Writing to Heal - August 30, 2009

Strangely enough, the thesaurus has become my friend. Helpful as I journal through my days, striving to put into words the depths of my feelings and emotions - struggling to come to terms with Josh's passing. It is so hard and painful yet I push through as I believe it is better for me to face the grief head-on, rather than to avoid or suppress it, as tempting as this may be.

In her book, "Writing As A Way of Healing", Louise DeSalvo summarizes ten years of scientific research recorded by James W. Pennebaker while at Southern Methodist University. Here are two quotes that keep me motivated.

Many researchers have observed that survivors of childhood sexual abuse and other trauma (like rape) or the suicide or accidental deaths of people close to them, if they do not discuss these events, tend to develop more major illnesses than people who do express their feelings (24).

Writing that describes traumatic or distressing events in detail and how we felt about these events then and feel about them now is the only kind of writing about trauma that clinically has been associated with improved health. Simply writing about innocuous subjects (like what we did throughout the day) or simply writing about traumatic events or venting our feelings about trauma without linking the two does not result in significant health or emotional benefits (25).

There is now a thick, black line that is permanantly placed in time. Before Josh Died and After Josh Died. Everything in my life is relegated to these two time periods. Because he is gone, nothing will ever be the same. And it happened without warning or suspicion. Without any time to prepare myself. One moment, I am feverishly working to get ready for a client meeting, thinking that Josh is upstairs sleeping; the next, I am all alone and holding my dead son in my arms - screaming his name over and over again.
I write to help me navigate this new grief journey. I write because according to DeSalvo, "after a loved one dies, our lives are temporarily in serious jeopardy" (189) and that "we are living in the midst of the disintegration of everything that has marked our lives as normal and meaningful" (195).
Disintegration - this is an accurate description of what has happened on March 18, 2009. My thesaurus gives me other words and I nod my head "yes" to all: break apart, fall apart, shatter, explode, blow up, collapse, perish, bust.
From my reading, I understand that my writing is a quest for several things: to try and understand why Josh took his life, which I know is a futile exercise, but I cannot stop asking; to acknowledge the irrevocable changes to my world and to find some order and meaning in the chaos after his passing.
And so, I find myself in DeSalvo's words:

People who write about their loved one's deaths are paradoxically engaged in a search for the meaning of their loved one's lives. They want to make a record; they want to describe their loss and their grief. But they want to discover, too, an overarching meaning for this death so that it will not have been for naught.

This seems especially necessary if the death was a violent one, if it was a suicide or an accident, or if it was the death of a child. For these deaths greatly threaten our sense of order. They shake the foundations of our belief in a meaningful, beneficent universe; they make us question whether any actions we undertake have meaning" (191).

One of the earliest exercises in her book asks the reader to think about a metaphor for writing. For her, writing is a "fixer"; a means by which she can work through problems and find healing or like a compass, giving her a "fix" on her life - where she is, where she has been and where she is going. For another author, writing is like a "very sturdy ladder out of the pit" (8). For me, writing has become a life preserver. I will end this post with what I wrote in my journal about this metaphor.

Writing is now my lifeline - my life preserver. Without it, I would drown in all of my feelings, sorrow and guilt. Where could it all go except inward to eat away at my soul? Instead of drowning, I am holding onto this life preserver - bobbing up and down in my grief, but not going under. The writing on the blog forces me to think about how I am feeling, organize it and write so that it makes sense to myself and others.
This life preserver is tethered to something bigger - a boat that maybe represents normalcy or happiness (can my life ever be "normal" again? I don't think so). Can I ever say that I will be happy (can't even imagine it right now). So here I am, hanging onto this life preserver - writing - not ready or able to get into the boat. It has been a natural thing to do - even though I've never had to write for my life until now.
Without my life preserver (writing), I would have drown. It has saved me. Could I even hope that my life preserver has provided a life preserver for others?

Please let me know.
God Bless