Ambiguous loss

 

So one of the advantages of so much time, is that I've been doing lots of reading, watching TED talks and listening to pod casts lately - and one of the terms I've been thinking about is ambiguous loss. The concept was coined by Pauline Boss in the 70's, but Esther Perel talks about it a lot, which is where I heard about it.

According to Wikipedia, Ambiguous loss is a loss that occurs without closure or clear understanding. This kind of loss leaves a person searching for answers, and thus complicates and delays the process of grieving, and often results in unresolved grief.

I've been thinking about this in relation to what's going on in the world at the moment. The separation people are feeling and experiencing from loved ones and family, the uncertainty and complete disarray of how things are going to look in even the near future, let alone the distant future. But mostly the severing of physical connection and the longevity of isolation for so many. We're grieving things that haven't actually gone anywhere - we just can't access them due to isolation and restrictions.

So it was interesting that with the announcement in Melbourne yesterday, that the restrictions were being (slighty) lifted, that I felt sad. It was mixed with frustration that I still can't see my family and some of my friends - and all the rest, but this unexpected yet familiar loss came up for me.

My kids go back to school next Monday - and as they are going to their Dad's today - I realised that today is the last day of homeschooling for us.

Across the state last week, people celebrated with vigor that their children were returning to school recently (it's been staggered for those not in the thick of it).

Not me though. I have (for the most part) loved having my kids at home. Having breakfast together every morning, not rushing out the door to catch the bus or go to work - making cups of tea and being part of each other's days again. We felt like an invincible team. Making complicated dinners from Ottelengi, playing long, involved games of Settlers of Catan until midnight, watching movies snugged up on the couch. It felt like time was this beautiful gift, uninterrupted by any routine or outside force. I truly loved it.

So thinking about going back to the 'usual' way of doing school is like when they started Prep but worse. Cause I know what it's like. They leave at 7.45 and get back at 4.30. It doesn't leave much time for just being.

It doesn't necessarily feel rational - of course I want my kids to go back to school and see their friends and not be stuck at home with their Mum - but I'm grieving.

I kind of don't want isolation to end.

Which sounds outrageous.

But it's true.

I'm not sure I'm ready.

anna

xx

Here's a piece I wrote in my writing course I'm doing at the moment. It seems relevant to share...

Remember how incredible it was during the Pandemic

Remember each morning I'd wake and my body would wake, not with an alarm, but with the natural stirrings of my body. Stretching like a cat and knowing that I didn't have to DO anything.

Remember hot breakfasts, baking in our ever-so-tiny kitchen, the luxury of hot teas as you started school and I could be with you... Bring you snacks and apples cut up into little segments, as if your teenage selves needed just a little bit extra love and care.

Remember how the walks in nature became our highlight not just our daily exercise and suddenly the light through the trees wasn't just something your mad mum pointed out, but instead something that you stopped and photographed.

And we would sit and look at your photos and then get distracted with Instagram and play with the filters and laugh so hard that tears would run down our cheeks, while we made videos of us singing with enormous mouths and huge eyes and altered voices...

Remember when family was what we couldn't live without and that not seeing Nan and Pa was the hardest things so we taught them to use Zoom and had board game nights and talent shows. Remember when Nan made life sized reindeers and Pa made up poems and love was palpable through a screen?

Remember when I had time to be with you like when you were little - before school, before work, before busyness.

Remember when we got to be together?

xxx