Spinning My Wheels

During my years of studying grief, both from the inside and the outside, I learned that anger is not a stage of grief, but an integral part of the process. Since much of grief is visceral — a response to perceived danger — grievers experience a tremendous fight or flight hormonal upsurge. The panic they feel after the death of a life mate is a natural part of this survival mechanism; it alerts them to the danger of being suddenly alone. Anger is the other side of this mechanism, the part that generates the energy necessary to take action.

Sometimes anger is an emotional response, especially if there is a direct action that prompted the anger, such as a doctor who downplayed the seriousness of the loved one’s illness, taking from the griever the opportunity to say goodbye. Other times, even though that anger feels emotional, it’s strictly a physical response to the flood of hormones in the systems of grievers. Their minds scurry around trying to find a reason for how they feel because as rational beings, people cannot accept unfocused anger, so they search for a target, for a reason for the anger. People can always find a reason, which masks the truth that in many cases, the anger came first, and the reason for the anger second.

Listening to liberals haranguing people who believe in a more conservative lifestyle, I wondered if this same lesson I learned from grief could hold true in a wider context. Almost everyone who screams about fascists, racists, whateveraphobias, boomers and even Gen Xers, are left-leaning people. In almost every discussion, it’s those people who descend into name calling rather than trying to find a common ground or to explain why they think the way they do. The hatred and anger is almost palpable, more so than if it were merely an act put on for the benefit of their peers. (Not all, of course, and this is strictly my own experience with people who disagree with those who have a more patriotic outlook and isn’t supposed to be sweeping generality, though why I’m justifying myself, I don’t know except that in this angry age, I prefer to deflect that anger before it gets focused on me.)

Like with grief, could the anger have come first and then only later did that anger go in search of a target? I know that many younger people are angry with their lives and seem to want to tear down the country and the system they think created the situation, but the anger seems so over the top. Are they just angry and their political stance is what they chose as a target for that anger? Although some studies show no real difference in mental health between the rights and the lefts, others show that left-leaning liberals are almost twice as unhappy as other people, and more than half admit to mental health issues. Some say it’s because they don’t have the foundation of religion and family and community that conservatives have, but I don’t know. My main focus today is about whether the anger or the tear-it-all-down ideology came first. If it’s the anger, then once they tear it all down, they will still be angry but with nothing left to focus it on. Then what?

With any luck (good or bad), I will be gone by the time that question finds an answer, but still, I do wonder.

I also wonder if that anger is catching. I do know people who think alike tend to support each other in what seems to be folie à deux, so it could just be that they exacerbate each other’s inclinations. It could be that the anger makes them feel alive, drugged as they are on adrenaline, but it could also be something else. For example, the only times I got blindingly angry, ready to smash someone with a baseball bat, was when my bipolar brother would dump his anger on me, back when we were both stranded in California. Out of his presence, I was fine, but oh, that reflected anger was more than I could handle. Well, almost more. I did handle it, and we all survived that situation, but it sure was bizarre to experience especially since I tend to be a rather phlegmatic person.

None of this matters, I suppose. To be honest, little of what I write about matters since there’s nothing I can do about any of it, but here I am, spinning my wheels anyway.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

What Did You Do When You Were Dead?

I saw an appalling movie last night — the 2004 film Birth with Nicole Kidman.

The premise is a perennially interesting one: a reincarnated soul remembers who he’d been and tries to reconnect with his old life. In this case, though, the premise is the only thing that was interesting. The movie tried to be a thriller (I think), and to the extent that it was a perfect example of a folie a deux (where two people share a delusion, and in the end they make each other crazier), it succeeded. It also tried to be uber mysterious and only managed to be annoying, especially with the long, long, long close-ups of alternately Kidman and the kid. The movie might have been fun if the kid had been charming, but he came across as an incipient serial killer. Which, I’m sure, was intended.

But none of that is important to this blog except as an introduction to the question the movie poses: what would happen if a ten-year-old boy showed up at your door and claimed to be your dead husband?

What struck me is that the kid, even if he were the husband reincarnated, would not still be the husband. Do the words, “To death do us part” ring a bell? And he’s a ten-year old kid. He might have memories of being someone else, but in the end, he’s only ten, and still needs his mommy.

If this kid came to my door claiming to be Jeff, I’d probably be interested, but in no way would we be able to continue the relationship we once had. He’d be ten years old, for cripes sake. He might have the memories of being Jeff, but he wouldn’t be the man I loved — wouldn’t have the same mind, the same smile, the same thoughts and inclinations. He wouldn’t be the mature, even-tempered man I knew. He wouldn’t be an adult, and by the time he was, I’d probably know first hand what it was like to be dead.

For sure, he wouldn’t be someone I could be the old “me” with. He might be resurrected, but the part of me that died with him would still be dead.

If he truly was Jeff, we would sit down and reminisce a bit, maybe catch up on what we’ve been doing the past ten years. “Hey, Jeff. What did you do when you were dead? How did death treat you? How did it feel? Did you have fun? Did you learn anything? Did my grief bother you?” But, wait — he’s ten years old, which means he’d have been immediately reincarnated. He wouldn’t have had a whole lot of experience being dead, which wouldn’t leave us much to talk about since I wouldn’t particularly care about his experiences in the womb or being a small child, or his problems as a young boy (except to hope that this childhood was more pleasant than his previous one).

If he were Jeff, he’d be glad to know I was doing okay, but he wouldn’t put me in the position of being responsible for him. He wouldn’t stalk me. Or make me crazy. There’d be no thriller, no chiller, no folie a deux in our reunion. Definitely there’d be no creepy bathtub scene. I don’t have a bathtub, and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Taking off his clothes and getting in the tub with me would be the last thing on his mind.

We’d just talk, and when we finished our chat, he’d wish me well, tell me he loved me, and then he’d let me go.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.