Grief Through an Attachment Lens: This is why healing is so hard after loss

   I think out of all the memories of my childhood, one stands out the most vividly.  Everything before is a haze, mixed into small memories compiled into lost or fading recollections but this was the day I would learn that my grandfather passed away suddenly, falling to the ground after suffering a heart attack. After life saving measures, there was nothing that could be done. It’s amazing that a 7 year old would remember that moment so vividly, but it feels like it happened just yesterday. Suddenly every detail of that moment is etched in my mind: the dreaded phone call, the way my dad began to cry and way the house was unusually dark. It was like I was living in a nightmare and I’d wake up any minute. I remember bawling that night  as I looked at his picture, begging him to please just come back.  We had lived in California for a while, with my dad stationed in Fort Ord and my grandfather living in our home town of Kanab, 688.4 miles away, so we soon made the longest car ride of my life to attend his funeral.

  If I am being honest, the pain still feels fresh 28 years later. You’d think I’d know by now how to heal, how to move on after a year of graduate psychology courses, therapy, my own therapy graduate studies and thousands of prayers. However, I think the most misunderstood idea that I believed for so long was that healing means that you accept the death after you cycle through all five stages of grief. However, as I tried to process the stages of grief, I started to realize that I don’t think I really understood what grief really was as I had accepted his death a long time ago and that the “acceptance” stage was supposed to be the last, final goal stage. Why then was I still hurting so badly? 

  Family and friends often say “(insert family member name here) wouldn’t want you to cry/ be sad anymore,” and Sometimes well-meaning clergy and religious leaders tell us that the peace in knowing that there is an after-life and that we will see our family member again one day should help us move past the pain. These are coping strategies that while offer some peace, don’t fully explain why death hurts intensely, as if we were actually dying ourselves. Much of the time we have been advised that the pain of death is what it is and to move on in whatever way we can. 

The problem with this mode of thinking is that our brains are not meant to “move on” from our most secure attachments (close relationships). It has been proven that secure attachment is vital for our quality of life so when we lose those attachments through death and loss, we innately are struck with more than just grief. In reality, we are losing a part of ourselves too. Those that we love and are securely attached to represent parts of us; our safe, vulnerable, happy, connected selves. Those people are a part of our most intimate, deep memories that build the lifeblood of our existence and help us to understand our true identity. Think about why we say “I love you” before bed, or why we make a concerted effort to hug and kiss someone before they leave for work and school. We do this not only because we love the person, but because they have become a part of us through the intimate connection we share. 

Harry Harlow, a psychologist studying John Bowlby’s work on attachment took baby monkeys from their mothers and placed them in a science experiment where he made them choose between food and a mock mother or stuffed animal. This experiment was cruel and showed that in the end the baby monkeys preferred the attachment of their mothers over their own need to feed. They would have given up food for the secure attachment of their mother which shows that the most natural inclination for these babies was security. Harlow’s experiments went so far as to exclude and isolate monkeys for years where most became apathetic, indifferent and eventually died prematurely. 

Grief isn’t just about the loss of the person, but pain of losing part of ourselves due to the process. It’s a part of us that will forever be gone which doesn’t fully heal. The hard part is living with the emotional and sometimes physical pain that accompanies the loss of someone who became a part of us. The reason behind why the death of my grandfather is still so painful is because he was the safe anchor to my boat and the peanut butter to my jelly.  I knew that if Grandpa was there, I would be safe because I was the apple of his eye.

So in his death, I am not mourning only his loss, but a vital part of my life. However, this doesn’t mean that I can’t build other lasting relationships and I thankfully have the support of many different attachments that buoy and sustain me. However, it still remains that I will never be able to replace the part of me that passed with my grandpa. 

When trying to comfort someone who is grieving, understand that their pain isn’t only about the person they lost but about the part of themselves that died too. Their emotions are like  a vortex that can’t be filled and oftentimes words can’t even describe the emotions they feel. The word “grief” barely covers the myriad of feelings and emotional and physical pain that they endure. When we talk about grief, it barely scratches the surface of what people enduring loss go through. It’s hardly about missing a person, grief is about us. 

 Don’t just talk about how they miss the person they lost, ask about special memories and traits the person had. Ask them what made their relationship so special and allow them to randomly share experiences they had together. Judging someone because they seem to be holding onto pain won’t help them improve and rest assured, they’ve probably thought of every remedy possible to bring peace to their aching soul. Their freedom will be in knowing that the depth of their pain is validated and that it isn’t selfish to still hurt, even if it has been 28 years and counting.