Telling the Story: "Narrative Therapy," the Arc of Narrative, and Long Grief

[Not a riddle.] How do you know when your relationship really, really matters?

[Answer.] You'll know after it's over.

Telling the story of a partner's death is a necessity for a while. For me, it helped make sense of the drastic changes in my life, the rainstorm of sorrow, and the questions that pop up. Like, did I do everything I could? From the person that I am, that is?

A year and a half after Dave's death, which was expected but no less tragic, I found myself stuck on a very big decision that only I could make. Sell the big wonderful house where we'd spent most of our married time, in order to move into something small and more affordable? Or do everything else possible to hold onto it, from renting out the garage to hosting an air b'n'b to endless garage sales and round-the-clock work schedules?

Each option involved pain. Neither guaranteed relief from grieving, either.

When I realized I was "deciding" twice a day, frantically flipping from one choice to another -- and I am a person who usually has no problem making decisions -- I searched online for a counselor who could pitch in. It was the first autumn of Covid, which for me yielded a very specific blessing: therapy via Zoom meetings. No commute time wasted, no problems with road conditions, and no need to leave the house empty, either. (I was starting to feel as worried about any time away from the house, as I had felt about time away from Dave as his health slid, and slid, and slid. I didn't want him to face fear alone. And I didn't want the house to be damaged by any absence.)

My life is framed in stories: written, told, present, past, truth and decorative. To my utter astonishment and amusement, the counselor prescribed "narrative therapy." I'd never heard of it but it seemed "genius" for a novelist ... When I looked it up, here's what I found:

Narrative therapy is a style of therapy that helps people become—and embrace being—an expert in their own lives. In narrative therapy, there is an emphasis on the stories that you develop and carry with you through your life. (Jodi Clarke, MA, LPC/MHSP)

It Worked

 

Within a month I'd reached a decision I could live with (sell the house, tackle the huge challenge of taming an abandoned piece of land nearby, create a new home). I knew a lot more, too, about what factors in my life were driving my decisions, and which ones were constantly causing me pain. I discovered that I could stop pressing down hard on the inevitable wound of grief and loss, and breathe a bit better as a result.

Because stories ARE my life, eventually I started to play with the narrative arc -- oh, if that's not a familiar term, check out the MasterClass article on these. Here are the parts of the narrative arc that the the article describes:

1.  Exposition: The reader’s introduction to the story, providing background information to prime the audience.
2. Rising action. This usually begins with a triggering event that puts the story in motion.
   
3. Climax.The highest point of tension in the storyline, often forcing the main character to face a truth or make a huge decision.
4. Falling action. The conflict gives way toward resolution.
5. Resolution. This is not always happy, but shows how the events of the story have changed the characters and the world around them.

How could I fit that idea to the stage of my life opening up -- that is, surviving without Dave? If my decision to let go of the house was stage 3 of the narrative arc, was everything after this "falling action"? Just aging in place, alone? Look out, I could weep over that, pretty easily.

Even worse, maybe I was in the resolution part. What a terrible thought! All the good parts of the story were done, and I could "look forward" to simmering grief in solitude, with nothing much changing again, because the changes were done.

Another Approach

Although I'm not "seeing" the counselor as often, I rely on her backup. And in this case, she reminded me about something we'd outlined together, a year ago. Brace for it: I have a team. And on my team (I may have foreshadowed that I'm a nerd, didn't I? in some ways??) are the books and characters that I embrace. Sometimes that's George Smiley; sometimes Rivers in the Regeneration Trilogy; sometimes Katniss, or even (and in another medium) Phryne Fisher. There are more. 

A few weeks ago, the counselor reminded me to lean on my team.

So I opened a few books in a row, and found one divided into PARTS. Three of them. Each part had its own arc of narrative. And none of them functioned without the others.

This is what I've chosen for my narrative today:

Part I: Life before meeting Dave. Adventurous but with some serious lacks.

Part II: Life with Dave. Not always easy, including his illness, but omigosh varieties of fun and a resolution that let me see how much I changed, how much his life reshaped mine and strengthened me.

Part III: Life with Dave out of reach. He'll never stop being present as a force in the next part of the character arc. (And missing him won't end.) But there are chapters ahead, and I am not at "the end."

As the expression goes, "That's my story." For today.