It’s almost a month since we lost mum. My lovely friend Susie told me that in the Jewish culture they have very well-defined stages to be observed when a loved one dies. You can read about this here. I wish we had something like this in our culture because we mostly get lost in sadness and pain.
The first week after the funeral is known as shiva (literally, “seven”). During this period, the mourners are treated with the utmost care and respect. Their needs are met by the community — both their physical needs, such as meals, and their spiritual and emotional needs.
The next stage of the mourning process is known as sheloshim (literally, “thirty”). This 30-day period is counted from the day of the funeral.
It would help to know that very little is expected of you in the 4 weeks following a huge loss like that of a parent, partner or child. The community would make meals and you wouldn’t be expected to function like a human or go anywhere near a supermarket.
Susie said I should take it easy, be kind to myself, during this time and to mark the thirtieth day (which falls on January 4th, light a white pillar candle and talk to Mum. I’ve done grief before and to be honest I think it does help to have some kind of map through the dark terrain, perhaps even moreso in December when everyone is thinking about Christmas and someone gives you a card that shows a Turkey consulting a clairvoyant who says, ‘I wouldn’t make any plans for Christmas.’
Yes, really.
Perhaps I can apply Hanlon’s razor to this, an adage that states: “Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.” It hurts a bit less that way.
It’s odd because the person knows I’m vegetarian so it’s already in poor taste, but to give me this knowing I’d just lost my mum… now that takes either a cruel streak or almost total ignorance of the pain it would cause. Lacking an empathy chip, my friend Julia suggests.
I’ve got tickets to see Tim Minchin in January. The tour was postponed from late October when Tim lost his mum after a three year fight with blood cancer. I feel like that will be a fairly emotional night for everyone. Tim bravely performed the night after his beloved mum passed. I am sure she would have been so proud of his strength.
I’d like to think my mum would be proud of my strength, too. I haven’t had to get up on stage in front of thousands of people, but I’ve met up with friends, attended my writing group, shown up at work to pay my staff. You have to keep swimming to some extent.
A former politician criticised Tim Minchin for performing. I won’t write the person’s name here as I don’t want to give them any attention. Grief is so personal but it makes me wonder if the has-been politician would have criticised a surgeon for turning up to do their job the day after their mum had died. Or a bus driver. I think anyone who has lost someone close – like a parent, partner or child- can grieve any way they damn well please.
When we lose someone we want to talk about them. We want to keep them alive in our memories and tell everyone else about them. I personally struggle to believe that my mum is gone so talking about it is often me expressing my absolute amazement that such a thing could be true.
As I’ve explained before, I write to discover my thoughts and to process them. If these words help one other person through their own loss then it’s worth it. Writing is my number one tool in my 21st century survival kit. Writing is the way I understand my thoughts about the world. I have good days and bad, good hours and bad. I’ve filled a whole A5 journal with memories about mum. I write about her each evening and then do a meditation so I go to sleep with a full heart.
I record my dreams. I haven’t dreamed of her yet – no visitations – but on the night she died I dreamed of a bear.
“To both European and Native American Shamanic people, Bear symbolizes awakening the strong force of the unconscious. The strength of bear medicine is the power to restore harmony and balance — to heal. The Bear Spirit is known to many cultures as the Great Healer.” ~ From Shaman’s Way
And three weeks after that I dreamed I had black feathers growing all over my legs, silking luxurious feathers. From ancient times, black feathers have been a symbol of protection. Many believe that black feathers have protective qualities and can act as a shield. In Celtic Folklore, the heritage I share with Mum (I was adopted so this isn’t as obvious as it seems), black feathers are seen as a connection to the Otherworld and are associated with the goddess Morrigan, the ancient guardian of the dead. Some say that finding a black feather is a sign that the goddess is protecting you.
I’m confident Mum would poo-poo (her words) all that because she was a very devout Christian lady who didn’t have time for discussions of goddesses, signs and connections with the Otherworld. However, black feathers as signs of protection are mentioned in the Christian Bible so perhaps now that she’s passed through the veil she might be okay with my talking about it.
Mum wasn’t a fan of my crystals or my altar so I hope she doesn’t mind being on it. I’m sure she likes that I think of her and say good morning to her picture when I light my candles each day.
It’s the little ritual I’ve found most helpful. The rituals are my tools, my swim fins and oxygen tanks to help me keep swimming despite the deep sadness. My altar is a bit of a bastardised and borrowed/cherry picked attempt I suppose but hey, whatever works. I also have a daily meditation and yoga practice. I haven’t cried in yoga for years but I can’t help it at the moment. The body holds our pain and yoga releases it, so I take my tissues and let it flow along with the vinyasa.
Mum didn’t like yoga; all that moving about and chanting in foreign languages did her head in. She was terrified I would be brain-washed and end up in a cult somewhere. She should have known I’m not exactly the kind of person cults target- I ask far too many questions, the exact reason I didn’t go so well as a church-goer.
Over time she came use meditation as a Christian, but she was a much bigger fan of prayer. The meditations I am finding quite useful now are anything by Davidji, his voice is so soothing and beautiful and any Metta meditation. It helps to remember that everyone is deserving of happiness, health and freedom.
Is this cultural appropriation? Am I allowed to love these Sanskrit ancient mantras and Buddhist meditations?
Growing up in what I call the ‘Sao Biscuit’* of religions – the Brethren church, gifted me with an awe of and a fairly decent shadow around ritual, something I have worked on over the past two years. In Spiral Dynamics, we would call this a purple shadow, caused by an interruption in my development through the Purple stage, when we see the world as enchanted and value ritual and deep community. So while I have a fairly well-developed bull-shit-o-metre I really love temples and big old gothic cathedrals, chanting and candles and darkness and labyrinths. Imagine if I’d grown up in a religion with glorious temples or churches, the ones I call the ‘Black Forest Gateau’ of religions with the carvings and the fancy outfits and the transcendence… who knows, I might have actually been quite the little zealot.
But I digress… My little rituals are getting me through this as they have for years. I honestly don’t know how normal people cope with the ups and downs of life without yoga and candles and hours of journaling. But then ritual comes in all shapes and sizes. I’m a big fan of doing whatever gets you through the night, or day, but for me it’s meditation and journaling, therapy and healing, long walks and long talks with trusted friends. We all need rituals, tools in the kit, to not just get by but to thrive and level up. I don’t know what the great over arching meaning of life is, but I know we didn’t come here to suffer.
*A Sao Biscuit is a plain square of flaky pastry from Arnott’s Biscuits in Australia. You can slather it with butter and pretty much any other topping (Vegemite is wonderful on it!) and it transforms into a marvellous thing to eat, but on its own, it can be a little dry.
