Now and then, a newly bereaved person will tell me about a recurring thought or dream of a loved one. The tape never seems to end. It’s as if a video or a CD is playing in the background, incessantly. The person feels possessed by these thoughts or dreams and powerless to stop them. No one has told me that these recurring thoughts are either depressing or upsetting. It is just that the individual seems to have no control over them, and that is a very annoying reality.

After Collette’s death, I experienced the endless tape syndrome. The tape played, day and night. I relived Collette’s illness, the care she received, the help of our children and friends, and her funeral, over, and over, and over again. I certainly had no control over the situation.

It has been many years since I have experienced these recurring thoughts and dreams. I wanted to talk about this phenomenon with my friends, not to make light of what was happening to them, but to relate how I was able to cope with a situation similar to what they were experiencing.

However, I have learned the lesson that it is much better to let people bring up the subject rather than to just launch into my experiences. I have always found that, if you listen to others’ experiences, you will, inevitably, find an opportunity to relate your own story.

During a game of cards, somebody will mention several times that he or she can’t stop thinking about the death of the loved one. That statement usually encourages others to talk about the same subject. This has happened to me many times and usually puts the game on hold for a time. Most people are visibly relieved to hear that their friends have had the same experience.

Now and then, I hear comments such as, “Thank God. I thought I was going crazy.” It is perfectly normal to relive, continually, the life that we once enjoyed with our loved one. However, when the reliving becomes all consuming and interferes in a person’s life, the situation has reached another level.

Once anyone wishing to contribute has talked about this subject, I usually have a chance to tell my own story. Since I have been part of the Bereavement Self-Help Social Group for some years, folks are usually kind enough to listen, but before I can make my point, I must tell another story.

After two serious heart attacks, I finally had my heart repaired. Afterwards, I attended a series of talks by folks who were in the business of repairing hearts. They were doctors, nurses, nutritionists, and others who gave much practical advice, so that we, the new members of the zipper club could take care of ourselves.

One of the speakers was a psychologist, and his message was quite simple. One of the worst things that can happen to you has happened. Now you can either take charge of your situation, or it will take charge of you.

That sounded like good advice, and I asked him if we could have a talk one day soon. He said, “Certainly, but be sure and bring along seventy dollars.”
So I went to see this seventy-dollar man, and the visit was worth every penny. After I had told him about my recurring dream, he taught me a very simple trick. I was to scream stop, in my mind of course, every time I had this recurring thought or dream. I was also told to expect that I would have to keep at it for some time.
Well, the strategy worked. The endless tape played less and less, and the dreams also ceased, gradually. The result was not easy to achieve, but it was worth the seventy dollars and then some.

I really didn’t want to stop thinking about Collette and our life together completely; I just wanted to have some measure of control. Now, when I think of how simple the solution is, I have to smile. Whenever the mood strikes me, I find a quiet spot and visit with Collette. There are so many happy times to think about as well as those little tiffs that married people have now and then, the crazy things we did together, the birthdays with the kids and their friends, and so on, and so on. Then, when I have had my little visit, I put these remembrances away, gently, until the next time.

You would be very surprised to learn how many of my bereaved friends have had the same experience. It takes some people a long time to share their feelings, and sometimes all they need is a little encouragement, or better still, an example of how things might work. People have told me that, until they heard this story, they feared that all was not well in their world.

As that nice seventy dollar man told me, I could either take charge of the situation, or it would take charge of me. I feel that I have taken charge, and I enjoy my visits with Collette. These visits are good for me.

People say that a song or a type of music will bring on an overwhelming sense of loss that is devastating. Others have spoken about the difficulty of attending social gatherings alone. I can remember driving along and being so overwhelmed by a sense of loss that I had to pull off the road.

I would like to suggest that if bereaved people take time to have occasional quiet visits with their loved ones, this strategy may go a long way to helping them accept their new life’s condition without forgetting the past.

Claire and I talk a lot about John and Collette, and I know that she, too, enjoys visits with John; I mean the other John, of course.

One evening, quite late, I heard my dear Claire sobbing quietly in her den. Claire and I have our own dens, and some evenings we don’t see all that much of each other, but her distress was unusual, so I went, quietly, into her den. Claire was looking at an interview that she and John had given to a reporter just prior to his death. The article talked about the excellent care that John received and about how much the quality of that care was appreciated by Claire.

I sat by her side, and we read the entire article together. We talked about John and her love for him. We also remembered the care given to both of our loves, and we remembered how thankful we are for that gift. We read, once again, the poem that John left for Claire and which hangs in her den; of course, we held each other.
Once again, I was reminded that the bereavement process lasts a lifetime. Life has been good to Claire and to me. We enjoy life as it has been given to us, but Claire has a wicked sense of humor. It presents itself at the strangest times.

We put the article away. Then Claire said, “… and to think that I married two men called John and both of them bald!”
The visits that I have with Collette never leave me with a sad feeling; rather, they are occasions that allow me to
reconnect with the part of my life that I shared with this wonderful woman.