A Sense of Doubt blog post #3644 - Nick Cave on Grief

A Sense of Doubt blog post #3644 - Nick Cave on Grief

Recently, I have read three books that I want to share pieces of and reflect on content and meanings. These are Silhouettes and Shadows: The Secret History of David Bowie's Scary Monsters and Super Creeps, Rememberings by Sinéad O'Connor, and Faith, Hope, and Carnage by Nick Cave and Seán O'Hagan. This post is about the last in that list.

Before I begin, I am really not a HUGE Nick Cave fan. In fact, I am not sure I would call myself a fan at all. I like his music, but there's something that prevents me from fully loving it. I respect him immensely and feel great empathy for him with the losses he's experienced as discussed in this book, especially the sudden and tragic death of his son Arthur, who was 15 when he died.

I had not bought an album of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds since 2004's Abattoir Blues and the Lyre of Orpheus. I liked it well enough but was not steeped in the manic obsessiveness of so many of his fans whom I have encountered.

This book has changed that, though I am still not sure that I am a fan nor am I obsessive, at least not about Nick Cave.

This book touched me deeply, and I want to listen to it again and again as the ruminations on art, religion, life, grief, music, and more are very inspiring.

I have started to buy albums I do not own and have tickets to see the Wild God tour in May.

For today, I want to focus on this passage:

So, in a way, he had been waiting to have that conversation?

Well, Warren always said through it all, ‘I’m here if you ever want me, you know, or to talk to me about anything. I’m here.’ But he wasn’t ever going to initiate the conversation; it’s all so hard, so impossible to navigate. Although I have grown to understand that it’s a good thing for people to probe a little bit into the way grieving people feel, maybe ask them questions. There is a lot of hesitancy around this because it feels invasive, but the bereaved need encouragement to speak sometimes. They are prone to silence because they’re worried about the effect their sadness will have on other people. And this silence becomes habitual, but also builds up like a terrible pressure. Anyway, Warren was always there. We just didn’t talk about it much. Neither of us had worked out how to do that.

Cave, Nick; O'Hagan, Seán. Faith, Hope and Carnage (p. 230). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.

What Nick has said here is very true.

When it comes to grief, after a short period following the death which varies by culture, either people don't know what to say (they never did) or they are afraid to ask; others just don't want to hear it.

Last night, a friend of mine posted to Facebook a beautiful tribute to his son who died nine years ago (in 2016). It was a wonderful reflection on memories, grief, and loss as well as setting the record straight because few knew the cause of death for the young man, who was only 18 years old. Many of us did not know the cause of death because we were afraid to ask, we were giving our friend space, we were respecting his privacy, we figured he would share when he was ready to share (as he has nine years later).

But all the pain and hurting, all the loss and grief, all the processing and trying to come to terms, all the memories that's been going on for my friend all these years. Now, he and I have spoken on his son's death quite a few times, especially since my father died in August of last year (2024). But even I did not know that the cause of death was not clearly determined until recently.

Why do we function this way in our culture?

Look at the passage above again. Nick Cave had been collaborating with Warren Ellis for a long time (I cannot fully suss the timeline in the book); they are very close. They make this amazing music together. And through it all, Ellis is just waiting. He's not going to "initiate the conversation," but he's available for his friend and collaborator.

Cave says something really genuine: it's okay to ask, it's okay for people to "probe a little bit."

"The bereaved need encouragement to speak," he says. That's so true. I do write on my blog here, much as Cave writes to fans on the RED HAND FILES, but that's not the same as a conversation.

I have had some conversations, especially with people who have lost a loved one, a parent even. But relationships with parents vary wildly. Some people barely know their Dad (rarely do they barely know their Mom). I was very close with my parents. Some people relate to that; some do not. And I have written before that losing a child at fifteen or eighteen is a whole other level of grief and pain than losing an 89-year old father when the child (me) is in his 60s. I wrote about that here:

Tuesday, December 31, 2024

A Sense of Doubt blog post #3605 - Post-Christmas Gifts and Reflection and REPRINT of #2874 from 2022

But even those conversations have been few and far between.

Others rarely ask how I am doing, and I must say I am probably guilty of this omission as well. We tend to forget that someone else is going through pain after some time has passed, and some people feel like enough time has passed that it's now time to "move on, get over it."

I had a friend tell me as much 90 days later as I described here:

Friday, October 2, 2015

Hey, Mom! Talking to My Mother #88 - 90 days and 88 blog entries

I have often mentioned this incident and re-posted this blog link. It's a pivotal moment for my blog.

Here's a good friend who thought she was doing a good thing. She thought I was still suffering after 90 days because I was making a public display of my grief, even though by then many of the blog posts were about my life not JUST about my grief.

She called for a "final chapter" on the grief and grief process.

Here's my message to my friend Blue after 3509 days since my Mom died and 164 days since my Dad died.

THERE IS NO FINAL CHAPTER.

At least, not unless you decide there is.

But some might call that repression.

Everyone will experience grief in their life.

Everyone copes with grief differently.

Some people cope publicly and are unafraid to share about their process and their feelings.

Others "come to terms," they close the book, they THINK that they have written the final chapter.

Maybe some have. I am not them.

For many, it seems to me that the repress their feelings.

Like friends of mine who lost their brother when he fell while climbing a mountain, and their response AT THE FUNERAL was HAPPINESS because he was where he wanted to be, with GOD.

That is some masterful repression. Even if you believe that, and more power to you if you do as that is strong faith and worthy of respect, but it WILL NOT help to cope with the loss, the pain, the grief.

Going back to my friend's remarks, she was not saying to stop grieving. She admitted to missing her father every day. She seemed to be saying to stop showing my grief publicly.

This is much like the friend's waiting to have the conversation with the bereaved but not initiating it.

There's also a common belief that the bereaved do not want to talk about their grief, and many do not. Or many feel that grief is and should be private, and so my writing about grief seems a violation of that privacy.

Again, like repression, these are people who uncomfortable with their own grief, and they are equally uncomfortable seeing someone process grief in public.

I say that's all NONSENSE.

Ask grieving people about their grief.

Some of us will want to talk about it; some of us will not.

I obviously am all right talking about it, but it depends on the timing.

But ask.

I asked a friend a year later about a loss. Because the anniversary of the loss may be a difficult time.

I have reminder set for another a friend on the anniversary of a loss that was now... 19 years ago?

For some, talking about grief is very healthy, and we do not need to be afraid to initiate those discussions.

More passages from Faith, Hope, and Carnage  and the other two books soon.

Thanks for tuning in.

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- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 2502.04 - 10:10

- Days ago: MOM = 3509 days ago & DAD = 164 days ago

- New note - On 1807.06, I ceased daily transmission of my Hey Mom feature after three years of daily conversations. I post Hey Mom blog entries on special occasions. I post the days since ("Days Ago") count on my blog each day, and now I have a second count for Days since my Dad died on August 28, 2024. I am now in the same time zone as Google! So, when I post at 10:10 a.m. PDT to coincide with the time of Mom's death, I am now actually posting late, so it's really 1:10 p.m. EDT. But I will continue to use the time stamp of 10:10 a.m. to remember the time of her death and sometimes 13:40 EDT for the time of Dad's death. The blog entry numbering in the title has changed to reflect total Sense of Doubt posts since I began the blog on 0705.04, which include Hey Mom posts, Daily Bowie posts, and Sense of Doubt posts. Hey Mom posts will still be numbered sequentially. New Hey Mom posts will use the same format as all the other Hey Mom posts; all other posts will feature this format seen here.