He who has a why to live can bear almost any how ~ Nietzsche

Our brain has the same physiological response to grief as it does to fear. We recognise that fight or flight feeling as the brain signals danger with a rush of adrenaline. Without getting too deeply into the science, we also release the stress hormone, cortisol, the thing that controls our blood pressure among other important functions. It's why we can actually become ill when grieving.

I recently spent a full day engrossed in a range of Ted Talks on grief. It's the sort of activity that allows you to engage in some overdue, unrestrained wallowing. Upon mentioning to those near and dear, it can also elicit worried gasps that are swiftly followed by warnings to find happy stories to watch instead. These people care about me and they think they understand death. They are anxious to protect me from further sadness. I thought I understood death, having lost members of my immediate family but my experiences do not compare to the loss of a spouse. I tried to appear normal, to keep my chin up to avoid the furtive worried conversations. I had physical pain in the back of my throat from trying to be strong. Spending a day with stories of grief didn't send me over some emotional cliff of despair. I heard stories, so sad I cried. I needed to cry to release the torrents of pain I'm holding back every day. I'm dressed, I'm showing up, I'm also bottling it all up in order to appear okay. Before this happened, I was fun, sometimes funny and right now I can't be either. I don't want to become that person everyone avoids because my sorrow makes others feel sorry for me.

I learned some key take home messages from Ted and friends that resonate with me. Here they are in no particular order and I would like to acknowledge that these are my memory grabs of other people's words. Sorry I can't appropriately attribute them to the speakers but if you Google Ted Talks and grief and you will find these words and more. So much more.

Accept that grief is a raging river that you have to get into in order to get to the next place.

I will never move on [from him], I will move forward [with him; heart, memories].

Protecting him from the monster [death] was not his desire or within my power.

Recognise the limits of our power [and potency].

If "those who have a why to live can bear with almost any how" as Friedrich Nietzsche suggests, Chris certainly had a why to live didn't he? He told me often that I was the love of his life. He spent precious moments telling his children how proud he was to be their father. He reminded me constantly through his final hours how much he loved me and our extended and blended family. Yet he had endured 20 years of treatments that left him just that bit lower each time and he recognised that losing the battle was imminent. He spoke of a physical pain for the moments he knew he would miss, yet he was entitled to decide the how he lived his final months (or as it turned out, days). His passing was not something either of us had power over. It was not that I haven't loved him enough. It's not that I failed him. In the end, he made a powerful choice to stop throwing everything at the monster and in so doing he regained his potency about the how. Chris deserved to have the kind of death that was peaceful and painless and he did. Peace like a river...it is well.

It is well (Anthem Lights) - click link to play

Why was this hymn appropriate for a non-religious person such as Chris? For 30+ years, Chris played cornet, soprano cornet and flugelhorn in brass bands. Brass band competitions historically required each band to play a hymn tune. Despite being an atheist [in recent times he describing himself as spiritual but not religious], after playing hundreds of hymn tunes, he loved closely voiced harmony. He loved this version of It is well , not for the religious words but as a hymn tune from early in his musical life. It is a mournful wrench to listen to it but I'm picturing peace like a quiet river and hope the raging waters eventually subside.