Celebrating The Day

There is a new date assigned for us to remember loved ones who are no longer with us. Celebration Day is in its second year.

 

I discovered it first after reading an article about a well-known group of celebrities who were talking about how they planned to remember those they had lost.

 

Helena Bonham-Carter told The Times how she’d remember her father, Raymond, who died in 2004, by eating fudge in his honour. She explained how he’d give up chocolate for Lent and substitute it with fudge. So she planned to eat fudge in his memory.  

 

Richard E Grant, who lost his beloved wife, Joan, in 2021, revealed he was planning to plant lupins in her honour “because she absolutely adored them”.

Well-known tree hugger Dame Judi Dench explained she was planning to live up to her reputation by planting another tree. 

 

"It’s no secret that I adore trees, and I personally plant a tree every time a close friend or relative dies,” she explained. “I have a whole wood of friends and family.”

 

The organisers of Celebration Day allocate a Sunday a year to the commemoration and it seems to be connecting with the general public. I predict next year’s event will be even better reported than this year’s. I like that. Anything that allows us to recognise and acknowledge those who have gone before us is a good thing. And, even when the relationship has not been such a happy memory, it can be a time to reflect and examine what it meant to us and to see if we can find some healing from that process.

 

However, I couldn't help but wonder why there was a need for a new special day to remember – and to celebrate such loss. 

We already have a number of festivals to remember the dead in place. The Christian festival begins with All Hallows’ Eve on 31 October, ahead of All Saints Day to and culminating with All Souls’ Day – for all our dear departed non-saints - on 2 November. 

That seems to have been cleverly and pragmatically merged by with Mexico’s Day of the Dead by Christians who brought their own religion to the Mesoamerica region when European explorers colonised that part of the world. Mexico of the modern world still holds on to some of its ancient traditions with families gathering at the gravesides of their ancestors to picnic and party in honour of those who are no more. For them, Halloween is not a night to fear – as ghoulish films and stories might suggest – it is a night to remember, and to venerate.

Elsewhere in our richly diverse world, the departed are also allocated their own special time. Religious ceremonies in the Far East include the cleaning of ancestors’ graves and the offerings of favourite dishes for those who are no more, while others combine remembrance with ceremonies to ward off potential evil spirits (in the Halloween tradition) and the avoidance of the wearing of the colour red to keep mischievous spirits away. 

 

India has its festival of Shraddha, a fortnight of events that encompasses offerings, observances and pilgrimage and even has sub-divided groups for different aspects of how the loved one has died. That seems to demonstrate the care and thought taken when it comes to the bereavement process. 

 

I found a touching connection between the commemoration of Maundy Thursday, the Thursday immediately before Good Friday and the day marking the Last Supper, and the Muslim ceremony of Thursday of the Secrets, which happens around the same time. As well as including dawn visits to the graves of their loved ones, celebrants provide food offerings to children and the poor. It is thought that particular ceremony was started by Saladin in the 12^th century, as a “way of building bridges between Christians and Muslims in the Levant”.

So, as you will observe, we already have a substantial number of days set aside to remember. Is another one really necessary?

 

As someone who has worked as a bereavement counsellor for more than a decade, I’ve had the privilege of both learning about loss from a theoretical viewpoint and walking side by side with a person who is themselves grieving. I have accompanied them on their journey through the pain of loss and grief and been privileged in some cases to be a part of their recovery process. Each person is different and no grief is the same. I also know about grief from personal experience. I know what the stabbing pain of loss and the empty void of despair feels like.

At one stage it was suggested that a person would be looking to “get over” their grief – usually through time – but I'm relieved to know that is no longer an aspiration. How could it ever have been? Imagine suggesting to someone that they “let go” of their memories or “look forward” to more hopeful times. I’m not sure how that would help. Better to let the bereaved grieve and reach their own conclusions in their own time.  

The present thinking on bereavement is that the best way for us to manage our loss is to understand that we carry those we love with us in our hearts, even after we have lost sight of their physical presence. It can be unimaginably painful to accept you will never see/hear/speak to the person you love again in this world. It may be of some comfort later to hold on to the feeling and understanding that we still carry our loved ones within us for all time. 

 

Instead of just one day as a celebration day, I’m drawn towards the idea of imagining every day as one to celebrate. It would be good if we could take a little time during our own busy days to consider how far we’ve travelled and to take in our thoughts and feelings towards those who have joined us on our particular journey. 

And if we have valued them enough to remember and grieve for them, then maybe they need to be more than a memory on just one particular day. Maybe we should try to make every day a celebration day. For us, as well as them. 

 

Photo 1: Jan Huber on Unsplash

Photo 2: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Photo 3: Jason Leung on Unsplash

The Importance of Ritual

Well, that went well, didn’t it? What a coronation! The pomp and ceremony that the British do better than any other country in the world.  Months in the planning, three hours max in the delivery and it’s all over until the next time.

 

Allowing a little time to pass since the ceremony itself, I’ve been considering and reading the pros and cons about such an event. The King himself reportedly wants to reign over a “slimmed down” version of the monarchy and his Coronation was intended to show how the Carolean age will be an example of that. Fair enough. He’s king. He’s the one who has the final decision. 

 

Except, of course, there is the government of the day and it’s hard to imagine politicians wouldn’t want to take an opportunity to have their say so. You can just picture Palace and government officials telling His Majesty that a coronation during a cost-of-living crisis “shouldn’t be too ornate”. And you can imagine a man who we’re told is very sensitive to being seen to do the right thing, trying hard not to offend.

 

So, what did we get? A spectacular coach. Two to be precise. Fewer coronets and tiaras – fewer women altogether in fact – and more men (politicians) in suits. The ceremony and the music was certainly rousing and I found the part where the King was anointed and crowned surprisingly moving. Personally, I thought there was an argument for a bit more joy in the music and a little less choral, but that’s just me. It might relate to memories of singing psalms at school. I always preferred uplifting hymns.

 

Was everyone satisfied? The crowds certainly seemed to be as did the participants and those lucky enough to be invited to attend at Westminster Abbey. Generally, from the media reviews I’ve read and seen, it was considered a good show. A job well done.

 

There are one or two remaining niggles. 

 

First, the problem with a slimmed down monarchy is that the balcony at Buckingham Palace looked a bit bare. It’s designed for a lot of people and the 15 or 20-so royals who were there were not enough to fill the space. And where were the youth? If the Royal Family intends to continue its role as Britain’s family-in-chief, then we need the whole group, warts and all, not just those at the top of the tree.

 

Like all families, the royals have their own disappointments and, without naming names, I can understand why one or two of them might have been left off the balcony showstopper. Some chose to move on in a private capacity while another was deemed to have behaved too badly to be allowed on public display.

 

But what about the other blameless siblings, in-laws and offspring who were omitted by default? (Sarah Ferguson, btw, should have been invited to the service if Camilla’s ex was, and he was.) That seems mean. Zara and Mike Tindall, Beatrice and Eugenie and their husbands are all immediate relatives of the King. They add a bit of joy and colour – and gossip – to his subjects/citizens’ lives and we like to see them. They are part of the ritual of Charles’ life and that means they have become part of ours. 

 

Close your eyes and imagine how it would have looked if all the royals had been on the balcony as they usually were. Our beloved one and only Queen would be missing of course and it would take a little mental reshuffling of the characters to get past that, but we’d have taken comfort in the familiarity of the main cast and accepted life moves on.  

 

Those of us interested enough would have been able to glory in the occasion or, if we were in typical family mode and feeling a bit more bitchy, we could have criticised the dress sense and styles of those who displeased us. It’s what we do after all and it’s how family events work. Everyone’s invited and we must make the best of it.

 

In this case, I think King Charles was not wise to go with the political idea less is more. I don’t think so. I think more is more.  

 

Important parts of our lives are marked by rites of passage. Our birth, and birthdays, Christenings or alternative religious inclusions, our comings of age, our marriages, births of our children and, at the end of it all, our deaths. All marked by ritual, a vital way of trying to get our own handle and understanding on what life’s all about. Without this, many of us might feel lost. 

It could be argued this sense of ritual also applies to the rhythm of therapy, a ritual where one agrees to meet the same person at the same time in the same place each week. That ritual creates the conditions for healing to take place. Ritual helps.

 

So, I’d like to make a plea for the royals to remember that this is not just about them, it is about us too. And I’m not just talking about future coronations, I’m talking about celebrations, bringing a nation together, allowing us to collectively participate. We need such rituals, we deserve them and, when life is looking bleak, they are more necessary than ever. And the more glorious and over-the-top, the better. 

 

My charming, talented and artistic 94-year-old friend, who remembers the last Coronation, said she’d enjoyed this one and was glad the ceremony itself was shortened. 

 

However, she added, she’d have liked to have seen more ladies in long dresses and more tiaras, along with “a bit more splash of colour”. She's still got it.

 

Photo 1: Katie Chan - Wikimedia Commons 

Photo 2: Chris Boland on Unsplash

Photo 3:  Adrian Raudaschl on Unsplash

Photo 4:  Armand Attard/DCMS

Far from the Madding Crowds

The sightseeing season is under way. Hopes of warmer weather encourages the winter stay-at-homes to explore beyond their front doors. My big adventure was a trip to central London to investigate Sea Life, followed by a trip on the London Eye where the crowds are out in force.

It's a long time since I've had an expedition like this, probably pre-Covid and I think I'm suffering with the leftover fear of a large group of people and the potential for virus contagion. I had a small companion who was another body caught up in lockdown but I was relieved to see the hesitancy she showed towards others during that period has now gone. She was boisterous and excited. Thank goodness for the resilience of youth.  

We had a glitch with a signal failure at Waterloo which involved a change of plan to bus and Tube. My little friend has never liked loud noises and who knew the London Underground could be that noisy. 

After various changes where I, the leader, became completely lost, we reached Waterloo. This is a trip I once was used to. It's alarming how easily we can find ourselves trapped in our own imagination, if we allow others to convince us it's the right move. 

 

The crowds. I’m short, so is she. She will grow. It’s not easy manoeuvring this way and that when you - I - barely come up to someone else's shoulder and when you're clutching an even smaller person's hand. She surprised me by her dexterity at getting her way to the front of the Sea World aquarium slots without seeming to wind others up. I had a bit more trouble there.

What I did find different from my pre-Covid explorations is the increasing absorption of other visitors with photographing and videoing via their smart phones, to the extent that they seemed to have no awareness of others around them. They pressed their screens to the aquarium face as they filmed the sharks or the penguins, and then they turned round to do their own selfies with the same creatures. 

But not that many people stood and watched the creatures as they were, in real time. It was strange. There was all this extraordinary other worldliness to observe but they weren't really looking. They were missing out on real life in order to record what they might see later. Memories are great but not as a replacement for the initial experience. 

Next stop was a little more complicated with the step up onto the Eye needing careful negotiation, particularly as the wheel continued to move and I was holding tightly onto my charge's hand. 

 

I thought I was over the worst but that came seconds later with the sensation of speed as people propelled themselves into the gondola. Exquisitely dressed women in their 20s and 30s were pushing ahead to secure a bird’s window position. What was the rush and there were limited spaces so surely there was room for everyone?

And then, as the smart phones came out and the elegant mouths moued into familiar poses, I realised what it was about. I was a bystander in a giant social media shoot; the young women moving languidly from one side to the other, arms outstretched, clothes artfully positioned as they posed for the perfect shot. 

Among the sea of people, they were all alone, seemingly oblivious to the "other" who were standing to one side perhaps also hoping for a chance to see this spectacular bird's eye view of London.

 

I thought I was the only one feeling just that bit irritated by the pushing and shoving so was pleased when a lady from California – suitably dressed in jeans and jumper – started to tell the gang off. They ignored her but I felt better. 

 

Generations do things differently. It’s how we make progress. We want to make our own mark on life and to improve on what’s gone before. It’s natural to believe the generation before you is not as good as you are, or you are going to be. 

It may be an age thing. My own youthful preoccupations were certainly connected with how other people viewed me. I got over that (long-enough) phase when I genuinely realised that others were so preoccupied with how they were seen that they didn’t have time to give me much thought. It was oddly comforting.

 

The big difference now is the actual evidence showing how other people’s perception of you can matter and make a difference. Smart phones wouldn't work if people didn't want to be seen by others. And if those others like what they see on social media, an influencer will gain enough followers to monetarise their account. If you have enough followers, sponsorship or advertising arrives. Meanwhile, the person who blends into an ordinary world – as most of us do – is not appealing to these advertisers. So why would anyone want to be ordinary?

 

I have to admit to admiring these would-be influencers. They are feisty. They know what they want and they are trying to get it. It’s also not easy being dressed up to the nines all the time, with beautiful, sleeked back hair, cream coats (in London, really?) and high, high heels. That takes a lot of work because you're always on show. 

But how will they feel if they don’t make it into the arena of success? Where do they go from there? At what point will they admit defeat and go back to ordinary, or will they ever? It’s bad enough feeling awkward if you’re embarrassed on a small scale but social media is something else. Who wants to see personal shame projected on a full-scale screen? Not many.

 

I have a little postscript to this story. I had pointed out Big Ben (obvious) to my little friend and was trying to find Buckingham Palace which seemed difficult to spot, for me at any rate. I felt joyful when I did and was excitedly telling her where to look.

 

“Excuse me,” said one of the would-be influencers in heavily accented English. “Can you show me where is Buckingham Palace?”

 

I could and did and she smiled charmingly as she moved off to point it out to her equally glamorous friends. I was surprised to find the exchange had softened my irritation towards her. A  part of me even hopes her influencer aspirations will turn out better than my experience of the school of hard knocks indicates it might. 

Photo 1: John Cameron on Unsplash

Photo 2: Biljana Martinić on Unsplash

 

 

Arise Sir Dad!

I was told of a client in therapy who only wanted to talk about the present and not “go there” about childhood matters. That was clear and, for the person-centred psychotherapist/counsellor, it meant that was where he and the client were going. What the client wants – within reason – the client gets.

The conversation had occurred after the client became distressed while referring to events in his childhood. He left that weekly session with his counsellor feeling worse than when he had arrived. He didn’t like that feeling and wanted to keep apart from it.

 

Sometimes a client feels worse after a talking therapy session than before. A therapist will explain to a prospective client that h/she may feel more unhappy at the start of their journey than they expect. They will be reassured however that the aim of the process is for the client to work through these feelings within the space and ultimately leave the process feeling better and more able to cope with the future than they were before they began counselling.

 

Counselling and psychotherapy are often used in an interchangeable way because there is no strict legal definition of where one begins and one ends.

 

However, it can be argued that counselling is more concerned with the here and now, whereas psychotherapy work will involve delving into the past to see why a client may be behaving in a way that is not necessarily helpful to them and why they keep doing it.

 

Talking therapies such as CBT are favoured in general terms because they are seen as goal-oriented and ways of helping a person change behaviour within a short period of time. As such, it would be considered counselling for the “here and now”. Time-focused clients referred to a clinician by, say, an insurer paid for by an employee, will often cite CBT as the way they want to go. It is said to work well for a person who is used to working with goals and assessments and someone who likes to see quick results. 

 

That is a reasonable expectation and studies show it works. If you learn how to deal with a problem which has previously “triggered” you, there is every possibility that you will have some awareness of how to deal with it should be triggered again. That applies for other equally “triggering” challenges.

 

However, there could be a problem if the triggers threaten to overwhelm you and, after managing to find a way through one, you find another pops up to disarm you just when you are least expecting it.  

 

At that point, I’d suggest some psychotherapy might be helpful. Delving into your past to discover why you are behaving – and repeating the behaviour – in a way that is not good for you could be helpful. Maybe it might even be useful for us when it comes to choosing our public figures.

 

I’ve been thinking recently about former prime minister Boris Johnson’s relationship with his father. 

 

There is the recent row about Johnson junior reportedly wanting to give Johnson senior a knighthood through his end-of-term honours list. Brother Jo has already been made a peer, at older brother Boris’s request. While that may surprise some onlookers, we understand Jo had a ministerial role in politics and Boris felt he was right to reward him.

 

But, when it comes to his dad, the relationship seems very different. We read about situations with Boris’s father and mother – the airing controversy over the issue left one TV presenter resigning from a voluntary and worthy post she’d held for 25 years – and might be confused as to why Papa Johnson deserves his knighthood. Sister Rachel weighed in, saying her father deserved his K for services to the environment. She may be right, it’s just that we are not entirely aware of all he’s done.

 

From a therapeutic point of view, it’s fascinating to see an adult family still so clearly involved. 

Ordinarily, it may not matter, particularly if all are happy with the status quo. But, I’d argue, from a public point of view, we need to know. The dynamics between Stanley and his offspring seem to be not much changed since childhood. Stanley was the boss then and appears to be the boss now. That is likely to have an effect on those children who still seek his approval. Could it be that the indecisiveness Boris is so often accused of has its roots in childhood? Then there’s the competitive element – we’re told Boris must win at all costs; where did that come from? And as for a need to be loved, well, we’d better not go there. 

 

None of this would be our business if Boris had never entered politics. But he did, and his internal thought and decision-making process mattered. They still do. It is too late to turn back the clock on some of the big decisions he influenced and took but perhaps we need to explore the motivations of our politicians of the future. We need to know what makes them tick.

 

Returning to the client mentioned earlier, their therapist stayed with the client’s request to keep sessions current but could not help noticing how the client kept referring to their past. This was pointed out to the client. 

Gradually, as the client came to realise what effect the past had had on their present and as trust in the therapist grew, the relationship deepened with the client revealing more of their inner self, allowing them to see how early behaviour had adversely affected their adult life. 

Years of early learning that confuses the soul can take a long time to unravel and there may well be some sadness, anger and distress along the way. It requires a brave person to travel down the road of self-discovery but it’s a journey that can be so rewarding.

 

  

 

Photo 1: Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash 

Photo 2: Nik on Unsplash

Photo 3: Brett Jordan on Unsplash

The Importance of Teddy

Did you ever have a cuddly friend of some description when you were little? Do you remember its name? Or, even better, do you have it still?  

I’d bet good money that you can answer yes to at least two of those questions, possibly three. In researching this blog, I’ve done a non-scientific study of friends, acquaintances and work colleagues and had a 99% recurring response saying yes to all three.

Some respondents admit that, while they still have the cuddly, it’s hidden away from plain sight in some corner of the attic. I find it interesting that they still know exactly where the once-beloved is, so the link has not gone entirely. Others proudly keep the cuddly toy(s) on display. There’s no embarrassment there. The soft toy remains part of the family.

 

I began thinking of this when reading about Prince Andrew’s collection of teddies and the fury he is reported to have shown to staff when they were not set up in the way he’d left them. There was a story told about a maid sent upstairs to draw his curtains (we’re talking Andrew as an adult here) and she inadvertently moved them out of position. 

 

We have two issues here. One would concern – and perhaps be concerned by - an adult male having someone drawing his curtains for him. But let's park that. We know the rich are different.

 

What particularly interests me in Andrew’s case is that he has such a collection of teddies, and treasures them still. Some people might suggest a large part of him remains a small child or, at least, attached to those he loved as a child.

 

In the world of psychology, the description of a cuddly animal is more austere. It goes by the phrase “transitional object”. It was first used by the much-admired paediatrician and psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott as a way of explaining how a baby begins the difficult transition from baby as extension of mother and baby as individual and separate person. 

The baby, of course, has no idea of this. To begin with, it is of its mother, it has no stand-alone self. But, as it grows and develops, the separation begins and the baby starts to develop its own sense of separateness. We all do it – or, ideally, we are all programmed to do it – but, even so, it must be a very hard and frightening time.

Imagine the “perfect” set up where the mother caters for her baby’s every need. She is for ever on hand to feed, change, comfort and love. And then, as the baby begins to grasp that h/she is not an extension of that all-loving parent, there is increased reason for insecurity and uncertainty. The baby’s unconscious thought process must be fearing the worst and wondering what happens now? 

And this is where the transitional (TO) object comes in. The baby is given something soft and reassuring to cuddle. An object that belongs just to him or her. It doesn’t have to be a cuddly creature, by the way, (although it usually is); it could be a piece of cloth or some other soft item intended purely for this baby. Gradually, the cuddly takes on a scent and feel that the baby will take comfort from, knowing the object is entirely its own. That means, when the baby is left without its primary carer - as it must be even if only for a short time - the TO is there to provide reassurance. And as the baby grows and matures into a toddler and then a small, speaking child, the TO continues to provide the comfort it always has.

 

Most nursery schools nowadays encourage new pupils to bring in their favourite cuddly and that’s a very positive sign when you consider it wasn’t always like this. Even 20 years ago, children going to nursery were encouraged to “leave teddy behind, he’ll be waiting for you when you get back”. 

Again, I imagine it was meant for the best and the worry about a worse-case scenario of the child losing that treasured possession. Still, I’m glad rules have changed. 

I believe the TO is a vital part of each transitional journey. The change from being a big cog in a small environment (home) to a small cog in an ever-changing environment (nursery) needs to be handled with care. The TO is a loving reminder of the attachment between the family and the child. Even though the parent is absent, the replacement TO helps keep the child feeling safe. 

The conversation about a child feeling secure cannot be left without mention of John Bowlby, with whom Winnicott worked, and his theory on attachment which he split into categories - secure, anxious, avoidant, disorganised.

 

If all the ducks are in a row, the child should develop a secure attachment. If not, there may be trouble ahead. 

 

I’m reminded of Brideshead Revisited and Aloysius, the bear belonging to Lord Sebastian Flyte, the central figure of the book. Although a young adult, Sebastian keeps his bear with him at all time, as a comfort against the troubles he has with his family. The bear's lovable qualities remained with Sebastian as a substitute for  the loving family he might have wanted.

 

I'm relieved to report not all tales end as sadly as that. I have recently been to visit a successful and contented lady recovering in a nursing home after a fall. She is in her 90s and has lived her life surrounded by love and external acclaim. She says she has been lucky and very happy.

 

I noticed, when I stood up to leave, that in pride of place on her pillow was a delightfully aged cuddly toy. I asked her about it. “Oh, that’s …” she said, naming him with a wide and joyful smile. “He’s been with me longer than I can remember. He comes with me everywhere.”

 

I found that strangely comforting. No awkwardness, no embarrassment, just pure acknowledgement of the importance of her beloved companion. My lady’s transitional object is her lifelong and permanent friend.

 

Photo 1: Laurie Gouley on Unsplash

Photo 2: Ana Tablas on Unsplash 

Photo 3: Alexander Dummer on Unsplash