MOURNING MADNESS
By Susan Erling Martinez
Published in The Phoenix, May 1998
I am no stranger to grief.
In 1982, I experienced the stillbirth of my son, Jesse Erling. In 1990, the accidental death of the 30-year-old brother, Ted Borden. And more recently in 1997, the death of my mother, Nora Borden.
Their deaths left me feeling depressed, sick, lonely, and altogether crazy. It was baffling to find that the people who knew me best expected me not to grieve. Why not? Because I wrote books about grief and healing, and should take my own advice. Because I believe in reincarnation and understand that life never really ends. And because I am spiritual by nature and know that the non-physical realm is, well, Heavenly.
But all of these reasons did not prevent me from experiencing this natural, necessary, utterly human experience. I had to grieve in order to live. Believe me, if I had any other choice, I would've grabbed it.
At the time of this writing, it has been only two months since my mother passed into the Great Beyond. I am still in the trenches of grief; still in the deep, rich state of being that I call "mourning madness"--a state of temporary insanity caused by the loss of someone or something that you passionately loved and can't bear to live without. Yes, I believe that description fits me well. I am mad. I'm mad with grief. I'm mad at grief. And I'm mad about my mother.
My mother was on her death bed for thirty days. Although she had never been a smoker, she developed a lung disease which suffocated the life out of her. It was a gut-wrenching experience to witness the cruelty of such a death. Pain is one thing, but not being able to draw a breath is worse.
Before my mother died, I experienced may chaotic emotional states. At first I was in a state of denial. I thought, "How could she be dying? She's too young to die, and besides, she would never, ever leave us."
As she worsened, I was in a state of rage. "Why won't she heal herself?" I demanded. "If she really wanted to live, she would!"
Then the guilt set in and I would cry to God. "Why won't You save her?"
After she finally died, I was in a state of unholy relief. "At last, she's done suffering. At last, we're all done suffering." Then I felt guilty for feeling relieved.
Next came the shock. I thought, "I don't feel anything. Isn't this nice? I hope this feeling lasts forever." I never cried a tear during the wake or funeral, which was held on Mother's Day. Unfortunately, this blessed state of shock only lasted about a week, then down-and-dirty grief swooped in like a vulture after fresh meat. Denial, rage, guilt, unholy relief, and shock became my mourning madness.
Oh, grief. Why you? Why me? Why us? Why now?
Grief is a natural response to loss. Its purpose is to help us accept the loss and to carry on with life. Even animals grieve. Grief is characterized by feelings of sorrow, guilt, anger, confusion, loneliness, abandonment, and hopelessness.
Dr. Christiane Northrup in her audio series, "Creating Health", states: "We have to grieve our losses, otherwise they stay in our bodies like an unfinished process and make it impossible to create health. It's as if you're trying to create a beautiful building on a toxic waste dump."
Unaddressed grief causes a gang of personal and social problems. Chronic depression, fatigue, suicide, accidents, illness, abuse, infidelity, divorce, and addictions can be linked to grief. Unaddressed grief can hurt, maim, and even kill its victims. I firmly believe that my mother's unresolved grief over the death of my brother, Ted, shortened her life. Unless transmuted or transcended, grief can cast a long, eerie shadow far into your future, effecting all that you think and do.