Love Is Stronger Than Death
Arthur Dobrin

1-The Great Mystery

As a humanist minister I have seen much sorrow and grief. I have been with children after their father was killed in an auto accident, a young couple when their month-old infant died, a wife in a hospital waiting room when all life-support systems for her husband had been shut down by the doctor. I have officiated at funerals for the very old and for children and I have counseled families during their bereavement.

Most often the grief seems overwhelming and unbearable. Few believe that their lives will ever return to anything resembling normality. But at some point most people do find a way through their sorrow and become, once again, part of the on-goingness of life.

Yet no two people are alike. Some recover quickly, some more slowly and some are changed forever. Over the years I have seen some of the problems that the bereaved encounter. Out of this experience I have learned a number of things that may be of use.

During the period of intense grief, people often think they are going crazy. Some people hear voices or see visions, others find themselves attached to odd objects.

I have seen long-term friendships disintegrate because of misunderstandings and I have known people who were once emotionally strong suddenly weep at unexpected times, in unexpected places. People feel embarrassed, ashamed, guilty, edgy, withdrawn, anti-social and angry. They sometimes act in ways totally uncharacteristic and this is why they feel they must be going mad. They are no longer themselves.

I have also learned that there is no such thing as a time-table for grieving nor is there such a thing as the proper way to grieve. The most that can be said is that there is a general pattern, a broad outline, but within these contours each person finds his or her own way. What is true is that for many the amount of time grief takes to work itself through is far longer than outsiders realize.

People tend to get impatient with the bereaved. But when there has been a profound loss, patience and understanding are often the most important things to be had.

I think there are two ultimate sources of comfort for the bereaved. The first is the recognition that the great mystery is not death but birth, not that someone loved is now gone but that the person was here at all. The great gift is life and loving and being loved in return. In this way love is stronger than death. The second source of comfort comes from other people, from those who can sit quietly and simply be with the bereaved. Their love, kindness, tenderness and caring is what gives us the strength to go on.

This book is meant to help those who are bereaved. I attempt to do this in two ways. The first part of the book contains thoughts about the bereavement process. It is meant to help a person better understand some of the emotions he or she may be feeling. It is based upon some of my own observations, as well as those of others who have also been involved in bereavement. The second part of the book contains poems and aphorisms. Some sections of the book will fit what some are feeling at a particular time, while other sections of the book may seem irrelevant.

Since grief is not something static but is a process, what may not be helpful today may be tomorrow. The book need not be read as a whole but in parts, little by little. ATTACHMENTS

August Renoir, the French Impressionist painter, late in life suffered with rheumatism. His affliction was so intense that he painted while sitting in a chair and being moved about as he directed. Holding a brush was extremely painful. Yet he continued to paint, and despite the crippling illness, created several masterpieces.

To watch Renoir struggle was painful itself. One day a friend asked him, "Why do you torture yourself? You have already produced scores of wonderful paintings."

Renoir looked at one of his canvases and replied, "The pain passes, but the beauty remains."

The pain felt at a death seems too much to bear, yet people go on because the beauty of life remains despite the loss. But what do people do while the pain persists?

As a way of coping with the pain many people form attachments to particular objects. A widow may keep her husband's clothes. It is not uncommon for parents to keep a child's room intact for several years. It is as though by keeping things as they were the person is really still here with them.

While those who stand outside may think the behavior is abnormal, forming attachments to objects is often a healthy thing to do. Psychologists call this 'transitional relationships.' Children form them all the time as a way of coping with the fear of leaving the safety of the home and having to face the frightening world without mother or father. Being on one's own is a frightening prospect and one way a child deals with that anxiety is by playing with teddy bears or forming a fantasy world in which the child is totally in control.

Transitional objects give children a mean of mitigating the terrors of inner turmoil in a seemingly hostile and indifferent world. So too when someone dies the universe becomes frightening and hostile. Holding on to those things which remind us of a time when the person we loved was with us gives comfort. There is nothing wrong with that. The possession of these objects can provide bereaved people with a bridge from the time loved ones were alive to the present.

Love is Stronger than Death

Arthur Dobrin

Copyright 1986 by Arthur Dobrin