I’ve written a lot about grief, but until this morning, no one ever asked me to define what it is for me. It’s an important exercise, for me and for the people reading what I write.

Susan asked me this in an e-mail message  this morning after writing about Red:

“How would you define grief, Jon?,” Susan asked.

It was a good and fair question, and I want to answer it as honestly and thoughtfully as I can. I have my own ideas about grieving, and they are not offered to judge or persuade or criticize anyone else. I don’t tell other people what to do.

My definition of grieving:

Grief is a strong, sometimes overwhelming emotion for people, regardless of whether their sadness stems from the loss of a loved one or from a terminal diagnosis they are someone else have received.

Grief is the natural, even healthy,  reaction to loss.

Like many other animal species, humans instinctively mate in different ways. The loss of mates or people close to us and love can be shocking, crippling and disorienting.

I have in my hospice and therapy work and my own life found grief to be a universal and very individual experience, no two people experience it in  the same way.

Individual experiences of grief vary sharply and are influenced by the nature and timing of loss. I’ve seen people resume their lives in a matter of weeks, and also seen people who struggle for months and even years to let go of the losses in their lives,  both people and animals.

The shrinks and social workers all say pretty much the same thing about grieving: it’s a process, and it has its own rules and timing. As painful as it is, there are no end runs or short cuts around it.

Social workers also say that people who are grieving can’t control the process, and they need to prepare to experience and accept the various stages of grief.  Some people say they never fully get past it.

From what I’ve seen, healing is advanced by moving forward, as soon as it is comfortable and possible. There is no formula for that, there is no such thing as “normal” grieving, or a single way to do it. No one has the right to tell anyone else how to do it.

Grief is most serious when people find themselves feeling numb and continuously depressed, removed from daily life,  and unable to live normally and function well while saddled with a great sense of sadness and loss.

I should say that I believe the way we treat death in our culture often promotes the idea intensive and prolonged grieving as a mark of love and honor, and I feel differently about that. How many thoughtful discussions about non-violent death have  you ever seen on a TV news broadcast? If Maria truly loves me, I want her to move ahead with her life as quickly as possible, that is what would make me happy.

I also believe that Facebook and other social media enable grieving in that they sometimes encourage people to draw from an endless found of empathy and commiseration that is without end or boundary. I see people grieving online for years, and coming to need the endless streams of sorrow for their loss.

At some point, I believe those of us who have grieved must decide to let go, which is what friends want for their grieving friends.

Life either goes on or doesn’t.

I choose to go forward. And that is sometimes more difficult to do when well-meaning people enable and even encourage extreme grieving.

Beyond that, I have come to see that it is becoming increasingly difficult for humans (and their dogs) to die with dignity and in a natural way.  Sociologists say the death process in America takes an average of six years, that’s how long they can keep almost all of us alive. And if they can, they will, death is a major profit center in our country. It is very expensive.

I am an advocate for people (and dogs) to be able to die in dignity and comfort, and not to have their illnesses exploited by needy or greedy human beings.

Any vet will tell you that this happens all too frequently with dogs. In my therapy work, I see it happen far too frequently with humans. So that’s where I’m coming from. Red will die with dignity and in as much comfort as is possible. I hope to do the same myself.

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Like most people, I have experience with grief in my life;  the loss of two children, the loss of parents, friends, family members, mentors and heroes, and many beloved dogs and animals.

My idea of grieving has worked well for me.

I submit to elements of grieving that I can’t control, and let go of those emotions and elements that I can control. I don’t mark the anniversaries of people or dogs who have died, or speak of them to other people much at all, or beyond a reasonable period of time. And I do not grieve in public.

I don’t want support for grieving, I seek support for living.

The worst losses I have encountered came when I was young.

I accept Paul Tillich’s reminder that we will all end, it is the nature of life.

Perhaps because I have worked as a hospice and elderly care volunteer for a long time, I am not surprised by death, nor have I hidden from it.

It is easy to hide from it in our country. The overwhelming majority – 87 per cent of – of Americans who die, do so in hospitals or nursing homes, their last days, months and even years hidden from view.

Early in my life, I embraced the Quaker idea of celebrating a life rather than mourning it. I believe that death is almost always sad, but not only sad. It can be beautiful, uplifting , inspiring. That is a choice. In its own difficult way, death itself is a celebration of life.

Everyone I  know, everyone reading this, has experienced or will experience some form of grieving, from people to dogs and cats. I never forget that when I grieve, everyone has their battles to fight.

My own sense of grief is that when grieving for people – or animals – prevents one from living his or her life over months or years, and can’t let go, it may be time to get some help.

The literature says that while mourning can last for months or years, pain is generally tempered as time passes and people adapt to live without a loved one, most – the vast majority – say that life goes on as they connect with other people and move ahead with their lives.

I think Susan is trying to get at why I view grieving as different for me than for some people. The answer – for me only – is that I believe some parts of grieving are inevitable and uncontrollable but some are a choice. Left alone, grief dies its own ironic death.

I believe the culture promotes a certain way of grieving on social media, and in books, movies and some organized religions.

In my youth, I was stunned and  horrified to see people weeping, rending their garments, covering mirrors and sitting in misery with family and strangers for days after a death. I could not and cannot imagine how that is healing or helpful to the participants of these elaborate rituals.

I saw enormous suffering and pain in that process, and the Quaker idea struck home for me.

In memorials and funerals, I heard what felt like fake and scripted eulogies read by people who had little or no idea that the dead person was actually like. Life is a gift, and why not only mourn it, rather than celebrate and be grateful for it?

I can’t help grieving, but I can help suffering in this way.

I have learned to be grateful to the people (and dogs) I love when the die. It does not make sense to me to convert their lives into nothing but pain and loss. That part – feeling gratitude and celebration for life – is the part that is my choice. For me, it is the part that heals.

Of course I will grieve, and should for the loss of people I love.

Out of that process for me also comes a great appreciation for every day of my life, and a determination not to waste a single day more than I have to looking backwards and filling my heart with darkness.

There is enough suffering in the world, I believe there is also much joy, and that is what I most need to remember when I grieve.

Please listen to our latest podcast, Katz And Wulf On Bedlam: Mystics In Bedlam.