Category: Grieving

Community and mutual support

Editor’s note: In this guest post, Dr. Tushar Mehta writes about how spirituality and connection to a community makes a huge difference, and how people can evolve even at a late age.

“Parasparopagraho Jivanam” All life is bound together by mutual support and interdependence

My grandfather passed away 2 days ago, and we just had the funeral today. He was 87 years old, and had deteriorated significantly since he was stuck by a car as he was crossing a road a few years back. This weakened an otherwise vigorous man, and eventually his age caught up to him. There is sadness involved when a family member dies, but there is also an uplifting story in this, and a light.

My grandfather had a hard life from childhood, and the family (my grand mother, mom, uncles and aunts), did go through many hard times. He was a very honest person, but sometimes difficult person often quite stern in demeanor. As family we all gave him due respect and love, but we were not as close to him in a personal and affectionate sort of way.

However, over the last year I saw him change so much. Despite his progressive weakness, he became someone who laughed and smiled so easily and often, which was rare in the past. He became very spiritual in a natural and wholesome way. He spoke of his mortality with ease and confidence, saying that he knew he would not live long this year, and all that mattered was for his soul to grow more mature.

My brother and I spent lots of time with him over the past couple of years, knowing that the inevitable was coming closer. During that time we developed a better friendship as he evolved into someone who became warm and glowing. I would often massage his arthritic neck and back and he much enjoyed this.

Over the last couple of weeks my grandfather did suffer many pains and discomforts of his dying body, but he maintained a spiritual focus, and would listen to and recite mantras so much. In typical Jain fashion he decided that he would die on his own terms and made a decision to stop all medications, food, and eventually even water. This was five days before his death, and is a decision and an act that Jains call Santharo. The purpose is to the leave the body on one’s own terms, a spiritual flight to a new beginning, an austerity where a conscious person decides not to hinder the smallest leaf or insect in that process of consuming a morsel of food; total ahimsa.

However, it does not look that pretty when you are wearing a diaper. My bro and I did all the medical things we could to keep him comfortable. But most importantly my uncle and aunt were with him constantly, caring for his every need and pain as best they could. My aunt was up with him every night and slept by his side (slept very little actually). She was heroic. My grandmother was always there chanting the mantras which he requested and loved. There were also many other friends and family members who came frequently and stayed over many nights to keep him company. He seemed to suffer more at night and had trouble sleeping. When he died, there he was surrounded by many friends and family who were quietly singing mantras and keeping vigil, rubbing his shoulders, head, and feet. He looked very peaceful. This all happened at my uncle and aunt’s home where my grandfather lived.

Today we had a funeral and cremation. It was a bit somber, but afterwards we had a lots of good memories to share. There was a lot of laughter as well, and i think that we were quite at peace and thankful that he achieved such upliftment over the last year or two.

A good friend of mine sent me a wonderful quote from Rabindranath Tagore :

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.

I think that reflects the way that our family sees things. There is a mystery in life that we theorize about, but there is also a knowledge about a greater journey of the self in the universe, a desire to grow towards the ultimate, about compassion and an inner freedom. Also, there was such generosity and love from a golden web family and friends. I know we will all experience this, and I hope for us to have it sooner rather than later.

Dr. Tushar Mehta is a physician from Toronto, Canada. He is of Jain heritage and feels that this philosophy and spirituality has a great influence on his experience of life.

4 stages of bereavement

Written by Suraj Shah. Inspired by greatness.

From shock to strength: it does get better

In our day to day lives, loss affects each of us on some scale.

There can be smaller losses such as dropping some loose change from a pocket, or a slight scratch on a brand new car.

At other times there may be significant losses, such as a house burning down, the loss of eyesight, or even the death of a loved one.

The type of loss we will explore here is the one you go through when someone close to you passes away.

Loss that leads to bereavement

Along with loss comes bereavement – a range of feelings over time that arise from that loss.

If you are facing a significant loss yourself, or are seeking to support someone who is going through a major loss, you may notice a pattern of bereavement that is common for many people.

The four stages of bereavement

There are four common stages of bereavement:

  1. immediate shock
  2. unable to accept
  3. depression
  4. renewal

However, keep in mind that we are all different. Grief is individual, and the way and order in which we grieve will vary.

Stage 1: Immediate reaction of shock

As soon as the death occurs, and over the following hours and days, you may be in a state of shocked disbelief.

Alternatively, instead of immediate shock, you may be rather calm and detached.

Either reaction is natural and understandable.

Stage 2: Unable to accept

At this stage, you may think that the person you have lost is still physically with you.

You are unable to accept the loss, and at some level are denying that the death has occurred.

You may make mistakes that may confuse or frighten you. Examples include:

  • waking up and expecting them to be lying next to you.
  • going downstairs in the morning and expecting them to be in the kitchen as usual, lovingly preparing breakfast for you.
  • laying a place for them at the dinner table.
  • calling the family down for dinner and calling their name out too.

This might freak you out a bit, but it is all normal. Daily habits are so deeply ingrained that they will continue to be part of your day.

Stage 3: Depressed and alone

No matter how many people are around you, or how much support you receive, you will have small moments or even long periods of time when you feel lost, alone and confused.

This could span across many many months.

You may question your own faith, your faith in God, faith in other people, and even faith in yourself.

You may lose interest in everything and may want to shut yourself off from the world.

You may question whether even your own life is worth living.

This may be a very heavy and lonely time.

Even this phase passes.

Stage 4: Renewed strength and focus

Eventually, as the pain eases, you find yourself being able to think about the person you have lost, without feeling sad.

This is a chance to recommence life with a renewed sense of strength and focus.

You could continue with old interests, or you could take up new pursuits.

Do you feel disloyal to the person who has died?

Remember that they are always a part of you, and you can allow yourself to enjoy the present.

There was a man whose wife had died. They had been married over 25 years. 18 months after she died, he took up salsa classes and started dating. He had discovered how to have fun again and his spirit was renewed.

From shock to strength: it does get better

From the moment the death occurs, you may feel grief and sadness, but you may also experience feelings of anger, fear, self-pity or even panic.

You don’t need to hide them – they are a part of your bereavement.

Share these feelings with a sympathetic listener – it does help.

Some of your friends may avoid you – this happens. It is most likely that they are embarrassed and don’t know what to say. Be understanding. Take the first step and let them know you need their support.

Grief is a very isolating process – we feel as if no-one could possibly experience what we are going through. But millions of people around the world have been through it, and they are doing fine now.

Whatever stage of bereavement you are at, remember that the pain will pass and life will again be full of strength, focus and joy.

Missing mum, 5 years on

Written by Suraj Shah.

Who has been present in the major events of your life?

In a timeline exercise I did one evening last week, I discovered a common thread – the importance of one single person throughout my life.

Timeline’s are more powerful than you realise. They help trace out the major events that took place at various stages of your life, and they help you remember, using the memory of your senses, what was going on at that time, who was around, and how you felt.

Some major moments in my life

Here is how some of my timeline looks (although ages may be a little skewed as memory has ways of playing tricks on you):

  • Age 5: Attended primary school.
  • Age 9: Won a competition.
  • Age 10: Moved house.
  • Age 10: House burgled.
  • Age 12: Started high school.
  • Age 13: Moved to a private school.
  • Age 14/15: Tutor died.
  • Age 15: Penpal died.
  • Age 16: Grandma died.
  • Age 16: Moved school.
  • Age 18: Went to uni
  • Age 18: Grandfather died.
  • Age 22: Finished uni – got my degree.
  • Age 22: Best friend died.
  • Age 23: Travelled around India for over 3 months.
  • Age 25: Mum terribly unwell. Mum died. Mum’s uncle died. Dad’s uncle died.
  • Age 26: Met Heena (now my wife). The best summer of my life.
  • Age 27: Got married. Other grandma died.
  • etc.

As I was recalling these major events of my life, I was recollecting who was around me, what was going on, and how I felt. A common thread emerged.

Mum was around for it – she was a part of the big moments in my life

Whilst I was at primary school at age 5, at a time when we all had to wear shorts, I once tripped in the playground and my right knee was so badly grazed that it was bleeding non-stop for over 5 minutes. At that age, it felt like decades! I remember how mum came to collect me from school to take me home and nurse me.

One Saturday morning, aged 9, I was feeling unwell and couldn’t make it to music school. So while I was resting on the sofa watching cartoons, I heard the doorbell ring, and mum answered the door. The postman had delivered a package, with my name on it. It was a brand new Nintendo Gameboy – I had won a competition! That became my prized possession. I suddenly didn’t feel so unwell!

At age 10, we moved house, but dad was so busy in the shop at that time that we hadn’t managed to unpack every single box. In the spare room upstairs, there were boxes of mum’s jewellery, our video camera, and a collection of home movies that hadn’t yet been transferred onto VHS. Within weeks of moving house, we were burgled. It was bad enough that they stole some of the expensive digital equipment and the jewellery, but why the video tapes too? Mum was distraught – all her precious memories from my brother and I as young children – gone.

At age 12, I started high school. The night before, while I was trying on my new uniform and getting my books and pens ready, I remember tears rolling down my eyes. I was scared about going to this new school, mum was in hospital undergoing surgery, and I didn’t want dad to see me cry. I missed mum and wished she was there to comfort me.

At age 13, mum tried her hardest to get me into a better school. Together we succeeded. I started at a private school, and luckily my fees were all paid for me by the school. Mum was over the moon, as education was so important to her.

Around the age of 14 or 15, my physics tutor died. I remember mum telling me the news after she got off the phone with the tutor’s wife. I didn’t know how to react. Then my penpal died. Then my grandma died. Mum wanted to support me through all of that, but we never really spoke more than a few words about each incident.

Soon I went to Manchester to start university, and within months, my grandfather died. I rushed back to London to be with the family. Four years later, I graduated from uni and my best friend died. Mum wanted to support me through that too, but once again we never really spoke more than a few words about it.

And then, mum wasn’t around…

Over the years, mum’s health deteriorated further and further, with several major operations along the way. When I was 25, mum was in hospital for several months and eventually passed away. Clearly, she wasn’t there to support me through that. Within weeks, her uncle died. A couple of months later, my dad’s uncle died. Mum wasn’t around to support me through any of that.

The following year I met Heena, and then we got married. Mum wasn’t around for that. My cousin brother got married. Mum wasn’t around for that.

The following year, my brother got married. Mum wasn’t around for that either.

The following year, another cousin brother got married. Mum wasn’t around for that either.

This year, my cousin sister is getting married. Mum won’t be around for that either.

September 26th, 2011, marks five years since mum passed away, and I certainly do miss her presence in my life. Some days I feel numb. Many days I feel lost. But then the clouds clear and the sun shines through, and I realise that I am blessed with such great people in my life, and that a purposeful and inspired life is inevitable.

The power of the timeline

Before this timeline exercise, I hadn’t realised just how much of an important force my mum was in my life. She was present, in some way or another, in almost all the major events that took place in my life.

If you have a spare half-hour, give the timeline exercise a go. Perhaps share what you discover, by writing in the comments below.

(Photo courtesy of Alice Lim)