SHE COULDN'T GET OVER HER MOTHER'S DEATH: WHEN SAFETY WAS LOST

We continue here from SHE COULDN'T GET OVER HER MOTHER'S DEATH: SEEKING RECONNECTION

Inviting Mom’s Presence

I: I have pictures of her with me, so I can show them!

T: Yes, if you’re willing to show her.

I: So I have a picture of her [shows a framed black-and-white photo].

T: Ah, yeah [enthusiastically].

I: She looks a bit Thatcher-like! [Both laugh.]

T: Now in this picture, right, where we see this sort of expression, almost like a slight smile, and the eyebrows are a little arched; what do you see in this expression?

I: Uhm, her strength, I think [T: Yeah] because she was already fighting at this point; she was already ill. This photo is taken not long before, six months or so.

T: You wouldn’t know that, would you? [Inge begins to lay the photo flat on the small table between them as the therapist gently takes the frame and lifts it to standing.] Could we place her here because we’re certainly inviting her to be with us in the conversation today [Inge assists in situating the framed picture] and, yeah, to maybe just lend us her sense of presence, lend you her sense of presence, as you do this difficult work of addressing the relationship and the pain that comes with her physical dying?

I [Inge weeps, and therapist gently hands her a tissue.] : Thank you [wipes nose and eyes].

Making a literal “place” in the shared space of therapy for her mother, Robert and Inge position Inge's mother as a potential support figure in Inge’s therapy. Deeply moved, Inge accepts this positioning as she acknowledges her grief.

A Frozen Grief

T: Yeah . . . What do you sense now that you need in the aftermath of her dying, all those years ago? There’s something now about this, of course, that touches you so deeply. But what would help there, with that?

I: [Pause.] I have been wondering that for a long time too. Uhm, because it still feels like a very short time ago, to me at least. And it doesn’t feel to me like the feeling changes between now and five years ago or ten years ago. It stays too, uhm, open.

T: It stays too open. And when you say, “It doesn’t feel like it changes, to me at least,” is there a feeling that it has changed for others, even for others who knew her, or who know and love you, that somehow their grief or feeling about her dying has evolved in a different way?

I: Mainly I’m thinking in terms of how it normally should be.[T:Aha.] You'd think that these things will pass a little bit, but I think my brother and sister, as far as I can tell, don’t have the same feeling, I think, but I’m not sure they would share it with me. I’m not sure. I was wondering; it should be, it should be something I should be able to talk about now without being overwhelmed.

T: “Should” . . . Who would say this should? Is this an expectation voiced by people or just present in the culture in some way or. . . ?

I: Yeah, I think [pause]. Or maybe it’s something that I would expect from myself, to think I should be able to move past.

T: So like, almost a part of you [raising right hand to represent that part] is saying, “Inge, you need to be able to move past this, you need to be able to speak of her without the tears.” But there’s another part [raising left hand] that is very tender and very hurt, very sad [Inge weeps, but maintains strong eye contact], that feels that the structure of the universe lost its balance, has shifted somehow. And you feel off balance.

I: It’s stayed out of balance. [T: Stayed out of balance.] And I kind of assumed [pauses, weeping] that I would regain the balance, in some way, over time.

T: Yeah, that time would heal the wounds. [I: Yeah.] We kind of have a cultural prescription about that, don’t we? And it doesn’t seem like that’s happened for you.

In response to Robert's attempt to discern the need implicit in Inge’s grief, Inge immediately notes the “open” unchanging character as the years of her bereavement have turned to decades. Probing gently for a possible contextual or familial discourse underpinning her expectation of her course of grieving, Inge suggests that her siblings are less haunted by the loss and hints that she “should” be moving past it herself. Robert frames this compassionately as an inner dialogue in two voices, both to validate her own possible double positioning regarding her grieving and to foster greater self-compassion rather than self-criticism.

The Loss of Safety in the Family

I: No. And the feeling I had had when she died was one that [long pause] . . . We didn’t talk about this very much at home, and so I think each of us had our own emotion and just took that and lived with it the best we could. So there wasn’t a lot of conversation. I think the feeling that I had was that there was no. . . safe place anymore. There was no protection [T: No safe place.] because she had been kind of the pillar of our family.

T: The protector, the supporter, the structure of the family, and now it’s like the pillar of the family has collapsed.

I: Right, and there was nothing that ever really substituted for that. So we just each stayed on the ground, each individually finding our way back.

T: So she was not only the pillar but also like the floor or foundation of the family, and each of you found your way of standing on that in relation to each other. [C nods.] But with the collapse of that floor, each of you was kind of lost in your own world. [I: Right.] I see. [Pause] And you said something about finding your way back. Have you as a family—this is a brother, a sister, a father too?

I: A father, too, who also died in the meantime.

As Robert and Inge continue to explore the meaning of this loss for Inge and its implications for her life now, Inge underscores in vivid metaphors the collapse of the secure base once provided by her attachment to her mother and the resulting fragmentation of the family in the aftermath of her death.

Continue to part 2 here below to find out how Robert and Inge invite Inge's Mom presence into the room.

SHE COULDN'T GET OVER HER MOTHER'S DEATH: WHEN SAFETY WAS LOST pt. 2

A Silent Story

T: And did the three of you find your way back to connect again [C shakes head no] or. . . ? I: Not really. [T: Not really.] I think we get along—we see each other; we took care of my father when he passed. But we never talk about the experience. And we never shared that.

T: So there’s a lot that’s unsaid. A lot of silent stories that live within you and that have no audience in the world.

I: Right [nodding repeatedly].

T: Have you been able to seek out and find others who can hear the stories that your family could not? About your mom, about her illness, about her dying, about life since that time?

I: I haven’t, really. I spoke to some friends about it, to my husband a little bit but. . .

T: What kind of responses do you get?

I: What I expect . . . listening, people listening. But it’s such an overwhelming . . . I think because it’s such an overwhelming feeling, I’m trying not to let it loose [gestures outward with her hands].

T: Ah, I see. So partly to not to overwhelm them, you kind of hold it in? Or not to overwhelm yourself?

I: Not to overwhelm myself. And putting me and them in a position...It would be awkward; I wouldn’t know how to get out of it.

T: Yeah, yeah, yeah. How are you feeling now, in just this moment with me? You clearly experience and express in your tears, your face and your words some of this emotion. 

I: I think now it’s okay, I’m not overwhelmed anymore, at this moment. Because I’m trying to describe it, uhm, as opposed to experience it. I’m trying to do my best to not sit in it. So I guess it’s a little better.

Although the narration of loss naturally occurs on every level from the intimately individual to the intricately social, in Inge’s case, her grief has become a silent story, one that finds no audience in the world of others. In large part, this arises from a kind of self-censorship whose purpose is to avoid arousing overwhelming feelings in oneself or another, as is often observed in families going through a mutually devastating loss. However, in this case, experiential avoidance of the core pain of grief seems only to have prolonged vulnerability to it, estranging Inge from family members, from herself and, in some sense, from her mother. What seems called for, then, is a safe and supportive exploration of this grief in the crucible of a trusting relationship, in a way that takes into account its substantially wordless nature.

Analogical Listening

T: Yeah. Let me ask you this and see of this makes sense to you, to see if it’s worth doing, but with no attempt to press this. How would it be if we were to almost accept that invitation to try to describe how you carry this grief about your mom, without having you be swallowed up in that? If we were to do a kind of inner scan and visualization of how you carry the grief [gesturing with a slow wave over his torso, with eyes closed], allow it to speak to you from a place close to but not within it [gesturing to suggest this proximity to an inner shape]. Would that be a welcome thing to be able to give it words but not to be overwhelmed [making a wave-like gesture washing toward Inge] by those words?

I: Yeah. I don’t know if I would be able to do it, but I would like to try it.

T: Would you?

I: I think it would help because it’s just what I experience,not intentionally, but that’s what I’m experiencing right now. I’m trying to make this useful, to describe it to you, as opposed to just being overwhelmed. I think when I’m talking to a friend, I’m just more overwhelmed, but now I really want to try and explain it, and so I think that is a better way.

T: Right. So here’s my invitation, a little bit like we did a few minutes ago, just kind of to allow ourselves [slowing voice and closing his eyes] to close our eyes and enter this place of quiet breathing, just kind of allowing our chest to rise and fall in a naturally deep rhythm [opening eyes to track Inge’s nonverbal signals], emptying fully and filling fully. As we just try to clear a space, a space between and around us, to invite this feeling to come [pause] in a way that gives it perhaps form and voice. Kind of a respectful invitation to a visitor, without having the visitor move in permanently. And what I would invite, if this feels okay to you, with your eyes closed, is to just do a kind of scan [gestures with hand slowly raising and lowering in front of his torso] through your body, allowing your awareness to maybe turn in and down [gesturing with his hand to suggest this movement] and into the space of your body, your torso or wherever it might be drawn, as you just ask yourself the question: “Where in me do I carry this grief for my mother now?” [pause] And just wait for it to speak, and you might ges- ture toward it [touches chest lightly with fingers] to show the place where you feel its presence.

I: [Sighs, wipes her eyes and places hand on her belly while weeping softly.]

T: Yeah. Kind of in your abdomen, almost, a deep place within your body, right? Just kind of retaining the privacy of closed eyes [closes his own, with hand on his abdomen, as Inge then does the same], just ask yourself in this place [speaking very slowly], this physical location that holds the grief: If the grief had a form or a shape, what might it be?

I: [Pause] Something like a blotch, something very changeable and expandable [gestures in and out with fingers].

T: A blotch. Changeable and expandable [mimicking and enlarging Inge’s gesture]. And with your fingers, you kind of make the shape of expansion and contraction? 

I: Right.

T: Does that have a color to it, as you just attend to it? [Closes eyes, as Inge then does the same. Pause] If it had a color, what might the color or colors be?

I: Something reddish and purplish.

T: Reddish and purplish. [Pause] Kind of a constant color or changing color?

I: Changing.

T: Changing. Describe that change for me. What would it be looking like, changing from and to?

I: Like waves.

T: Waves. Like waves in the sea or. . . [making wave-like gestures with his hand]?

I: That rise up and that calm down again.

T: Ah. Rising up and calming down. That’s that kind of expansion and contraction [making these gestures with his hand]. Is that a good word for it? 

I: Yeah.

T: Yeah [closing eyes, as Inge then does same]. Is there a feeling associated with that image, that rising up and calming down? A bodily feeling or an emotional feeling?

I: A tightness, a muscle tightness.

T: A muscle tightness, like in your abdomen? [I: Right.] Right, yeah. I wonder if you can focus your attention in those abdominal muscles now. And just tighten them almost like you’re doing sit-ups or something, like an exercise. Can you feel the tightening? 

I: Yes.

T: As you do, does that shape or image or color change in any way? I: [Pause] It is a little more stable [laughs].

T: More stable, less fluctuation.

I: Yeah.

T: And if you just release that muscle tension . . . with me for a moment and maybe just take a deep abdominal, diaphragmatic kind of breath, what happens with the image then?

I: [Pause] It becomes a little more, how to say that, less of a [smiling, making smoothing motions with her hands] . . . more calmer, laid out, like it’s lying down.

T: Ooh, like it’s lying down [smiling].

I: Like instead of the waves, it’s more. . .

T: Less a tumultuous. Raising up and falling but more of a calming. Calmer waters?

I: Right [pause].

Responding to Robert's invitation to cultivate an unhurried, internal awareness through the breath-focused procedures, Inge quickly feels and visualizes where she holds the pain—in a reddish-purple blotch (almost like a bruise) sensed in her abdomen. As they explore its sensory qualities of a wave-like expansion and contraction, Inge accepts Robert's encouragement to consciously exaggerate the latter tension and finds (perhaps surprisingly) greater “stability” in doing so. Releasing the tension at Robert's invitation, she then notices a “calming” or “lying down” of the feeling, suggesting that she has some control over her terms of engagement with it, making further exploration of her relation to the abdominally held grief sufficiently safe to be possible. 

Continue to SHE COULDN'T GET OVER HER MOTHER'S DEATH: AN INTERNAL DIALOGUE to find out how Robert and Inge invite Inge's Mom presence into the room.

Wishing you Well,

Your Shrink in Bansko