alive and mortal's Open Salon Blog

The Widow's Gates

Mon, 7 Jun 2010 18:06:13 -0400

They may have discussed marriage or been engaged. They may have been life partners because they could not formalize a legal arrangement. They may have made a heart contract. They may have been together months or decades; lived together or separately.

And then their beloved dies.

These grieving people often express a different kind of grief. Without a state endorsed ceremony and license, the world of widows and widowers appears to them to be a gated community, walled by two pieces of paper – a wedding license and a death certificate. And it is their perception that this gated community keeps them out.

Despite the derivations, one common thread remains – that the word “widow” or “widower” could be challenged if they were to define themselves thus. But there is no existing word for them.

Many have reported that they feel their grief is devalued. Others have lost shared resources, wealth, and relationships. Some have even lost access to children.

The term “widow” and “widower” is code. It stands for the level of personal disruption and hardship a death creates, as well as the measure of the bond and heartache. Since all terms are slippery, the term “widow” or “widower” never will tease out, for example, the surviving partner that secretly wished the partner dead or the spouse that had an affair and was about to leave the marriage only to be slowed by illness or death.

I undertook study of the word “widow” in it's historical context in search of better understanding. As with all research projects, you begin with an intuitive hunch that may or may not bear out. In this case, there are multiple points of interest to bring to the table.

To know what the word widow meant historically, you have to start with what marriage meant historically.

Marriage in Western civilization has a circuitous history, chiefly influenced by Roman, Hebrew, and Germanic cultures.

Marriage is, unfortunately, not easily summarized. From an anthropological perspective, it appears that all cultures view marriage as an absolute necessity. All cultures pressure healthy persons to marry and bear children. Many cultures have gone so far as to have laws that penalized the unmarried and childless.

While generalities are hard to distill, throughout history marriage consisted of a personal agreement that did not involve government or religion until very recently. Marriage was generally conducted as business arrangement between families.

These soft boundaries in relation to marriage also resulted in soft boundaries in relation to widowhood.

The Judeo-Christian influence on our modern society is undeniable. It is interesting to reconstruct our early ancestors understanding of widowhood.

Greek term translated "widow" (chera) means "bereft" and conveys a sense of suffering loss or being left alone. The term chera is not limited to a woman whose husband has died. It is understood as a woman that was left desolate, forsaken, abandoned and empty.

The Septuagint is the Koine Greek version of the Hebrew Bible, and was written in stages between the 3rd and 2nd Centuries BCE in Alexandria.

The Septuagint's treatment of 2 Samuel 20 includes a story about David taking ten women as his concubines. He put them in ward, fed them, but never had sexual relations or saw them. So they were shut up unto the day of their death, living each day in “widowhood” - the root of “widow” being the greek word chera. This passage demonstrates a completely different understanding of the state of “widowhood” – one where a husband was actually alive. The scriptures often use the term as to be left "desolate" or "alone". At this time in history, being alone was an especially difficult position because community was everything. There was no honorable employment for women, neither was there government assistance.

Since the outlook for women alone was bleak, the early Christian church began to propose that it was a virtue to assist them. The emerging Christian ethos can be seen in James 1:27, where the treatment of widows was a test through which believers demonstrated the genuineness of their faith.

Chera - “widowhood” - was not limited to a husband's death, nor was it limited by religious or legal constructs around the partnership. A widow could be a woman who lost her partner through divorce, desertion, imprisonment, or especially death. If she marries or remarries, she is no longer a “widow” because she is no longer bereft.

Caring for such a woman was seen as a privilege and a manifestation of God's compassion.

Fast forward to Medieval Europe. The legalities of marriage had actually changed very little. Again, the most common kind of marriage was understood simply by the couple's living together for a time period.

It was in this context - in early part of the Middle Ages - that the root of our word “widow” starts to appear. The Oxford English Dictionary’s earliest citation is before 825 in the Vespasian Psalter: “Sien bearn his asteapte & wif his widwe.” (Orphaned is his son & his wife a widow.) Note the interesting use of the word orphan when the mother is still alive... again, these terms seem to have far looser perimeters than we assign to them.

The verb form appears in the Middle English period. From the 14th century Northumbrian poem Cursor Mundi: “Ik am nu widuit of mi spus.” (I am now widowed of my spouse.)

The Indo-European root -"widh" - means to separate, to be empty. The root in Latin is the source of the word: divide. These words imply a state of being rather than a legal condition.

The only sources historians have to determine the civilian histories of widows and widowers are surviving household accounts, personal wills and letters. Historical archives of letters and correspondence indicate that widows were sought after for marriage in Europe in the middle ages. Likely this reflects a motivation to increase power and wealth among families.

Chaucer's Wife of Bath was purported to have “husbands five”. King Henry VII's mother had four husbands. Some wills specified a requirement for their widows to “remain a widow” and not remarry. The Earl of Pembroke stated in his will "wyfe .. . remember your promise to me take the ordyre of widowhood as ye may be the better mayster of your owne, to performe my wille and to help my children, as I love and trust you." They had seven children.

If remarried, these women were no longer considered widows. This might further indicate that the understanding of this word implies that they are no longer left desolate, forsaken, abandoned and empty.

Fast forward to Colonial America. Since there were few courts or churches available... everyone, including aristocrats, were again back to getting married by living together and declaring themselves husband and wife. These were referred to as common-law marriages.

Today, surveys estimate that the marriage rate in the U.S. is half what it was at it's peak after World War II. Some sociologists posit that we are returning to a "pre-modern pattern" where upper-class people marry to protect their holdings while many others don't marry at all.

With a declining marriage rate, we are presented with a lack of words and language for a large population who have lost a significant life partner – people who have endured great personal disruption and hardship, who are doing very hard grief work. Either the language can become more flexible or new words must be developed to give voice to many people who have loved deeply and endured great loss.

Tearing and the Process of Grieving

Fri, 14 May 2010 11:05:09 -0400

I have been studying the grieving rituals of different cultures. I am am outsider, not raised in these traditions, so I can select where I see equipping truths without any personal pressure to conform. I can approach various culture's grief traditions through an expressive arts perspective.

I have been fascinated recently with the Jewish tradition of tearing one’s clothing as a powerful expression of sorrow. It is called keriah (tearing the garments) .

The key motives of this practice seem to be to resist minimizing pain and to resist hiding. These elements speak to me deeply as places of challenge in my own work with the grief in my life. I am prone to minimize and hide.

This tradition is about tearing your clothing until your heart is exposed. It is rife with symbolism: the soul has ripped the garment of the body. The body is merely the "soul’s accessory." There is a hint within the concept of keriah that the soul lives on.

Let's go a little further than the tradition. You may recall, as a child, playing in what I call a "de-construction" mode. This included taking things apart, ripping things, destroying things... it was child's play. Usually as adults we do not engage in any form of de-construction any more. We are busy building, mending, fixing.

When we experience a death - de-construction is often suddenly thrust upon us. We lose many things when someone dies. The life we constructed is ripped to varying degrees based on the relationship and the circumstances. There are small ways that the de-construction occurs. We must retire the dog's water dish, close out the husband's desk, dispense with the child's dresser. There may be large levels of de-construction - losing a home, a dream, intimacy. Everyone's journey in de-construction is unique. What unifies us is that, with death, we often cannot chose when, where, which and how these de-constructions occur.

Tearing is Allowed
Expressive art can offer a safe and choice-ful place to act out de-construction and engage in re-construction. In an expressive arts project you are in control of when where and how it happens. The process of ripping, tearing, smashing, destroying - and then recreating something else - is cathartic. Outcomes can vary greatly and express a great deal of rage, anger, sorrow, depression and grief. Work done in early grief can look very different than works done later. These differences reflect where you are in your process.
Instead of tearing our clothing, this exercise leads us in tearing paper and putting the shards and fragments into a cohesive design. This echos the work we are doing in our daily lives as we grieve.

An Expressive Arts Collage Project with Tearing Paper as the Medium

Collage Supplies:
paper - magazines, colored paper, whatever paper appeals to you that you can tear
general purpose white glue (glue sticks are ok)
inexpensive brush to apply liquid glue (foam is fine)
Card stock, cardboard or something sturdy for your base

Directions:
The only rule I have is that all the paper should be torn.... the temptation to cut with scissors should be resisted. Other than this, all approaches are fair game.

You may notice that paper has a tendency to rip easily in one direction and not as easy in the other. Paper does have a grain. Tearing the paper with the grain allows you to create a cleaner edge, against will look rougher.

Start by thinning down a small amount of general purpose white glue. Then use a small inexpensive brush to apply a layer of glue on your base surface. As you place pieces of torn paper onto the glued surface you may wish to cover the piece with a second layer of glue. This will secure the first layer of paper to your base and allow you to layer paper.

No paint is used, no cutting, just hand torn and layered bits of paper and glue.

Allow the tearing to be as emotive as you can. As well, let the process of collage to be a working and releasing and processing time.

The collage is a symbolic gesture of the hard work you are doing when you grieve. It may help to step away from it for a day or two and then return to it later and look at it for deeper meaning. Journaling can be a great accompaniment or sharing the collage with a therapist, support group or close friend.

Grief and Photographs

Wed, 21 Apr 2010 10:04:26 -0400

I was speaking with a gathering of people who had experienced the premature loss of loved ones. These were not the kinds of deaths due to old age, the losses were of young people, people who had been taken far to early.

The subject of photography came up. Many chimed in that they regretted not having certain pictures of beloved people who are now forever gone. They felt an aching absence of group photos or snapshots of particular moments that were meaningful to them. This moved me very deeply, to hear the anguish of people who felt that moments had slipped by undocumented and now there was nothing to be done about it.

For some of my friends, even these popular lyrics make them envious of the possibillity of even having a photo to hold onto:

"But all I've got is a photograph
And I realize you're not coming back
Any more." Lyrics - Ringo Starr - Photograph

I have only three very precious family photos that include all five of us as a family. This is because I was the family photographer, always behind the camera. So there are thousands of beautiful, spontaneous photos of the children with their father - there are only three of all of us together when I handed the camera to a bystander. These three photos are staged, and not as evocative of feeling as most of our pictures. I enjoy them, but wish I had done things differently now.

And then, there were the pictures of our trip to Leavenworth, Washington from fall 2002. For years I grieved the possibility that I had lost those photos due to computer upgrade confusion... and was morose over the idea. When I found regular print photos of the trip in a box one day - I was overjoyed. Then I remembered that we had left on the trip without the digital camera by accident and had to swing into a convenience market to buy a disposable camera. I was both relieved and thrilled to have these precious pictures back in the archive of family treasures.

A Problem as Old as Photography Itself

Our ancestors and cultural counterparts might open our minds to different ways of understanding photography and death. For instance, it was convention in the 19th century to pose with personal items, like purses or scarves - that represented absent or dead relatives. This was a method to include them, emotionally, in the picture. Post-mortem photography (also called memorial portraiture or memento mori) were prevalent in the mid-1800s when daguerreotype made photography accessible to the general public. It was a practice of photographing the recently deceased as a way of producing a keepsake... this is still practiced in parts of central Europe. In India, it is a tradition to paste head shots of absent family members into wedding photographs. Culturally, these kinds of photos are not perceived of as trickery but a way to honor someone that was not present.

In America, a common joke about photo manipulation is the deleting of an ex-partner from a dozen years of vacation photographs with Photoshop, scissors or a magic marker, in a flurry of activity equal to Watergate.

As well, we hire professional photographic retouchers as a response to a media-saturated world. Since all images of the beautiful and famous are enhanced, ordinary people use retouchers to remove blemishes or double chins from photos to be posted on such pedestrian venues as MySpace and Facebook.

On the other end of the spectrum, some people lose all photos of beloved people and moments through disaster. Katrina victims, many of them having lost everything, find that rebuilding the photo library is among the hardest tasks. I read of a "Katrina Shower" - like a baby shower - where people gathered to shower a person with items needed to rebuild... and among the gifts were photos that others had in their collection that might have meaning to the recipient. I was also moved to read of an online image hosting company that offered free hosting to Katrina victims.

But, behind the scenes, people have hired professional photographic retouchers to create composite portraits of live and deceased people. Such manipulations demonstrate imagination born out of love and loss. Imagination and memory have never been subject to literal reality - they are always some form of revision. Photography, as well, is an art form that manipulates it's subjects. The same scene can look vastly different by changing the angle, composition, focus and so forth.

Possible Remedies for the Photos You Never Had

It is true that you can never go back and re-write the days you had with your loved ones - and this certainly includes regrets over not taking photos at key moments.

Once you have made peace with this fact, there are many ideas for people who are grieving the lack of pictorial archives. It is truly only limited by your imagination and what you feel comfortable with.

You might consider simply to put out a call to friends that you are looking for pictures of your beloved. It may never occur to your friends or family to look through their archives and send any photos that they possess... what is more, some might question if it is appropriate to send you pictures thinking that it might upset you, especially if it is unsolicited. Let people know that you are actively trying to increase you library and would cherish any photos they might share.

With the photos you do have in your possession... you might consider the following:

- Some have chosen to hire a professional photographer to conduct a session that includes someone holding a portrait of the deceased. It can be done as a family or individual portrait. This appeals to western cultural sensibilities and yet includes the person in the portrait. These can be formal or informal. You could go to a studio or have it done in your home or some other intimate space. Or, stage a photo shoot yourself...

- Companies that take photos and create paintings from them often do what is called "composite painting". Artists can add to or subtract from the original photos you supply to create one beautiful oil painting. They routinely paint family portraits with an additional person- so as far as composite paintings go, the only limit is your imagination.

- Collage work is a mainstay of expressive arts and a great way to combine any constellation of people in your life into a cohesive visual statement. Since many of us have digital pictures, you can easily print your photos to create a 2D collage or work online to make a digital collage. If you are going from prints, you can scan your photos in (services are available at most print and copy stores) and work with paper or digital mediums. You can print with archival inks or, when the work fades - reprint the piece. The process of doing this creative work can be very therapeutic and can be done numerous times for multiple evocative outcomes.

Pro-Active Photography from This Day Forward

We all learn lessons as we go in this life. Once you lose something you are forever changed. What can we learn from loss and photography?

First, everyone should consider the importance of online hosting and another method of backing-up precious photos. For my most precious photos I have a small hard drive in my document firebox and an online host that stores these photos as well.

Next, perhaps you can schedule a time every year to think about your photos and if you have covered important categories - did you get these pictures?
Here are some of my categories:
-- On the beach
-- In the park
-- On the couch
-- Doing their favorite activity
-- In the snow
-- In the workplace or classroom
-- In the city
-- All major events
-- Playing
-- Doing something that is their habit that you find endearing
-- Group photos with everyone (use that timer and tripod! or schedule photo sessions)

Third, if we accept that photography is indeed an interpretive art, then giving yourself freedom to take interpretive liberties that serve your grieving heart is more than permissible and part of the reclaiming process.

Photography can be an important part of knitting your heart back together. You should feel free to use any method to help you on your healing journey.

A Little Summary of Me

Fri, 9 Apr 2010 20:04:16 -0400

When I was very young, I thought little about impermanence. Then, my personal encounters with impermanence grew to include such challenges as: my father's death in early childhood, a near-death experience in adolescence, divorce, fertility challenges, death of a soul mate and spouse and subsequent loss of access to step children, mugging and assault, pet loss, job loss, suicide of two close friends, and geographic resettlement.

Perhaps we have something in common... perhaps not. I have learned that the specificity of the loss does not matter as much as the condition of the heart to be open to others regardless of the specific kinds of impermanence in their story.

To have a fruitful and fearless life, I have been studying impermanence, grief, loss, death, spirituality, art and creativity for many years. My Masters of Divinity included a focus on spiritual formation through creative arts. My bachelors was in theatrical set design, lighting design and music. My service as an interfaith chaplain for homeless women has taught me a great deal about life. I have training with the Zen Hospice Project and Hospice of the Valley. I serve on the advisory board of a school and orphanage in Haiti and volunteer with a local hospice. I've been privileged to lead numerous expressive education and arts workshops for over 15 years for various non-profit institutions. I am a member of the International Expressive Arts Therapy Association.

As the facilitator of the virtual workspace for Alive and Mortal, I continue to fulfill my calling to add to the lexicon of eloquent grief.

Loss and the Opportunity for Improvisation, Part Two

Fri, 9 Apr 2010 20:04:02 -0400

Tell the story and add history.

Grief can be a silent state of being. Early on when we are grieving, we might be totally numb and silent. Much of our early vocalization is through plain crying, screaming, sobbing and the most simple expressions of agony. There may come a day, however, when the silence or the instinctive utterances are no longer enough to serve you. You hunger to talk about the one that is gone to people. You need to start talking, at the very least as a way to make sense out of what you have been through.

In our culture, people do not want to talk about losses. There is little cultural endurance for the material you are working through. Often we can find ourselves isolated and alone.

Another way to understand the work of the grieving person is to understand the cycle that you have entered into. Think about it this way - most people's lives are in an acceleration mode. When we have a loss, much of out lives shift into deceleration mode, apart from any early frenetic activities that must be conducted around administrating the loss. If we use the illustration of improv again - we have an ensemble of members on our team. There is a slowing, a necessary pause because a member of our ensemble is gone. There is a shuffling of roles, canceled "performances" and confusion. A certain energy has departed. The stage might be "dark" as they say in theater terms. It is a state of slowing.

No one else's life may have slowed like yours... As Robert Frost aptly said: "And they, since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs."

Again, no one can tell you when, but there may be a day when you feel muted and the silence may hold you back. Everyone's life may still be accelerating. If you do not have a community to begin to talk about your losses with, or that is not sufficient for your needs, PLEASE contact me for ideas. There are many places for you to talk that are safe, non-judgemental and caring.

Give lots of information to your many partners on this journey of loss. In improv theater, stronger scenes are built on team work and the scene tells a rich and complex story. In life, stronger communities are built on sharing in depth as opposed to silence. Grief can be a silent state of being. There ARE people who want to hear your story. They want to tell theirs as well. We can all take space to tell our stories and know others stories.

Whenever you are ready.

For storytelling, some improv teachers suggest focusing on the past and present tense as often as possible. They suggest actors avoid talking too much about the future. Things in the future only might happen, they only might shape your character. It is conjecture. Things in the past and present did happen, they did shape you.

(Note: Some losses require us to really actively problem-solve our futures, because we cannot delay - the loss wiped out an essential part of our daily lives and we cannot delay decisions. Other losses have less of a daily impact on the function of our lives.)

Try and take time, if you can, to tell your story among compassionate companions. Look for meaning-making within the story. Your story will grow to support you. Our stories have power. We need to practice telling them in a safe environment where there is a lot of acceptance.

Mark Twain had an adage that history doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. In telling your story you will start to have an ear for the rhyming.

Summary of Parts One and Two... Flow with the Change

Life, like improv is about flow and change. The characters in a scene must experience some type of change for the scene to progress. Characters need to go on journeys, be altered by revelations, experience the ramifications of their choices and be moved by emotional moments. Improv music needs to move, to ebb and flow to be more than a static, droning sound.

I used to say, "The world belongs to people who can change." I never knew how much I would live into that particular phrase, my friends. My list of losses are pretty profound when you put them on paper, but I have found that this is not the end of the scene. We are alive and mortal. We have a chance to befriend impermanence and truly be present to life and death. And if we can improvise with the story that surrounds us, we can find a new level of peace.