Cocooning is a time that all you can do is maybe sit at home in front of a fire, and that is OK. If you don’t want to go somewhere, don’t. Be easy on yourself now because grief is unpredictable.
A few months before Ron transitioned, we were sitting on our lanai, Hawaiian for deck, in our beautiful back yard. We live on the side of Haleakala, a dormant volcano, that gently slopes down our yard vibrant with avocado, ficus, banana, and papaya trees and much tropical foliage including giant hibiscus and lilikoi plants. We frequently witnessed rainbows from this perch which appeared to be lower than we were allowing us to think that we lived romantically over the rainbow. Enjoying the gentle Trade Winds, orange and black butterflies were plentiful and would actually land on Ron as though they were attracted to him. He told me that there would come a time that every time I saw a butterfly or a rainbow or smelled the smoke of a cigar, which he relished every day, that I would know that he was near.
A few months after he was gone, I was feeling in a vacuum where time seemed to be standing still and I couldn’t connect with the world. Before I started being with Ron constantly because of his health, I loved doing ceramics. When we moved to Maui, he had a perfect studio built for me in our yard, but I couldn’t seem to go there to create. I felt blank. I decided I had to do something, so I signed up for a ceramics class at the Hui No’eau art center in Makawao. The translation of Hui No’eau is “people coming together for a common purpose” for the development of artistic skill and the wisdom which derives from that expression.” This sounded to me like the perfect place to open my path to healing. When driving to class, I was surrounded by butterflies. I have never seen so many butterflies in the same place. They floated around my car for literally miles, and unlike before when I have had butterflies or moths come to their ends against my car window or grill, not one stuck to the car. And of course, that week there were rainbows too.
This experience made me realize that what I had been doing was cocooning. We have a big Brugmansia plant in our yard which the common name for is Angel’s Trumpet. I had noticed that it had been covered with caterpillars that were yellow and black. I found it ironic that the butterflies which were also in my yard, had been created from the caterpillars eating the Angel’s Trumpet vines. I looked this process up, and it was different from what I had been told in school years ago. What really happens is that the caterpillar sheds its skin and a protective shell called a chrysalis is formed. Then everything inside the chrysalis turns into liquid that is similar to human stem cells. From this comes what are called imaginal cells which sounds to me like the imagination where new things come from. Though there is no structural similarity between the caterpillar and the butterfly, these cells transform into beautiful butterflies.
I remember in one of Ron’s sermons he told the story of a person who noticed a chrysalis moving. That person assumes that the butterfly was working to emerge, so he decided to help. But the process of breaking out of the chrysalis is crucial to building the strength of the butterfly so it can survive, and by the person helping this process along, the butterfly that emerged died. This made me think of my grief process.
For several months after Ron’s transition, I felt like that goo that forms during the transformation from the caterpillar to the butterfly. I felt like it was too hard to think, to eat, to walk, to read, or really to do anything. During this time, I recorded and watched many silly romantic movies I didn’t have to think about. The plots were formulaic, and there was always a happy ending. The movies were actually just background noise. If I stayed in silence or tried to listen to music, my monkey mind would run wild. The movies dulled the pain. I could lie in bed and actually felt like I was being held. I see now that was like my own chrysalis, and that I had to go through this process to help me adjust or transition to my new life.
Everybody will experience this transition in their grieving process in their own ways. This is the time where you prepare for or develop the skills that will help you move forward. For some, this gestation is relatively brief. Others take a long time. The key is to recognize this is normal and to do what you need to so that you can take care of yourself. I would sit on my lanai or soak in my bathtub without putting any restrictions on me. This may be a time where you resist the change that you have been forced into. Everything can’t help but be different without your loved one in your life. This was not something you can plan for or escape. Releasing into the process will ultimately help bring you peace and allow your butterfly to emerge. This is the time that your transformation occurs.
You will think new thoughts and do things differently than you ever have before. Know this is OK. As much as you would like to go on the way things were before, you can’t. Take this time to explore what to do now, and be patient with yourself. This isn’t a time for a quick fix or a magical solution. Your grief does not disappear, but you will become used to it. You will assimilate it into your life so that it changes from being all encompassing to being a natural part of you. As you shed your old skin, you can shed your old habits that no longer serve you. You can grow and develop your new, beautiful, powerful wings.
Many refer to death as a transition, but you are going through a transition, too, and it may feel like you are dying. Actually, the old you is dying. The new you will have different hopes and dreams and desires. You may have the tendency to fight this transition as you would fight death if you are not ready, but that will only prolong the process. The most important part of the journey Ron and I shared was to commit to living in the moment. We dealt with any symptom that came up when it came up. We did not worry in advance about what would be happening next. And actually, I didn’t realize that he was really dying. Our moments were so precious, sharing our love, having long wonderful talks or just sitting in silence enjoying the beauty of our surroundings. His birthday was about a month before he left, and he was given the book Death of a King by Tavis Smiley which was the story of Martin Luther King’s last year. He wanted to read it, but he discovered that reading was difficult for him, so I read the entire book to him out loud. Those are cherished moments. Time stood still as we were immersed in the greatness of this man. Having this experience helped me to stay in the moment as I was going through this cocooning process. All I dealt with was how I was feeling or what was happening to me at that time, right then. And living in the moment has allowed me to move forward one moment at a time.
Right now, think about what you can do that feels best to you. You may like to have a cup of tea, go for a walk, read a book, record and watch silly romance movies. Whatever it is, do it. Don’t judge yourself or your desires. I found myself putting together puzzles or playing Sudoku. The process of keeping occupied allowed me to not just sit and cry, although there is nothing wrong with that. Tears are cleansing, and I have certainly cried until my eyes feel dry. The key in not living in fear which is the opposite of love. Right now, love yourself. Fearing being alone or fearing your future does not serve you. Loving yourself unconditionally will always serve you.
This is the time to seek out a friend who has been through this process. Your friend may have experienced a different kind of loss, but everyone who grieves does go through a process of some form of cocooning. You may have lost a husband, while your friend has lost a mother. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you can support each other. I noticed that during this time after the deaths of both my husbands, friends mostly kept their distance. I assume that they didn’t know what to say or did not want to be dragged down into my despair. And I didn’t seem to be able to reach out to my friends. If the experience is similar for you, this may be the time you’d like to seek counseling. There are many counselors out there that specialize in grief, but I suggest you go to one who has actually experienced loss. The common experience can make all the difference in how helpful a counselor can be.
Cocooning can be so hard on your body and soul. Be aware of this, and take care of yourself during the process. Be sure to rest, to eat, and to exercise. And in the words of Dr. Alan B. Wolfelt, “Feelings have one ambition, to be felt.” So, feel what you feel. Love who you love. Grieve how you grieve. But most of all, be gentle with you.
