Loss: Two Perspectives

Clear and Ambiguous

Photo by Mike Labrum on Unsplash

We begin this essay with individual stories of grief —"clear" personal losses of loved ones. Then we turn from "clear" losses to the huge, collective "ambiguous" one many of us have experienced since election day. It's ambigous because there is no death certificate, no definite ending in sight, no ritual to mark the beginning of a grief journey, and no means of corporate lament.

From Noel

I believe the expression is “It never rains, but it pours.” Sorrowful moments seem to pile upon one another, and any brightness or hope feels like some distant memory, a discarded picture postcard of surf and sun from another time and place. Could we have ever been that happy? That joyful? Is our innocence and belief in goodness being tested now by an intrusive cynicism that grows from our sadness?

However, the recent death of a close friend, Ed Mottau, a carpenter, a producer, a fellow musician and one the best blues guitarist/singers I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with is causing me to reflect more upon the importance of his presence in my life during our sixty years of friendship than to dwell on his recent passing.

Eddie was in a group that opened for one of Peter, Paul and Mary’s first concerts on the Massachusetts cape. Over the years, our roles in each other’s lives changed constantly. He was one of the producers of my first solo album Paul and. I remember the day we recorded the “Wedding Song”—how he bolted out of the control room, crouching down in front of me as I was arpeggiating the chords, and declaring, “That’s it! That’s it! Just keep that thumb goin’.” Because of his encouragement, and despite being the only instrument used for the recording, the resultant double-tracked twelve-string with echo and overtones sounds as full as an orchestra even today.

But professional relationships aside, it was the immediacy and trust of each other that created our strongest bond. And music wasn’t the only opportunity we had to work together. In the early 70’s, my wife and I had found some property in a small town with a house that needed some work, and we invited Ed and his family to come stay with us while we updated the building. He was the carpenter, and I was the unskilled laborer. I remember one afternoon in particular.

“Hey Stookey,” he yelled, “stop carrying those rocks with your face!”—laughing at my contorted mouth as I lugged a 150-pound rock over to a trench we had laid out to describe the foundation of the kitchen we wanted to enlarge. Six months later, he had essentially single-handedly completed the renovation for us. And a year later, he bought land across the driveway to build his own family’s three bedroom house.

I miss him greatly.

As many of you may know, my singing partner, Peter Yarrow, is now in home care this holiday season, following hospitalization for inoperable bladder cancer. His daughter Bethany and son Christopher have created a site (https:// peteryarrow.net) where many thankful anecdotes from fans and friends are being posted recalling the impact of Peter’s life and career. As I visit weekly with my ailing musical brother, I’m realizing that the best take-away from any loss that one experiences is to recall the shared meaningful moments, as they provide the strength to move on positively.

But like I said “. . . it doesn’t rain, but it pours.”

And many of us who felt emotionally invested and subsequently greiving the results of the recent election will now find ourselves similarly drawing upon memories of better times. Recalling the societal advances of the past will bolster our resolve to combat those who are attempting to “Make America Great Again” by ignoring our constitution and gutting the checks and balances put in place by our founders.

From Jeanne

My husband and I lost our daughter Anne to cancer in early fall 2013. She left behind her husband and their six-month-old daughter. From the following Thanksgiving through Christmas Eve, I dreaded going to the grocery and department stores because I didn’t want to hear the “Merry Christmas” songs. Each of the decorations and tree ornaments had a history which she had always helped us remember. When I came across the Swiss candle holder she had given us the Christmas she had studied abroad, I didn’t want to put it together. That year Bill and I were grateful that our church offered a “ longest night” (a.k.a. “Blue Christmas” or “solace” ) service on the evening of winter solstice. It was comforting to be in a gathering of mourners, an acknowledgement that grief goes on despite holiday festivities.

It’s been 11 years. I think of Anne everyday. Last week, as I was unpacking Christmas decorations, I came across the stockings that our family hung on our mantle every year, and I realized I don’t want to hang them this year. Occasionally, waves of grief wash over me when I notice some reminder of her. Those waves come less frequently now, but I don’t expect them to ever go away, and I wouldn’t want them to.

🙵🙵🙵

The personal stories we’ve shared are examples of clear losses. There are social rituals, both religious and secular, that acknowledge the beginning of the long journey of grief that follows the death of a loved one—sympathy cards and calls from friends, memorial services.

Many of you have been in emotional turmoil since the November election. You may be angry, depressed, sad, or fearful about the future of our country. You may be hoping to wake up from a nightmare. You know some of what Donald Trump has said what he will do during his second term: deportations of immigrants’ children born in the U.S, suspension of refugee resettlement, revenge against his enemies, dismantling the federal government, refusing to honor the Constitution. You’re already seeing his cabinet nominations. You fear what his administration will do to health care, education, the free press, public lands, the environment, and democracy itself. We simply do not know what we might lose in the next four years.

When psychotherapist Pauline Boss was working with spouses of soldiers missing in action in the 1970s, she coined the term “ambiguous loss” to name the kind of loss our society rarely acknowledges, the kind without closure or resolution. Later Boss applied it to responses to COVID 19 such as loss of trust in the world and loss of a sense of safety. She has also applied to the loss experienced by the caregivers and loved ones of persons with dementia.

In a recent interview Boss said,

Now we have a kind of loss that I think is causing some grief for people who wanted a different outcome in this election. It's really quite important to understand the feelings. It’s a normal response if you're in the midst of something you didn't expect and you don't want and it came suddenly and unexpectedly. It's a major loss.

Boss encourages those of us who are experiencing depression, anger, and grief over the election to accept our feelings and to write down a list of our losses. Ambiguous grief can leave us frozen, immobilized. To counter that helpless feeling, we need to do something active. She says, “Short term, you have to do something you can control when you are in a situation you can’t control. . . . Go running, listen to music, go to a movie, Do something that requires action that makes your body move. You'll feel better for that.” In the long term, she encourages getting involved “with whatever works for change the will bring us closer to the future, not take us backward.”

We want to add that it’s important to stay in touch with others who are grieving this election—by phone or Zoom or in person if possible. Community and connection are crucial in times of ambiguous grief. We need each other as we live with grief and as we take the steps to move us closer to a future that honors the Constitution, diversity, human rights, a free press, freedom of religion, and the earth itself.

Likewise, we’d encourage those who are grieving clear or ambiguous loss to listen to your own heart about what you need, to remember the grief process is different for different people, and to seek out the community and connection that is best for you, be that through friends and loved ones, professional counselors, or support groups. In addition, if you are grieving during this holiday season, we hope that you still will find some measure of peace, some reason for joy.

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Connections:

Read “Election Grief Is Real. Here’s How to Cope,” an interview with Pauline Boss in the November 6 Scientific American.

Learn more about Pauline Boss and ambiguous loss in this article in The New York Times Magazine.

Here are suggestions from the Mayo Clinic for dealing with grief and loss during the holidays.

This “Blue Christmas” service is based on an order developed and used at The Cathedral Church of Saint Andrew, Honolulu Hawaii.

Vibrations:

Enjoy this seasonal slide video accompanying Noel’s recording of “There’s Still My Joy.”

Hear the inspirational call and the gift of community spirit in the video of “In These Times.”

Resonance:

Questions for reflection:

What kinds of ambiguous loss have you experienced and how have you dealt with them?

What practices have helped you cope with grief during the holidays?