Thoughtful Thursday: Grief and This Therapist
This has been a difficult couple of weeks. I found out, by reading it in an attendance list, that a former client of mine passed away. Earlier this week, a former co-worker went to sleep and did not wake up. Neither of these situations were anticipated and served to shock many of the people around me. They shock me as well, but I seem to be responding in a way different from most of the people around me.
I am thinking about these people. I'm remembering times that we spent together in various settings, but I am not prostrate with my grief. I am not crying all the time, nor am I planning to engage in the funeral that is going to happen tomorrow. I cannot.
Instead, I immerse myself in the memories.
Over the years, I've found that grief is a part of working with human beings. While I work with young clients and death is not expected, it has been a part of my life as a therapist. I've had to help other clients and staff members through their own grief. I've had to provide music in memorial services for people that I had a therapeutic or professional relationship with. I know that other music therapists work within times of grief much more than I do, but it is not a place where I am comfortable.
Tomorrow, several people from my place of work will be going to the funeral of my much too young former coworker who moved from this world to the next. I can't go.
I feel guilty about that. I feel guilty that I can't bring myself to go to a Midwestern funeral to share the community remembering this former co-worker. I feel guilty that it looks like I don't care. I do care, but I still can't go.
My first funeral was my grandfather's. I was 13 and had never been to a viewing before. It made an impression on me that has been difficult to overcome over the years. In California, we often bury the body in private and have a public memorial service later on. Here, in the Midwest, the practice is to have the body available for people to see and then present for the service before interment. I was not ready to see my grandfather in a coffin, and it made an impression that continues this day. I was a bit more prepared (and older) when my grandmother died, but I found the practice very disturbing at that time as well.
I cannot go to funerals out here without months of very vivid and scary dreams afterwards. I have difficulty remembering the people who have passed away as they were in life - I simply see their bodies in their coffins.
When I absolutely have to go to a funeral out here, I avoid looking at the body at all costs. I never attend viewings, and I do not walk past the coffin at the end of the service. I don't want to remember these dear people in this manner. I need to remember them as they were before they died.
As a result, I grieve away from other people. I find closure through writing, creating, remembering. I will sing and remember. I will cry and remember. I will send condolences and remember. I will remember these persons when I think of them, and I often think of those who have gone - often at the strangest times.
I will pray for the families of these persons. I will think about them when I am leading music therapy sessions, and I will support the others around me who are grieving. I will grieve in my own way, in my own time, and often remember the effect these people had on my life.
I am thinking about these people. I'm remembering times that we spent together in various settings, but I am not prostrate with my grief. I am not crying all the time, nor am I planning to engage in the funeral that is going to happen tomorrow. I cannot.
Instead, I immerse myself in the memories.
Over the years, I've found that grief is a part of working with human beings. While I work with young clients and death is not expected, it has been a part of my life as a therapist. I've had to help other clients and staff members through their own grief. I've had to provide music in memorial services for people that I had a therapeutic or professional relationship with. I know that other music therapists work within times of grief much more than I do, but it is not a place where I am comfortable.
Tomorrow, several people from my place of work will be going to the funeral of my much too young former coworker who moved from this world to the next. I can't go.
I feel guilty about that. I feel guilty that I can't bring myself to go to a Midwestern funeral to share the community remembering this former co-worker. I feel guilty that it looks like I don't care. I do care, but I still can't go.
My first funeral was my grandfather's. I was 13 and had never been to a viewing before. It made an impression on me that has been difficult to overcome over the years. In California, we often bury the body in private and have a public memorial service later on. Here, in the Midwest, the practice is to have the body available for people to see and then present for the service before interment. I was not ready to see my grandfather in a coffin, and it made an impression that continues this day. I was a bit more prepared (and older) when my grandmother died, but I found the practice very disturbing at that time as well.
I cannot go to funerals out here without months of very vivid and scary dreams afterwards. I have difficulty remembering the people who have passed away as they were in life - I simply see their bodies in their coffins.
When I absolutely have to go to a funeral out here, I avoid looking at the body at all costs. I never attend viewings, and I do not walk past the coffin at the end of the service. I don't want to remember these dear people in this manner. I need to remember them as they were before they died.
As a result, I grieve away from other people. I find closure through writing, creating, remembering. I will sing and remember. I will cry and remember. I will send condolences and remember. I will remember these persons when I think of them, and I often think of those who have gone - often at the strangest times.
I will pray for the families of these persons. I will think about them when I am leading music therapy sessions, and I will support the others around me who are grieving. I will grieve in my own way, in my own time, and often remember the effect these people had on my life.
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