Healing the Unhealable

What do you say to someone to help them bear the unbearable? In the case of an acquaintance of mine, the loss of her beloved son in his 20’s from a motorcycle accident. All the standard “condolences,” “our heart is with you,” “he’ll always be with you” fall so very short, no matter how sincere or well-meaning. Is there anything at all that might be of use? And even if not, is it worth sharing anyway? For better or worse, here's what I came up with:

 

A poet who lost a beloved friend spoke of having to apprentice himself to a new form of relationship. The cliché of the loved one “being always with you” is true on many levels, but it takes some work on our part to create and sustain a new form of relationship. We know that turning away from the grief and sorrow will simply not work, be it drink, distraction or depression. Whatever we do must go toward the pain, must run toward the lion’s roar of rage and lamentation, must actively cultivate a new way of being with and talking with the loved one in their new form and in our own changed form. Here’s my thought:

 

Write a letter every day to the one you can’t bear to be without. Ideally, handwritten in a journal, maybe leaning against a tree, better yet, sitting in a spot associated with them (my pronoun of choice to avoid all the “him” and “hers” or “loved one”). But also fine to write on a computer screen (though the slower process of handwriting sometimes yields deeper connecting thoughts). Think of the letter as “news from Planet Earth” and how very different it is without their three-dimensional presence. Write precisely what you feel. Your grief, sweet memories that have popped up, the stories of the people you knew in common. Whatever comes up. You are now their eyes and ears and also the witness of your own agony and unendurable sorrow. Report it all.

 

Then, at a ritual time of your choosing (each night after dinner?), light a candle on an altar table with photos of the beloved, have some food or drink that was their favorite that you will now enjoy on their behalf. Then read the letter out loud. Feel free to add singing a song or playing a favorite piece of music (ideally, you on guitar or piano or ukulele, what have you, but recordings are fine). A psychic once told me that those in the Other World need to hear things spoken out loud in order to receive them, so just writing or thinking the thoughts is not enough. Who knows if it’s true, but why take chances? And speaking out loud allows you to pass through again all you’ve written.

 

Can you feel how this moves your grief in the right direction, helping you bear your loss by tangibly feeling the presence? And how beautiful for them to hear as well. I’m sure they’re worried about you and don’t want to guess how you’re holding up. Tell them. 

 

As possible, do this ritually every day for a month. If it feels right to lighten, the schedule, then change to once a week, perhaps later, once a month. Time changes everything  but follow its voice as to how much and how often it feels right to continue. 

 

That’s all I have. I will send this to my friend with no expectations, but naturally, would be curious to hear if it helped if she decided to do something like this. And if someone decided to write to me like this one day, I suspect I would be happy to listen.