“What things did your loved one teach you?” This question was posed recently by a group member in a small grief group facilitated by Tom Zuba teaches A New Way to Do Grief.
I responded, “Brian was almost always happy. He smiled a lot. He always saw the positive side of things. He called it the “right side.” He would say, “on the right side” (confusing it for bright side). I never wanted to correct it because it was so cute and true – the bright side IS the right side.”
To quote one of my caring bridge posts:
‘Brian is an expert at seeing the bright side of things (he thought people were saying “on the right side”). “Well, on the right side, we get to valet…” [because you can only valet park at MDAnderson if you are having treatment, avoiding a 2-block hike]. “At least it’s a pretty day outside.” “On the right side, we get to be at home and not go to New York” [because we’d gone to Memorial Sloan Kettering twice]. “On the right side I get to play with some friends this weekend before I have to go lose my hair again.” “At least I know God loves me no matter what.”’
After Brian died, I categorized memories into “before” and “after” and “good” and “bad” in my mind. Every photo is either “before cancer” or “after cancer.” This is a natural response to experiencing trauma, because time periods are so starkly defined.
Yet I knew I wanted peace from very early on when, three short months after Brian died and I was in the almost unbearable dense fog – constant chest pain, the weight of guilt on my shoulders, the body’s protective mechanisms of forgetfulness, extreme fatigue, crying – my grief therapist said, “it’s about living a life that makes Brian proud.” He asked me what I thought Brian would want, and I said through my tears that he would want his mommy to be happy. I practically heard Brian say it into my soul.
I wasn’t sure how this happy business was going to jibe with a broken heart that I thought would never heal. In our society, there’s a belief that losing a child means a lifetime sentence of pain, and if we stop hurting, we’ve “moved on.”
Tom Zuba says that healing is not a destination, but a way of being in the world.
For me, I think Brian is inviting me to … find the “right side” … even here, in what would seemingly be the worst of all scenarios … his death. “Look on the right side, Mommy.”
What is the “right side” now? The right side is that I can be grateful for the memories – even the hardest of times – because there was so much love. The right side is that the relationship continues – there is still love and we are still connected. The right side is that healing – a way of being in the world – is possible.
Valerie Locher 