Grief as Cognitive Dissonance

I’m not entirely sure why, but I am very occupied with defining grief, as though understanding grief and its stages will somehow make this process easier. And no, I don’t need to be told how unlikely this is.

I feel that the most complicated thing about grief is that the source of that which brought so much light, love, and joy to your life suddenly becomes the source of profound pain and even trauma. And you cannot understand how to hold these two realities side by side in your head.

Simply Psychology defines cognitive dissonance in the following: “Festinger’s (1957) cognitive dissonance theory suggests that we have an inner drive to hold all our attitudes and behavior in harmony and avoid disharmony (or dissonance). This is known as the principle of cognitive consistency. When there is an inconsistency between attitudes or behaviors (dissonance), something must change to eliminate the dissonance.” – https://www.simplypsychology.org/cognitive-dissonance.html

I have been struggling with this for some time because I cannot mentally reconcile that my baby, the source of my greatest joy and love on this planet is now the source of my greatest pain. Lizzy was to me everything that was light, life, love, joy–everything in this life worth living for. And now that she is gone, all of these things not only seem to be stripped of meaning, but the countless, endless ways in which she touched my life now bring excruciating pain when they are remembered.

For example, I had as the background on my phone a picture of me holding and nuzzling Lizzy in a lavender field. She is holding a sprig of lavender with a huge smile on her face and I have a huge smile on my face, buried in her neck, about to kiss her. This is the lock screen. On the background of my phone once you open it up was a picture of Lizzy on all fours, looking up at the camera with a gorgeous mischievous smile, in the middle of a grassy field where she was playing. She has a pink bow on her head, and light is dancing from her eyes.

For the first month after her death, I could not physically cope with the reality of dealing with my phone, so my sisters made all of my calls for me. But after Cecilia was born, I gradually started to use my phone again. However, the pain of seeing both of these photos of Lizzy was so acute that sometimes I would open my phone, see her there smiling at me, and then either end up crying or end up staring numbly and forgetting what I had opened my phone to do.

Eventually, I chose to change the background photo when you open the phone to a photo of Cecilia. This seemed to allow me to do whatever I need to do when I open the phone. However, I could not bring myself to change the photo of me and Lizzy in the lavender field that is on the lock screen. And this is complicated for many reasons.

First, I refuse to erase Lizzy, no matter how much pain it causes me. Second, I have two daughters, not one. So, I feel it is necessary and appropriate to have both my daughters on the backgrounds to my phone. Third, Lizzy is still deeply present to me, and I have no reason to believe that she will not remain that way. I am not going to delete her. Finally, this picture brings me so much pain because of how much I love her. Regardless of how much pain this continues to bring me, I would never have chosen to have not loved Lizzy, and I will not now pretend she is not there.

But this is the cognitive dissonance: more often than not, right now, I do not look at the picture of me and Lizzy when I go to open my phone. The grief that swallows me whole when I do gets in the way of whatever I’m opening up my phone to do. This utterly beautiful memory, this gorgeous angel-child, this love that aches through every cell of my body, is also that which is causing such indescribable pain. Lizzy is now the source of both unimaginable joy and unutterable pain. And to hold both so constantly in tension makes me feel as though my brain is breaking.

Of course, the issue with grief is that there is nothing to be done to eliminate the dissonance; it cannot be solved or remedied or brought back into balance. The only solution to grief, as far as I can tell, is to die yourself.

At this point, I am fairly sure of this. But this does not mean that I am going to kill myself or that I think that suicide is the only answer. No: I think death is the only answer, but death does not have to mean suicide.

I will grieve Lizzy until I die. I cannot be with Lizzy until I die. Death is the only way for me to be with Lizzy again and death is the only thing that can end my grief. So death is the solution. But, I also live with the reality that I have two daughters, and Cecilia’s need for me is much more immediate, urgent, and continuous than is Lizzy’s need for me. In fact, as discussed before, Lizzy is entirely beyond the concept of need, generally. Lizzy, though she may still love and want me, no longer needs me, and certainly not in comparison to how much Cecilia needs me.

Now, the question before me is what state do I leave Cecilia in? If I were to commit suicide, Cecilia would be left in an infinitely vulnerable and helpless state. I am not only her mother; I am her entire ecosystem right now. No: the answer must be to leave Cecilia in as self-sufficient a position as possible, preferably when she is an adult, has her own family and support system, and when my loss will least negatively affect her. That is my duty to Cecilia as her mother, and I would have done no less for Lizzy, had she lived.

And yet, I now have this goal of reaching Lizzy. And the only way to do that is to make time pass until I die. So the question becomes: what do I do with that time? I have already mentioned what I must do for Cecilia, but what must I do for myself and for Lizzy? I suppose my current working theory is that I must memorialize and give honor to Lizzy’s life as much as possible. I need to remember for those who might forget her. I need to remember for those who never knew her. I need to remember for Cecilia. I need to remember for myself.

And I need Lizzy to somehow become a part of my current life, in whatever ways that begins to manifest or feels right. I am not sure right now what that looks like.

As for what I must do for myself; I think I must stay healthy and well for Cecilia. I must take care of myself, and I must work towards the dreams and goals that I had for my children even when Lizzy was still alive. I must do this for Cecilia and for any other children I may have in the amorphous future. I must make time pass, and during that time, I must make sure that my girls are remembered. That their lives matter. I must make sure that when I leave, people will remember Lizzy’s life and how she affected the people who knew and loved her, and I must make sure that Cecilia has the wherewithal to fight for and achieve her own dreams to change the world. This must be my mission moving forward.

Now, as to HOW to do this? I am very unclear. I have no answers, and that seems to be a phrase I end up repeating every day because of how sure I am about it. So far, this seems to be my game plan, and for right now, it has to be enough.

1. Take it day by day. Sometimes, take it hour by hour. If necessary, take it minute by minute.
2. Be the best mother to Cecilia that I am capable of being at any given day, hour, or minute.
3. Write about Lizzy. Go to therapy. Attend group grief meetings.
4. Pray.
5. Make time pass.

Because time passing serves the dual function of making grief one day further from Lizzy’s death and of bringing me one day closer to my own. This seems to be the most concrete path to Lizzy. But the questions remain: what do I do with the time that is passing; how do I make that matter, and what do I owe Cecilia?

Like I said, I have no answers, only guesses.