ON GRIEF AND VULNERABILITY

Image Source: Pete F (Unsplash)

"Tears are the silent language of grief." — Voltaire.

Author's note: I began writing this post after the Yoga for Stress Workshop I co-led with colleagues Aileen McGoldrick and Lyndsey Nelson last weekend. Participants shared in a vulnerable and authentic way about the stressors they brought that day. The subject of grief was the topic of one particular conversation that inspired today's discussion.

I am working through a 10-week biofeedback program designed by Dr. Leah Lagos (author of Heart Breath Mind: Conquer Stress, Build Resilience, and Perform at Your Peak). In her book, Dr. Lagos states that the heart remembers, and at some point, "You will have a heart release." At 0445 hours on May 7th, 2023, with tears flowing, my release came to fruition. In the following narrative, I share what my heart held for over ten years.

The initial scene occurs in an ICU room on the last day of my Dad's life. It is November of 2012. He suffered a sudden cardiac arrest two days prior, and the resuscitation team placed him on a ventilator. On this day, the neurologist explained to us (me and my two siblings) that Dad was brain dead with no hope for a meaningful recovery. We made the collective decision that it was time to say goodbye. We notified friends and family they were welcome to visit and offer Dad parting thoughts.

Dad gave us our marching orders when he wrote his will and advanced directive twenty years prior, indicating he did not want life support. Being a paramedic, I was appointed the primary power of attorney. It was time to honor Dad's wishes. During the early afternoon, we discussed what was next - and then a vigorous conversation ensued about Dad wanting cremation. One of my siblings did not believe in cremation and balked. Back and forth, we went until Dad's best friend arrived to verify his wishes.

It was time to release Dad from his earthly life, and though the three of us made this decision, I had to give the final nod to the respiratory therapist to remove the ventilator. The conversation in my head said, "I am a paramedic. I am supposed to save lives, not end them." Even though I struggled, I nodded, and he was gone.

The story shifts to June 10th, 2022, at the emergency vet, where Judy and I are about to say goodbye to our beloved Vino. Once again, I had to give the final nod to the veterinarian, and Vino crossed the Rainbow Bridge. However, this experience was quite different. No one balked at our decision - just me, Judy, and Vino in a peaceful setting.

Returning to the morning of May 7th, my heart released the grief of one moment. In retrospect, I had denied myself the experience of grieving the final nod to assist Dad with his transition to eternal life. I harbored a subconscious resentment, believing one person's resistance to cremation had robbed me of this opportunity. I broke the second of the four agreements - don't take things personally. I now realize that my sibling was troubled and saddened that Dad was leaving us. The resistance to cremation was a denial of the reality of this situation. Nothing more, nothing less.

Image Source: Nick Fewings (Unsplash)

As my tears flowed, I took responsibility for the grief I held. Vino's death was his final lesson about life. Almost one year later, I realized it was okay to shed tears and let go of that moment in November 2012. I shared this story with Judy the other day and remarked that we would never truly appreciate what a precious gift Vino was when he entered our lives, and she agreed. To living a vulnerable and authentic life -

Namaste,

Tim

References

Lagos, L. (2020). Heart Breath Mind: Conquer Stress, Build Resilience, and Perform at Your Peak. Boston: Mariner Books.