning my father; I don't know who this other man is.
Flynne at August 13, 2012 7:36 AM
"What was I supposed to do -- sit home with the cat and cry?"
Watch it 1:50.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A335htcvfy8&feature=autoplay&list=ULKPUH0-cbIUA&playnext=1
chang at August 13, 2012 9:29 AM
I think I'm more in the mode of going out to do some laundry.
Jim P. at August 13, 2012 12:09 PM
The context of the death matters a lot.
When my father died, I was very sad, but I was more relieved. He had been very sick, and knowing it was finally over was a huge burden lifted. He lived a good, long life, and his death had the feel of a great book coming to an end.
MonicaP at August 14, 2012 5:02 PM
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