Art Therapy for Grief
Creating and connecting with art is healing for me. Whenever I want to be alone with my thoughts I turn to some form of art therapy. This usually includes gardening, cooking, or crochet.
My Grammie was my everything growing up. Around the age of 5 or 6 she taught my sister and I how to crochet. We both picked up on this handicraft immediately and would sit around for hours - the three of us - working our hands practically to the point of arthritis. I didn’t know how to read actual patterns back then. Instead, I would get an image in my head of what I wanted to make and try to bring it to life through trial and error. When I wanted to make a dress for my Cabbage Patch doll I just continuously held my work-in-progress up to the doll and worked around her until I had created something that resembled a dress. Grammie (an expert in crochet and all things domestic) was impressed with my abilities, which made me very proud.
Grammie passed away when I was 20 years old. She was the only person I ever felt truly “got” me. When she passed . . . I was broken. For 19 years thereafter the only way I really felt connected to her was through crochet. Over the years I have even left crocheted gifts at her grave with a note to whomever finds it, just in case she is watching.
What happened after 19 years??
My son was was born.
The minute Greyson was lifted from my body I felt a rush of completeness over me that I had not felt since Grammie left this world. He even looked like her. A perfectly angelic, little boy version of my Grammie. I named him after her as best I could. His middle name was her maiden name.
When Greyson’s health began to seriously decline - two weeks before he passed - he was placed on a ventilator. From that point on I could no longer hold him in my lap as I had done every day before then. I needed something to occupy my time and began crocheting dozens of little heart-shaped pins in all different colors. After I’d finish a batch I’d walk the floor of the CVICU handing out pins to all of the nurses on duty. Word got out about the cute pins and I had doctors, social workers, etc., coming in to our room, asking if they, too, could have a heart pin. I took comfort in knowing people were interested in my silly little passage of time. Five years later I have heard that many still have their heart pins attached to their name badges and they remember our time together. They remember him.
Before Greyson, Grammie had been the most significant loss of my life. So much of the grief that had consumed me for the past 19 years suddenly disappeared when he arrived. And then he, too, passed. I worried that the loss of my son - my only child - would push me into a deep, dark place that I might never be able to get out of. With time, I knew I had to find something that would help bring me some amount of joy just to survive.
Back to my roots. I picked up a crochet hook and some yarn and began working on another vision in my head, just as I had done as a kid. With no formal pattern I crocheted a Ruth Bader Ginsburg doll. Some time later, my sister told me that our Dad had mentioned to her that I’d made the doll and referred to me as an “expert crocheter.” It seemed the more grief that consumed me, the more I crocheted, and the better I became at it. The same can be said for my gardening and cooking skills, too, I suppose.
For the record, I have since learned to read crochet patterns. Not from anyone in particular; I am self-taught. And I don’t consider myself an expert by any means. I’m just a young girl who grew up to be a mom and continues to use a set of quiet, old school skills to cope with her grief. The art of crochet is cathartic for me and my work has become a tribute to both my Grammie and my son.
I highly encourage those who are grieving to explore a type of art therapy that works for them: visual arts, music, dance, writing, etc. It certainly isn’t a substitute for professional mental health support, but may provide some healthy relief in the interim. For me, doing something that brought me comfort in the past helps calm my thoughts, allows me to think through my emotions, and redirects my attention to something other than what I am missing. Whatever your muse, allow yourself to enjoy it. Allow yourself to cope. Allow yourself to smile.
For those who are interested in some of the projects that have helped my healing process, please visit my Squirrel Shop. Every purchase supports charities that are especially close to my heart.
