Grieving can be exhausting. Here is a way to cope

Often, though, deciding when and where to begin becomes overwhelming, immobilising. It’s tempting to stop before really starting. This is where the clear thinking and support of other people is helpful.

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Naturally, the tasks we must do are determined by our relationship with the person who has died. Somewhere along the way, I came to think about these tasks as projects– and “project” has a good ring to it. Some projects in grief are simple and personal, some are tedious and administrative, some are mega and noble. But each in its own way is a labour of love.

Many times, the project’s starting point is a practical and necessary task such as sorting out drawers, pantries, papers, photos, gardens and clothing, answering correspondence or tackling the fate of furniture. Usually, it’s a series of smaller projects, often done amid tears, stories, laughs and frequent cups of tea.

Then there are bigger-picture projects. All around us, bereaved people are inspired to do something positive in remembrance of a dearest one. Often they are projects they would have approved of, causes close to their hearts. Whether it’s running marathons, fundraising for medical research, creating support programs, volunteering or planting trees, having a project can console.

Perhaps the project is simply finishing something they’d left undone, like Mum and her chair, or the bittersweet experience of doing something on their behalf, such as taking their dream trip.

Whatever it is, experience suggests that tackling a project is therapeutic. Unfortunately, that’s therapy, not remedy. The grieving mind is distracted from the hurt, attention is focused, hours are repurposed, and the physical activity produces feel-good vibes.

While doing something, memories can be sparked, enjoyed, or worked through. Unlike so much in grief there’s something to show for it, an item that can be ticked off the to-do list. A bonus is the unexplainable feeling of a loved one’s presence. The much-quoted lines from Mary Lee Hall’s poem ring true: “Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine/And I, perchance, may therein comfort you!”

Now, when I think about that darling revamped chair, I see it’s rather like my grief. The basic form is there, under a new proud covering. Some days, I can be enfolded by its solid shape, lost in thoughts of the past, or just sitting, savouring the transformation. Other days, I can pass by the chair, unnoticed as it recedes into the background, while I get on with things.

Either way, like grief itself, the chair has its place. Mum’s project has been completed in absentia. I like to think that she’d be happy. And that’s a comfort.