In the midst of the grief of losing my mother, this is how I learned to cope

In the last years of her life, for much of the day, my mother sat in a tub chair looking down the long, garden-lined drive towards Port Phillip Bay. Some days the bay was still and glistening like a millpond, while other times it was grey and choppy, bleak, yet always captivating. Mum loved the view; she loved her home and garden, and she loved that chair.

“Some projects in grief are simple and personal, some are tedious and administrative, some are mega and noble. But each in its own way is a labour of love.”Credit: Stocksy

Over time, the chair became worn. It looked rather tired. A regularly mentioned project was for this comfortable companion to be reupholstered. But events beyond our control conspired to leave this project undone.

After my mother died, the chair came to live with us. I can’t remember making that decision. However, the chair wasn’t in good enough shape to donate, and I just knew that I couldn’t sentence it to the tip. I suppose I imagined one day revamping the chair as Mum had planned.

It was a bit of a squish to fit the beloved object into our space, not that it mattered. Anyone who has packed up rooms or homes for people they love knows that whatever they treasure makes it precious, almost holy, and completely suitable to keep, no matter your décor. That’s why some of us accumulate particular, often peculiar, things.

Time passed. The sorting, packing-up and gifting went on.

Back home, the chair had blended in. One day, a friend pointed out what I hadn’t noticed – that the chair held a faint imprint of Mum’s torso and arms. That was okay. Not so okay was that the cat had decided the period of official mourning was over and the chair was now purrfect for her use. Knowing that Mum would have been ambivalent about this feline manoeuvre, I was pushed into action. The restoration project began.

The past few years have brought several big bereavements. Like other grieving people, I’ve picked up a few practical tips. One is that doing something helps.

JANE E SULLIVAN

When we collected the chair from the interior designer, I held my breath. It was gorgeous. Mum would have loved it anew. I did.

The past few years have brought several big bereavements. Like other grieving people, I’ve picked up a few practical tips. One is that doing something usually helps. Even though motivation, energy levels and clear thinking can take a huge hit in grief, and the thought of simply making a decision can be exhausting, getting going helps.

Often, though, deciding when and where to begin becomes overwhelming, immobilising. It’s tempting to stop before really starting. This is where the clear thinking and support of other people is helpful.

Naturally, the tasks we must do are determined by our relationship with the person who has died. Somewhere along the way, I came to think about these tasks as projects– and “project” has a good ring to it. Some projects in grief are simple and personal, some are tedious and administrative, some are mega and noble. But each in its own way is a labour of love.

Many times, the project’s starting point is a practical and necessary task such as sorting out drawers, pantries, papers, photos, gardens and clothing, answering correspondence or tackling the fate of furniture. Usually, it’s a series of smaller projects, often done amid tears, stories, laughs and frequent cups of tea.

Then there are bigger-picture projects. All around us, bereaved people are inspired to do something positive in remembrance of a dearest one. Often they are projects they would have approved of, causes close to their hearts. Whether it’s running marathons, fundraising for medical research, creating support programs, volunteering or planting trees, having a project can console.

Perhaps the project is simply finishing something they’d left undone, like Mum and her chair, or the bittersweet experience of doing something on their behalf, such as taking their dream trip.

Whatever it is, experience suggests that tackling a project is therapeutic. Unfortunately, that’s therapy, not remedy. The grieving mind is distracted from the hurt, attention is focused, hours are repurposed, and the physical activity produces feel-good vibes.

While doing something, memories can be sparked, enjoyed, or worked through. Unlike so much in grief there’s something to show for it, an item that can be ticked off the to-do list. A bonus is the unexplainable feeling of a loved one’s presence. The much-quoted lines from Mary Lee Hall’s poem ring true: “Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine/And I, perchance, may therein comfort you!”

Now, when I think about that darling revamped chair, I see it’s rather like my grief. The basic form is there, under a new proud covering. Some days, I can be enfolded by its solid shape, lost in thoughts of the past, or just sitting, savouring the transformation. Other days, I can pass by the chair, unnoticed as it recedes into the background, while I get on with things.

Either way, like grief itself, the chair has its place. Mum’s project has been completed in absentia. I like to think that she’d be happy. And that’s a comfort.

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