An Unplanned "Time Out"

Sometimes, we just need a “time out”—a break from our obligations, schedules, and to-do lists. It’s nice when we can plan them (a vacation), as opposed to having them descend upon us (an unexpected illness). I’ve had both recently: first, a week in Florida to visit my daughter, and, second, a short, strange bout with pneumonia. As time outs go, the pneumonia was more effective.

When I travel, I take my life with me, i.e., laptop computer, files, access to e-mail, cell phone, and anything else that seems likely to be needed. When I get where I’m going, I set up shop in a little corner somewhere and work, work, work. In between, I read, read, read. I love what I’m doing but can hardly consider this a break in the action. It’s just a change of environment.

Pneumonia, on the other hand, even though it wasn’t serious or life threatening, stopped me cold. I abandoned my office as if it were in another location (It’s actually next to my bedroom). I didn’t check e-mail. I didn’t call people or go through my inbox. I didn’t sort mail. I didn’t write. I just checked out for about a week. And what is really strange is that I didn’t feel a bit guilty about my absence from the room next door. When I finally felt better, I put on real clothes and went back to work.

What was different? I was strangely refreshed, though still a bit droopy, and I had a new perspective on the urgency factor. Though much awaited my attention, it wasn’t all equally critical; some of it could wait; and some of it didn’t need to be done at all. Life had not stopped while I did. It just kept on flowing, as it always does.

Like a child slipping into a moving jump rope, I just jumped back into my world.

Surviving a Loss

“Grief is a sneaky thing.” This is a line from the best book I have ever read on how to get through the grieving process, no matter how tiny or profound the loss may be. Once upon a time, it was a thin little paperback titled How To Survive the Loss of a Love or 57 Things to Do When There is Nothing to Be Done. In the years since I first bought this book, it has been expanded and reissued until it has become a classic. I have given away so many copies; I don’t even have one of my own.

The book is compassionate, practical, instructive, and humorous. Its authors are Melba Colgrove, a psychologist; Harold Bloom, a physician; and Peter McWilliams, a very funny poet. When I first read it, I didn’t realize it was a somewhat simplified encapsulation of Katherine Kubler Ross’s stages of grief. Sometimes, simple is better—easier to grasp and remember, especially when one is in pain.

In How to Survive the Loss of a Love, there are three principal stages of grief: shock/denial, anger/depression, and acceptance/healing. When I’m trying to get through a loss, I can always identify the exact stage I’m going through. What I’ve learned is that these are not tidy, sequential stages I can tick off one at a time until I arrive at “healing.” Grieving is a messy process. Sometimes, I skip a stage and then have to double back and go through it later. Even more frustrating are the times when I think I’ve completed a stage and then find I’m temporary stuck there or have to return to experience it yet again.

If the grieving process can be simply categorized into three stages, loss itself is not so easily defined. The book is mis-titled in my opinion. It isn’t only a lost love one grieves for; it is any loss, and there are many in life. I attended a discussion on the subject of loss and was once again amazed at how many perspectives there are on this little word. This discussion covered losses ranging from divorce and death to family, friendships, aging, and physical abilities.

We probably could have sat there for hours, adding to our observations and recollections. Some losses were long past and faded with time; others were fresh wounds. It was an emotional conversation colored by compassion, caring, and concern for each other.

I came away with three realizations: There is love and support to help us survive the losses life throws our way. Yet, even with support, grief is a do-it-yourself process. It is a road each of us must travel alone. Finally, it is comforting to know we will make it to the end of the road, changed in some way, but healed nonetheless.