Tamara Jeffries
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Now I See
Blog
The Color of Grief
| Posted on 10 January, 2011 at 0:06 |
comments (196)
|
 My grief is gray.
All the color, even blue, has drained away. I feel like a faded photo in which my
features are unclear, my face in shadow, hardly identifiable. I am without the
warmth of sepia. Without even the sharp, clear edges of black or white. I feel
dull. Blurred. My grief is a color without a name.
Having known blue—having held my breath, expecting the wash
of it in the wake of loss—this gray comes as a surprise. But perhaps it
shouldn’t. There is a distinction between grief and depression—an
important one. Grief has the arguable
blessing of justification. It has a reason: It arrives with or anticipates a
deep loss—of someone or something beloved, of a valued way of life. In this
context, grief is accepted, expected, even encouraged. Tissues are offered. And
this salve: You’ll get through this. It will take time, but this will pass. But true, clinical depression often has neither reason nor the promise
of relief. Yes, certain kinds of depression can surface as a result of
difficult life situations. It’s acceptable then: Of course you’re down, baby. Who wouldn’t be, in your circumstances? But sometimes it arrives like a guest with no luggage and no
way home. When it comes without an apparent reason—with nothing attached—it can
be difficult to accept. It can be
especially hard among people who seem to “have it all” or “have it made” but who
still can’t shake their sense of despair. Mental-health advocate Terrie Williams says the folks who are
most “well off” are the ones who are the most shocked by their own depression.
Their blues can be further thickened by guilt and anxiety, and by the lack of
understanding from the people who would otherwise offer support.
The two, depression and grief, can blur together. Grief can
harden to hopelessness that won’t lift or turn. But one is not necessarily the
other. Fortunately, the wise ones and the experts know the difference. It is up
to us to turn to them—groping in the dark, pressing through the fog if we must—for
help toward healing. It is the
wise ones—or we, ourselves, clinging to our own frail wisdom—who remind us to stand upright until
our color returns. For more about grief and grieving, visit the Elisabeth Kubler-Ross Foundation website. ------ In honor and memory of Frank Jeffries, Jr. May 21, 1927~ December 26, 2010. |