Then and Now

 

However, during that same era, no person of breeding or gentility would ever openly mention sex! Even any reference to gender was carefully couched in delicate terminology. Arms and legs were referred to as "limbs" and they were covered almost completely. Any form of touching or even intimacy of language was carefully proscribed by the customs of the time. Sex was a taboo subject, and it was largely considered to be dirty, shameful, disgusting, and for most women, barely tolerable!

How different it is now--over one hundred years later! We have done a cultural 180 degree turn. Now, sex has become a subject (and a commodity) that is fair game for every movie and TV screen. It is generally exploited in newspapers and magazines and is commonly and widely used as a sales promotion gimmick.

On the other hand, grief and mourning have suddenly become the closeted issue. In many circles it is not considered polite or in good taste to forthrightly mention the sadness caused by death. Well-mannered bereaved people are expected to keep their pain private and silent. Sometimes, even employment is endangered by any visible sign of emotion.

But both of these conditions--sex and death--are normal, natural parts of the human experience, and, ironically, they are both connected to love. In a truly healthy society, neither sex nor death should be subjects that we ought to fear or loathe or avoid.

It would seem that our current preoccupation with aberrant, bizarre and overabundant sex might be a backlash effect of the hush-hush of the Victorian era. Whenever we create an aura of "forbidden fruit" around any phenomena, we often give it an appealing mystery that makes it more intriguing to investigate in somewhat less healthy ways. When the bans are lifted (as they were for sex in our country in the late 1960s), all cautions can often be thrown aside in favor of an almost insane overreaction.

Unless we liberate mourning from its current place of hiding and unacceptability, we are in danger of having a similar backlash of bizarre proportions in the next ten or twenty years. Sometime in the twenty-first century, grieving could possibly acquire some amazingly out-of-control rituals.

We need to declare our own freedom from the restraints concerning dying and grieving that have been placed on us by a frightened and cobbled society. Let us kindly, but firmly, declare our rights to feel and express our pain in ways that are healthy and open. With that right, of course, comes the responsibility to do no harm either to others or to ourselves.

With kindness and a "do-no-harm" attitude, we can take a firm stand on the solid ground of our rights. We can cry, speak about our losses if we want to, verbalize our memories, safely express our anger and frustrations, withdraw for awhile, be confused and disoriented, solicit and expect help and support, and (maybe most important of all) make no apologies for our condition. We need never crumble under the criticism of those who have not walked in our sandals.

The number is legion of well-meaning caregivers who appoint themselves experts in determining what is "best" for us, so we need to claim for ourselves the basic freedom to trust and follow our own instincts and to disentangle our emotions from their benevolent chains. We have the right to gently explain to them that we've been where they are, but they have not been where we are. We don't even expect them to understand us, but we what do expect-even require-is that they take our word for it when we tell them how it is.

Viva freedom!

 



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