The Oat Bran Theory of Grieving

Steven Pinker, in his book How the Mind Works, makes this disturbing observation.  “No one knows what, if anything, grief is for.  Obviously the loss of a loved one is unpleasant, but why should it be devastating?  Why the debilitating pain that stops people from eating, sleeping, resisting diseases, and getting on with life?” (How the Mind Works, page 420).  Why, indeed?  What is the point of all this misery?  What, if anything gets accomplished through grieving processes?

Pinker lists some suggestions he has heard.  For example these processes may be "an enforced interlude for reassessment.”  Grief may be a sort of prophylactic against future foolishness.  Grieving, some have suggested to Pinker, “also gives people time to contemplate how a lapse of theirs may have allowed the death and how they might be more careful in the future.”  Well, there’s a happy thought for me as I already wrestled with what I could have done to stave off Anne’s sudden and catastrophic death!  

Pinker, fortunately, is not persuaded by this sadistic argument: “the pain of grief makes planning harder, not easier, and is too extreme and long-lasting to be useful as a strategy session.”  Yes, I can testify to that.

In sheer evolutionary terms—at least in the short run—the grieving process doesn’t seem to have any survival value.  I am very glad that I was blessed to take time off from working during the first part of this process.  I know that helped me to heal more quickly.  It has also kept me from inflicting myself on others in unhelpful ways.  

As I think about my lethargy, my inability to concentrate, my sleep deprivation and disturbances during those first months, I am frightened to imagine what that would be like if I were, for example, a heavy equipment operator.  What if I were a pilot or bus driver and had to continue working simply to earn a living?  It was somewhat like being intoxicated for long periods of time.  

At times I would be driving and simply couldn’t remember the previous ten or twenty minutes of vehicle operation.  It’s no wonder that grieving people have compromised survival rates in the first six months to a year.  Add to that the compromised immune systems and susceptibility to illness, and it’s not a formula for survival.  What is grief good for?

The one argument Pinker finds even a little compelling is that grief is the other side of, the necessary shadow side of love.  He calls it “an internal doomsday machine, pointless once it goes off, useful only as a deterrent” (page 421).  He sees it as a necessary element of our emotional lives that keeps us focused on sustaining the existence of our loved ones lest we suffer this terrible fate.  That seems less than compelling to me.

There were moments in the presence of bereavement “professionals” when I got the impression that grieving processes are almost moral imperatives.  This is what I would call the “oat bran theory” of bereavement.  It’s not very palatable or tasty.  No one in their right mind would really tolerate it any longer than absolutely necessary.  If there were some other way to get the same benefit, a reasonable person would seek that out.  But it’s good for you, so put up with it.

It can feel as if one must go through the pain and agony in order somehow to merit the outcome of healing on the other end of the process.  If for some reason a person (like me) isn’t sufficiently miserable at the right time on the calendar, something is by definition wrong.  If I start feeling better too soon or engaging in the process of moving forward with my life too early, then it seems as if I have committed some bereavement faux pas.  

I will not pass “Go” and I will not collect my emotional two hundred dollars.  In such conversations it seems as if the grieving processes are almost ends in themselves rather than paths toward healing.  To short circuit these processes is almost viewed as cheating the system.  And the professionals simply assumed some sort of massive and pathological denial on the part of the bereaved person.

Surely, however, this is perverse.  If I had a broken leg and found some way to speed up the healing process, physicians wouldn’t say, “Tut, tut.  We’re not sure you’re actually getting better, even though your leg seems to be mending nicely.  No, you really have to just wait and put the time in, and then you will know that you’ve actually gotten better.  We understand that you are doing some things that may seem to speed the process along, but that’s not really permitted.  You must take as much time as we say is typical and necessary in order to feel better.  And you certainly must not see yourself as one of those fortunate few who has been given some means for feeling better faster.  That just wouldn’t be right or proper.  You must take sufficient time for this process otherwise that break in your leg will not receive the respect it deserves.”

If a physician talked to us about a broken leg in such terms, we would contact the state medical board and initiate malpractice proceedings.  Yet, that is how this whole grieving business feels to me at any number of points so far.

Surely the process of grieving is not an end in itself.  It does not create some treasury of bereavement merit.  Grieving the “right” way cannot be some work of moral or emotional supererogation that produces the proper reward on the other end of the process.  The same professionals who regard all “short cuts” with profound suspicion also tend to repeat the mantra that no one grieves in exactly the same way.  Every bereavement path is different.  

And, poor, sad friend, your path will be unique to you as well.  Only make sure it is not too unique, because then you will not fit the standard model.

Well, poor, sad friend, listen to your own experience and instincts first.