Ging attitudes to loss
nection with that person, and this is usually the most emotional point in the day.”
Emotions about the deceased aren’t always positive. What if Granddad was a perpetual jerk or if Mum basically deserted you? What if there were things done or undone in the deceased’s life that make you angry, or confused, or just really sad?
“All emotions, no matter what they are,” says Capill, “are important to get out. Family tensions should be expressed, and often are. We feel good when they are really emotional at the end, because we know that it has been the experience for them that it should be.”
Psychotherapist Sheila Larsen, who has supported many people after the loss of a loved one, agrees.
“Addressing the emotions after a death is highly personal and depends on the relationship itself, how close they were, whether or not it was a difficult relationship, and many other things. If they were sick for a long time, it may be a blessing that they’ve gone. If it was sudden and they were very dear to them, it’s particularly difficult.”
Experts agree that the way people emotionally manage the loss of a loved one is vastly individualised, and that there is no recipe for the way we grieve. Even the widely cited Five Stages of Grief model, developed by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in the 1970s to help better understand death, is viewed as a broad model that is not necessarily experienced by everyone who feels grief.
Larsen herself lost a child many years ago. He was 17 days old and born with brain damage and a heart defect. Her response was to talk about it.
“I was desperate to share my story with anyone on the street who would listen. It was my way of working through what had happened to me. My husband’s reaction, though, was a completely different one. No one way is the right way.”
The challenge of grieving, Larsen says, is that “the person has died but the relationship is still there. How do you still hold that relationship dear when they are not present?”
Megan* lost her son in a car accident when he was just four years old. For a couple of years on the anniversary of his death, friends met by the side of the road where he died, bringing candles and “drive safely” signs for the oncoming traffic.
Megan later planted bulbs in that spot so that every spring new colours burst through the earth.
There are many ways Megan now keeps the memory of her son alive.
“My son had made a drawing of me not long before he died,” she explains. “A friend took the drawing and made a necklace for me, which I always wear.”
Once a week, she visits her son’s grave and often takes things he would’ve loved or collected himself: stones from the beach, heart-shaped rocks, little toys and trinkets, and souvenirs from her travels. For her, the grave “has a set purpose or focus that is separate to everything else that might be going on with the day. It’s a quiet place for thinking.”
Larsen suggests to some of her clients that they make a spot in their garden or their home “where they can go to be with that person. Here, they can talk to them as if they’re still alive, or just be still and away from the stresses of life to remember their times with them.”
Since 1992, in a unique partnership between the Department of Conservation and Lamb & Hayward, O¯ tukaikino Reserve, north of Christchurch, has undergone a restoration programme.
For every funeral arranged by the funeral home, a native plant is planted in the reserve. The trees that are planted are not dedicated to any one person but instead contribute to form a natural forest community,
I was desperate to share my story with anyone who would listen. Sheila Larsen
Addressing the emotions after a death is highly personal. Sheila Larsen
which is visited by people whose loved ones have passed away.
Each year, Lamb & Hayward holds a memorial service for hundreds of people who come to celebrate these lives at the Reserve.
Parkyn says “It gives people a lot of comfort to come to the reserve and remember. The peace they get from spending time with others in the reserve, just reflecting and enjoying their memories, is of great value to us.”
There’s one cemetery in the world that isn’t just a stroll in the park for me. It’s tucked in a cornfield in southern Illinois where my dad, my brother, my unborn sister, my grandparents, and a great aunt lie. Across the lane are more distant relatives and familiar family names from the small rural community.
When I walk there, I can sometimes see my grandmother’s dimpled hands, kneading dough for chicken and dumplings. I remember my brother pushing me on my bike without its training wheels for the first time, shouting for me to keep going. I hear my dad growling out a new joke amidst a halo of pipe smoke, then chortling to himself after the punchline.
We all need our places and ways to remember them.
*Not her real name