A PILL, A PATH, a yoga pose or a trance; I looked for these and more to avoid the gutting anguish that set in after my daughter Charlotte, a green-eyed, blond six-year-old who loved wearing sparkly
pink shoes in the rain and pushing the limits of her Barbie
Jeep, died suddenly in 2004.
In the last decade I’ve worked to get my head and heart
around the seismic shifts that accompany loss. I’ve traveled
the world to learn about different ways of grieving, interviewed countless people about their own experience, written
a book on my journey entitled The Angel in My Pocket: A Story
of Love, Loss, and Life After Death, and spoken to groups
around the country on the topic of choosing to embrace life
despite an unthinkable loss. I’ve become an expert on a subject on which I would gladly have chosen to remain ignorant
and yet here I am, re-engaged in life and fully transformed
by the experience all parents want nothing to do with, and it
actually feels like a gift to be able to share some of this hard-won wisdom and knowledge.
Mourning and grief are important in the process of
coming to terms with loss, but in my mind, they are slightly
different processes. Mourning is the act of ritual and behavior prescribed by tradition, faith and cultural expectations
such as tearing at clothing, wearing black or covering all
the mirrors in the house. These actions allow us to help
integrate loss into our own lives and those of our community. Mourning is an outward expression of grief and can
be shared. Grief itself, on the other hand, is highly personal
and emotions based. It is subjective, affecting both the body
and the mind, and its expression varies enormously by individual. Some describe grief as a big black hole, which has the
power to consume one’s every thought and ability to function for protracted periods of time. While mourning is finite,
there is no timeline for when one is through grief.
When the shadow of death inevitably darkens our door-
way, if we are without the rituals designed to ease us into
our grief we are handicapped at a time when we most need to
be guided. I was raised with a deep reverence for nature but
little to no religion. When my daughter Charlotte died I was
ill equipped for the journey of grieving that lay ahead.
I’ve learned there is comfort in the consistency of a cultural norm or tradition. Our darkest moments are often
illuminated when we find our way back to the lap of our heritage. Or perhaps even another’s heritage. According to the
Pew Research Center, 38 percent of the population in the
U.S. who identify their religion as “nothing in particular”
also state that religion is either “very important” or “
somewhat important” in their lives (Religious Landscape Study
2014). For those of us who come from no faith or perhaps
have left our childhood faith behind, bereavement provides
an opportunity to pull from the traditions of other cultures
in our efforts to find comfort.
Rituals of Mourning
While I learned about rituals that ranged from quietly floating
candles down a river on a raft to exhuming a body years later
to dance with it to boisterous processions led by jazz marching
bands, the ritual bathing of the body of the deceased by loved
ones is encouraged in varying forms in most faiths.
The highly choreographed process specifies position
of the body and movements of the attendants. Touch is a
potent expression of love whose final physical connection
can serve to subtly connect the bathers with the reality of
the death. Oils, flowers and special prayers are offered. The
body is then wrapped in a simple shroud or blanket with
small tokens of affection or money to take to the afterlife. In
recent years this ritual has been often left to the undertakers, thereby taking away a powerful opportunity for final
connection with the physical body for loved ones.
Prior to Charlotte’s death I was of the opinion that subcontracting out most of these tasks was an appropriate choice. In
fact, when faced with the prospect of bathing her in the hospital one last time, I am ashamed to admit, I was too fearful
the experience might overwhelm me and render me unable
to function for my surviving children. However, having had
