Frederic Erk

Posts Tagged ‘Grief’

Just a Little Step Forward, Please.

In Uncategorized on December 30, 2009 at 10:32 pm

Tonight I climbed that hill to the cemetery where my mother is resting. 5 December is her birthday. And I wanted to see her because I had to talk to her. Right now I am hurting the people I love, and my heart is full of questions. I so much believed in my power to save her, that her death left me literally exhausted, physically and psychologically.

As I knelt besides her grave, the ground was cold and damp from recent rain storms. Her best friend had cared to bring some flowers. Her grave is bare, as she refused to have tomb stone, or sophisticated things. She wanted to be buried among her Boxer dogs in our enclosed garden, but alas! French law is ruling this out. Six feet under and closed oak coffin with people you don’t know.

I have chosen for her a quiet place nesting against the wall of a small building holding the remains of Catholic priests. The cemetery is facing the west, and the sky is wonderful there, with salty ocean winds chasing away rain clouds. In Autumn the whole river valley below is veiled by fog. It is really a nice place, and she deserves all of it.

I am writing to share my feelings, but also to help. My beloved Belka encouraged me to write again, and more, with simple words about grief, and other issues I was facing as a human being. Of course, there are books, encyclopedias, but what matters is what you have been through and the message you can personally forward. What matters is the practical experience.

A few days after leaving France, as she was waiting for her train in Moscow, she saw a man approaching the rails, and really believed he would jump. So she drew herself so close to him, and looked at him, just to make her point. You jump, I jump. The guy was so distressed, he backed away, and we shared a laugh because it is possible he had no intention to jump at all.

But what matters is that she acted. She is aware and going out of her way. And that is a wonderful difference, the kind of which is filling my heart with joy and pride. This is my beloved Belka. So generous and caring. And her message has touched my heart, too. I am learning a lot from her.

I recall reading online about a person who had lost her dog to CHD, and it was so moving, as my own dog was dying from the same disease. I told myself I would share all my experience fighting that terrifying curse, but the folder with all the papers is still resting on my library’s shelf. It could really help Boxer dog owners, but I could not write about it. It is a shame. Really.

I do not pretend I can help people who are grieving, but I can at least try to write about my own experiences on a daily basis. Grieving is normal and healthy, but personally it is coming to the point I cannot face my days anymore. It is all the more dangerous that I have been recovering from severe depression for two years.

The first weeks after her death have been filled with shock and disbelief. They call it the denial stage. Then began the questioning, and finally the anger. I was angry at myself, for being angry, as I am quite violent and had issues with it in the past. Three years ago I had a therapy, after landing in hospital emergencies for the third time, for so-called panic attacks. And I changed, my relation to others softened. I felt more in harmony with society.

So the first step is to take positive action and ask for help, because after losing my dogs, I really became angry and dangerous to society. I began to fight with my mother about financial issues, and then about petty things. Ultimately I understood she was afraid of me, and this was like a bucket of cold water thrown at my face. How low can a man go if he is to threaten his own mother?

I thought, it worked before, as I was a soldier, I used to run, so I laced my rangers and ran every day five, six, seven miles in cross-country. I remember a day when snow was flying and filling my mouth. As we had no running hot water, it was always quite adventurous to wash perspiration away. It felt good, though.

But this time, the magic did not work. My nights were filled with nightmares. I could not cope with increasing work pressure in the forest, and so the vicious circle closed itself. Sometimes you have to break out, or break down. But the first step is to understand things are wrong, and you need help.

Asking for help is something more difficult than you think. First, it does mean you cannot get out by yourself, that you are failing. But failure it is when you don’t want help, and you think you are strong, but in fact you are just so scared. There will be a time of peace, as the doors you have closed are holding ghosts away, but they will manage to get back at you. So what are you going to do then? Running away is not the solution. The solution is to stand your ground and face your suffering.

So begins the healing process, as Lao Tseu said, the longest journey begins with a little step forward. Let yourself get overwhelmed and understand that grief is part of you, it is the love you have for the departed. And this love must not be fought against, but assimilated and distilled into a higher form, as if the departed was now resting within your chest. And she or he truly are.

I know how hard it is to just get up in the morning, and friends say, get a job, have a vacation. There is truth in it, because you need to have something to do. You cannot let the process diminish you to the point of sleeping all the time, forgetting about food, and watching the ceiling of a room. What you must know is that the way you are handling sorrow and guilt now will make a huge difference later. But let’s not pretend that having a job will ease the sorrow and make your recovery easier. It is like pushing dust under a rug. The dust is still there.

My little victory of today is that I put on the alarm clock and actually got up early in the morning. Oh, it was not easy, as yet another rainstorm was raging outside, and really my cat was such a fantastic sleeping pillow. But I got up and did all the things of the morning, and I felt good about it. Now I have more time in the day, and will be able to travel to town for afternoon walk.

Beyond grief there is destruction of routine, and habits. Both will appear to you hurting and shallow now that the departed one left such a void. You will think, I love breakfast, but where is she? Or why am I still cooking for two? My grief is showing up under the shower, after running. And the same image is coming back. I see her lying in that resuscitate room, with tubes everywhere, and her tongue out, bruised body, and I think, that body carried me, brought me to life, and I hugged her, and cared for her hair, stroked her back in winter. All this flesh is mine, too. Oh.

Some people say that we grieve because we feel how fragile life is, how fragile our life is. But it is not true, at least not in my case. I grieve because I love her, because we are so much alike. I am grieving the project we had to travel to Vladivostock by train. And I am grieving because she would not see my children. But above all, I am torn by the memory of those long days of suffering.

I am so proud of her. She was a dancer and model. She trained her body and mind. And in spite of disease, her heart was holding on. Five times did the heart stop and go. Five times. Oh, Mother, how proud I am, and how sorry I am about all of this. So sorry.

The Maker

In Uncategorized on December 25, 2009 at 8:55 pm

Why is it that after eons of evolution we have no working approach to death? Why is it that death is not openly discussed without taboo? We are talking with great excitement about the birth of a child, and yet its birth is also pregnant with death as part of the cycle of life. So why are we so silent and so hostile to talking openly about death?

Death has been veiled with words. Seldom will you hear that someone actually died, but rather than one left or departed. In VietNam U.S soldiers had developed their own language of death, with terms like He Got Wasted or He had His Shit Blown Away. Even statistics contributed to veiling the fact of dying, as it is better to read KIA or MIA, while most of those missing in action were actually dead. But again statistics prevail with a comforting shroud.

Have you observed the flourishing business of death in our occidental developed countries? The Actors’ Studio should really hire those people, because from the clerk sitting behind his desk, to the man in charge of the whole show, it is almost ridiculous how affected they seem to be, and yet they are living of it. Acting performance is on par with Philip Seymour Hoffman as Brandt, a sycophant and loyal assistant to the Big Lebowski, who tries to please everyone.

Have you been in resuscitation rooms? This is a strange world of pale badly shaved medics, strong white lights, long corridors of white walls and floors, and where everything is looking so clinical. It is not hospital, with its crying people and stressed nurses, this is a space ship, the Enterprise after the crash. Every room has seen thousands of people die there. It is a slaughterhouse. And you feel like walking in a dream, with walls expanding into nothingness, as your steps are echoing, and you think, death is there at work. You feel its cold breath on your neck.

So why is it we have that problem with death? Catastrophes happen all the time. Car accidents. Fire. People falling in the stairs. But every time it is a tragedy played intimately. Even when the grief is intense, you don’t feel like sharing it. You actually feel guilty about the death of a beloved person, as if you had failed. Because our society is so much focusing on life we are terrorized to display that ultimate failure of quitting. We feel shocked, betrayed, angered, or guilty for relief. But all these feelings are selfish, not once do we think that the departed is enjoying a better world.

Again language has made amusing parallels. When you lose your job, you are being fired. And when you have a project, you will work hard to meet the deadline.

Claude Levy-Strauss has described societies with intimacy to death. Football games would be organized between the living and the dead, and victory always attributed to the latter. So-called primitive societies have a realistic approach to death, considering that it is better for the dead to remain where they are. What a mess it would be if they ventured to come back!

The day of the dead ones was the only day of freedom of expression to the native and black populations in the colonies of Spain and Portugal in the New World. As if the celebration of a carnival would exorcise the enslavement of whole populations.

In our societies, including in zones of war, like Afghanistan or Iraq, to name a few, we are not talking about dead people, but about casualties, as if the fact of being napalmed had something casual, and this is because we are so afraid of death, even if we are developing incredible weapons, that we don’t want to feel responsible. All these gadgets of missiles, bombs, drones, it is only about introducing distance between the operator of death, and the casualty.

There is a joke of an airplane about to crash and all the people onboard are crying, all but one. And it is a Jew. And the woman sitting next to him is angry and asking why he is not afraid because they are going to crash. And his answer is that, why should he be afraid, as the airplane is not his.

It is the same with death. Death is terrifying and we don’t want to talk about it, openly, cleanly, and humanly, because we think that there is responsibility. We prefer to think that it happens to people, oh bad luck, tough. But we don’t want to give meaning to death. Either it is too personal, or too impersonal. But it is never right, or within the order of normal life.

In India it is common sight to see a man lie himself down in front of a rushing train. Body parts are raining around, and nobody is even taking care. Dogs come. And after some time, nothing is left. Death is totally integrated into the daily process.

This is why our societies are so ill at ease with the question of suicide. Here is a person who is voluntarily putting an end to her life, and really assuming the responsibility for it. How revolting! How inhumane! How irresponsible! And we have plenty of words to describe those with a death wish. Mad. Lost. Because we feel it is like quitting that marvelous game of life, before the end of it. They are cheating.

So we have introduced religion to explain death. Science is not even sure about the legal definition of it. Is it when the heart is stopped, or the brain? And what about the measuring instruments? Is a human body hosting a soul, so what is death then, but a transformation? We are totally at a loss, and death is a subject so fundamental that it should be cleared in school by teachers. Children should learn about death. They would grow more responsible and more respectful. They would learn that fundamental lesson that parents are prone to fail or depart.

So strange it is to observe how mass media is perverting our understanding of death. And how perverse it is because people lose perspective of life when it is not projected on the larger canvas of death. We are hearing all day long words like harmony, balance, zero emission, and all these words are directly related to death. The very definition of a dead system is a system, which has reached the point of balance, so that there is no interchange between its components and the environment.

Of course, you will object by saying that death is not a funny subject at all. That we cannot spend our time thinking about it, if we don’t want to get mad. I would reply that there have been many occurrences of societies intimately integrating death with social life. Pharaohs had pyramids built for their death, lest they would be forgotten. Roman legionaries believed that their banners were gods, and were absolutely ready to forsake life, so that the banner, the spirit of the unit, would survive.

And what about our history of warfare? Never in the history of the world have we been so close to mass extinction today. With a push of a button, billions of human beings can be terminated. And we pretend to avert our eyes, no, death is really not a subject of discussion.

More confusing is the case of some tribes of Amazon who see death in the silent forests they are inhabiting. Death is primarily lack of or devoid of, food, shelter, warmth. It is something, which is totally contrary to human survivability. Something like the caverns described in the fiction of Terremer. A void, without light, warmth and even air. A place of nothingness.

I have been particularly impressed with the very bleak approach to death the Greek had. There is nothing romantic in the description of Achilles walking silently in that Nether-world. The Romans were even more pessimistic. Consider howÆneas of Troy does open the gate to the world of the dead, by slaughtering a sheep and waiting for the ghosts of famous dead Greek heroes to assemble around the pool of dark blood, and drink it, as price of their wisdom.

There is a very interesting story by Robert Erwin Howard about the myth of Akivasha, the Princess, so beautiful that she decided to seduce death in order to remain young and in love for ever. So that generations of lovers would pray for her help, as love and death are intimately entwined, something I would like to develop later on, on the basis of the famous Eros and Thanatos relationship.

So Akivasha everyone does believe in living in a wonderful world is in fact living under a pyramid, in a little room, and sharing her time with some not so hospitable forms of beings, the kind of which does transform any honest to God citizen into a palatable orgy of gore.

So that Akivasha is inspiring poets, and yet like the heroes of the Greek Iliad she is drinking the dark blood of the slaughtered sheep. So perhaps children have to be spared with that kind of stories. And yet, are all those children stories, not entirely stories of sexual fantasies and awfully cruel happenings?

There are two remarkable studies about death at work in our modern societies. One is “Rites of Spring” by Modris Eckstein, and it is a revealing analysis of how the Great War shaped modern society, in all sectors of social life, from lovemaking to artistic ballet. Another work I found fascinating is Juenger’s “Fire and Blood” where the author is describing how death has changed human nature as a consequence of trench warfare.

Frederic W. Erk
December 22-25, 2009 La Touche Belin-Riga.

Always Another Dawn, said Scott Crossfield

In Uncategorized on December 5, 2009 at 3:10 pm

It is so strange a feeling that grief is overwhelming you, as water would invade the belly of a sinking ship until the capsizing. Actually, it is not hurting at all. It is a warm feeling, in fact. There is a smile playing on my face as I am writing those lines.

So they said, you will break down as the coffin is closed. No. Not at all. I wanted the whole burial to be done, as Mom had been waiting for a week already. And that room where she was lying, was worse than the soft touch of damp earth. Read the rest of this entry »

Recapitulation

In Uncategorized on November 30, 2009 at 5:22 pm

Benedictine monks hailed “sublime recapitulation” as the perfect harmony of Faith in unity with God. Ever since has this word kept the spiritual pregnancy in my imagination. No other word can explain the depth of feelings I have and continue to have with my departed mother.

Because the music of Mozart retains its value in the most abject slum, I have found my mother to incarnate both receptacle and truth in a sacred unity between the womb, which carried me along the bodily fluids of procreative process, and the spirit, which brought understanding to the children I used to be.

Call her Susan.

4 August. Summer peak. Slow life of vacations. Kids playing in the river. August has been chosen for that caricature of Caesar, heir and beholder of the Julii bloodline. It is the fitting month for dying, as hospital beds are coffins of blankets, and night are short. Only hope is carried by the shooting stars in heaven, which remind us of the vanity of our existence and greatness of summer skies.

Silence played its usual tune of familiar sounds. Lights are surrounded with insects. Silence was thus inhabited with tension as I opened that door to the salon, and found my mother lying near the bed.

Silent she had been for hours as I worked upstairs, as she did not want to betray her despair. And it froze my heart because I knew, too the ways of death, when its bony hand is slightly resting on your shoulder.

Call her Susan. Please. She would like it.

 

 

Re-Birth

In Uncategorized on November 29, 2009 at 6:14 pm

Words have been failing me. Perhaps it is because there is power and life in words, and that this power deserted me. Perhaps. I think that words are failing when we truly understand the deep meaning of words like “love”, “death”, “happiness” and “faith”.

I envy those who believe in scriptures, not because these are scriptures, but because they believe in the basic meaning of the words themselves. Religious faith should always be considered from the perspective of the child.

Down, down where Moon is small

So am I supposed to be an adult, grown up and responsible, dependable and strong, understanding and complete. Both direction provider and sheltering power. It is a beautiful thing to have walls to break through as manual effort is bringing peace to the mind and body alike. Read the rest of this entry »