ABSTRACT
A thanatologist studies the medical, psychological, and sociological aspects of death and the ways that people deal with it. I became a thanatologist at age 10 when my father died and I was face to face with a “major” death for the first time. I became a thanatologist before I knew what it meant or even how to spell the word. I truly became a thanatologist during seminary when my philosophy professor defined religion as man’s response to his finitude, his infinite striving, and his finite factuality. In essence, as human beings, we want to live forever, yet we know we are mortal and we deal with our mortality every day of our lives, and religion helps us to reconcile this knowledge. On each birthday we inch a bit closer to the inevitable understanding that we are aging. We confront it when some life-threatening scenario occurs, such as a car accident or a medical emer - gency. We face it when deciding whether or not to buy life insurance or when making estate plans. Finally, I became a thanatologist when I attended my first International Conference of Death and Dying in London, Ontario, with Dr. Jack Morgan. Learning from some of the pioneers in the field, I was sold on this being a critical area of study for anyone who wants to make the most of their days left. I was reminded that one has to fully confront one’s finitude so as to live life with meaning and purpose and as fully as possible each and every day. Along the way I discovered that many of us only associate grief and mourning with the death of a person, but psychosocial losses can equally drive us into depression and lead to stress and melancholy. Darcy Harris reminds us in Counting Our Losses that we need to consider the losses when something dies within us (Harris, 2011). We need to consider that when we are forced to view
our-selves differently and are challenged to rethink our self-esteem, then we often enter the grieving process. We may or may not recognize this, and our sense of loss may consume us, but ultimately we will come out of this period a changed person. Nonfinite loss is usually precipitated by a major life change that dashes our dreams and changes our sense of self. We feel sorrow as aging or health crises cause a loss of physical or intellectual function. We mourn the death of a loved one and grieve a divorce and/or loss of a relationship. Grief can occur when we move from our home, leaving behind a lifetime of memories. At retirement we often find it agonizing to adjust to the new rhythms of life, even though we looked forward to this time. Some find it distressing to leave behind colleagues and those to whom we ministered in times of crisis and celebration. Just because we plan for retirement and think we are ready does not lessen a whole host of emotions during the transition. A person should not be surprised that it feels like something inside has died. He/she should not be surprised that like other losses, we find ourselves lamenting what was, and fearful of what will be. One is a precipitous decline in self-esteem around the time of retirement. In their longitudinal study, Ulrich Orth and associates at University of Basel in Switzerland suggest that the relative stability of career and family life in middle age contributes to high self-esteem, but that retirement, declining health, and an “empty nest” can all detract from it (Orth, Trzesniewski, & Robins, 2010a). In retirement, we leave a piece of ourselves behind and enter a new phase without the me we once knew. Anticipation, planning, and reading this book may soften the blow, yet they cannot completely preclude despair when our career has ended. If you are aware, however, of what is normal during the days ahead, and if you are willing to allow yourself to grieve the loss of your former self rather than ignoring it, then indeed your journey to an enriched life in the final chapters of your book of life will be made easier and more comprehendible. After a lifetime of counseling and advising others through life changes, it is ironic that we clergy lack a professional support system that understands the trials we endure upon retirement. Many of us confront the dilemma of with whom to share our anguish and sorrow. Some counselors comprehend ambiguous grief and some even specialize in the clergy world. However, many either do not understand or think that nonfinite grief is trivial. It would greatly help if denominational groups were to establish opportunities for retired clergy and those nearing retirement to share their experiences. The atmosphere would give permission to vent and to grieve. In such a setting, fellow colleagues would listen, not to judge or give advice, but to let others share their feelings. Writes Rabbi David Wolpe, “What loss cries for is not to be fixed or to be explained, but to be shared, and eventually, to find its way to meaning” (Wolpe, 1999, p. 15). To help us understand how some clergy adjust to retirement, we reached out to some retired clergy from multiple denominations in an unscientific survey (see Appendix II) and throughout the book we have included some of the comments of the 130 who responded. Perhaps reflecting on others’ responses will stimulate
contemplation and add some clarity to your particular circumstance. We hope that the voices of fellow travelers can serve as sources of comfort to you.
