Inexpressible is the trauma following a lover’s suicide, or a the loss of a child. There’s no real advice for grief, and a therapy is maybe necessary.
Here’s what I know :
- Your ally is time. It doesn’t heal anything, but pain will decrease. Years…
- You have the right to be in despair, don’t listen to people who want you to stop crying.
- Decide to study deeply a big culture area, XIXth century classical music or the life of Louis XIV, history of Japan or Italian Renaissance. Study.
- Exploring Art is often helping.
- Write to this person on paper, then invent a little ceremony where you’ll burn the letter. Do it each time there’s a “too much”, an overflow of.
- Find a wounded friend. Support each other like wounded slowalking soldiers : talk.
- Pills can be necessary, but I read many authors who say that pain has to open its windows, one day or another.
- Find books, about the “now”, or guilt, philosophy or self help : find your good books.
- “The rose is without why. It blossoms because it blossoms”. You’ll be exhausted thinking about whys, though.
What doesn’t work : travel, drink.
“Like love, grief is non negotiable…”
I just found this text from Nick Cave (his son fell from a cliff and died at 15) about Love & Grief :
I have experienced the death of my father, my sister, and my first love in the past few years and feel that I have some communication with them, mostly through dreams. They are helping me. Are you and Susie feeling that your son Arthur is with you and communicating in some way?
Cynthia, Shelburne Falls, VT, USA
This is a very beautiful question and I am grateful that you have asked it. It seems to me, that if we love, we grieve. That’s the deal. That’s the pact. Grief and love are forever intertwined. Grief is the terrible reminder of the depths of our love and, like love, grief is non-negotiable. There is a vastness to grief that overwhelms our minuscule selves. We are tiny, trembling clusters of atoms subsumed within grief’s awesome presence. It occupies the core of our being and extends through our fingers to the limits of the universe. Within that whirling gyre all manner of madnesses exist; ghosts and spirits and dream visitations, and everything else that we, in our anguish, will into existence. These are precious gifts that are as valid and as real as we need them to be. They are the spirit guides that lead us out of the darkness.
I feel the presence of my son, all around, but he may not be there. I hear him talk to me, parent me, guide me, though he may not be there. He visits Susie in her sleep regularly, speaks to her, comforts her, but he may not be there. Dread grief trails bright phantoms in its wake. These spirits are ideas, essentially. They are our stunned imaginations reawakening after the calamity. Like ideas, these spirits speak of possibility. Follow your ideas, because on the other side of the idea is change and growth and redemption. Create your spirits. Call to them. Will them alive. Speak to them. It is their impossible and ghostly hands that draw us back to the world from which we were jettisoned; better now and unimaginably changed.
With love, Nick.