In the Moment

“Make some tea!” Odd thing to yell, I don’t drink tea or at least I don’t think I did at the time. The time was 9:05 am October 31st, 1981. I was standing by the phone, not sure who to call, my hands gripping my hair. She was collapsed on the living room floor. I needed to get control of the situation.

I had been lying on the couch running my tongue on the inside of my cheek, contemplating the workday ahead. It was a Saturday and I had a crew waiting for me at the office and I was procrastinating as best I could. She and I had spent the night on the couch, too stoned, tired and comfortable to make it to our bedroom where Nathan lay in his crib. She had gone to check on him but returned a moment later unable to speak, no longer able to stand.

It could only be one thing. I ran to the room to see and I saw too much, too fast. His purplegrey pallour screamed the truth but I couldn’t listen. I lifted his cold, limp body and the truth came up my arms and froze my heart. I stood, holding him at arm’s length, momentarily paralyzed with dawning comprehension. My son was dead.

And so began my first unconscious reaction to grief. I didn’t know what to do but instinctively felt that it was important to keep moving, that if we didn’t a monster would overtake us and we wouldn’t survive. That first reaction has been repeated and repeated over the years as I digested the loss of a child and prepared to lose another. The grief of the past and future would occasionally erupt with such sudden violence that I had to paddle hard to keep from drowning in the sad effluent.

It’s a short term strategy that helps in the moment. More effective and less damaging than medication, it marshalls my internal resources and puts me in control. And that’s the thing about grief, it controls you. It takes away your life and leaves you wallowing in a vat of tears. Do it too long and you lose your perspective on what life can and should be and you become a permanently sad person that life just left behind. But choosing not to allow it to overtake you puts you back on the road to recovery.

“I won’t think about that right now”, said Scarlet O’Hara in Gone With the Wind when confronted with the death of a soldier and it’s a decision I’ve had to make many times. Scarlet had a plantation to save just as I have to save my own life but the emphasis in her statement is on the “right now”. Unresolved grief can destroy you. It’s a powerful emotion that gnaws at your mind and takes the sun out of the sky. You have to deal with it but it can be on your terms.

Imagine a ten pound steak. I love steak but if I tried to eat it all in one go it would make me ill, maybe kill me. But if I take it out at times of my choosing and chew on it I can slowly absorb it, maybe even enjoy the new-found insights into my way of being. It’s a long term strategy (in a piece about short term strategy) but the point is that refusing to dwell on my grief at the moment it arises isn’t denial, it’s a decision to deal with it on my terms.

It’s not easy. It is necessary and starts with a shake, literally. When the emotion wells up and grabs my guts I squeeze back and then shake like a dog out of the water. It reconnects the mind and body and puts me back in control. A few deep breaths clears my head and allows me to make a decision. I can’t think about more than one thing at a time so the decision is usually to think about something else, to do something else.

The something else distraction list is needed primarily for when I’m not at work. Fortunately, I love my job and fully engaging in it both distracts and warms me. It’s when I’m idle that I’m at risk of being overtaken. For those times I pick from a list that includes watching a comedy instead of a drama or listening to an inspirational song instead of one about loss. I know my triggers.

Another good distraction is to do something for someone else. It always improves my mood and invites future dividends because people respond kindly to kind action. Volunteering makes me feel good about myself and I’ve even found that my losses have made me more understanding of other peoples losses. It’s made me a better listener.

Playing my drums, reading a book or going for a run are some of my other favourites. Drumming is particularly good not because of the opportunity to bash something in anger (as good as that feels) but because it requires intense concentration on the task itself and again, I can only think of one thing at a time. Exercise is both a long and short term strategy for mind and body. Endorphins are released to calm the mind and there’s a well being that comes with feeling fit. It’s also a powerful time as it’s a solitary activity that allows me think about how I’m feeling.

Biofeedback is a term I heard in a psych class way back. Essentially it is tracking one or more of your body functions (pulse, respirations) and attempting to alter it with focussed breathing and progressive relaxation. By noting my pulse rate then calming my mind with deep, slow breaths combined with releasing tension from muscles (progressing from the toes to the head) and then rechecking my pulse rate I get feedback on my progress. The lower pulse rate affirms my efforts and aids in lowering it further. Grief has a very physical impact and by reducing pulse, respirations and muscle tension, calm is restored.


Long term strategies like writing and talking about your grief are essential but life is a series of moments and it’s the short term strategies will get you through the moment. Like making some tea.