Say what?
Today's rant is about our American culture and how we approach loss, losing and grief. Of course, my brain has been noodling on this for a LONG time. Recently I watched the British TV drama "Broadchurch". I was surprised to see the Brits grappling with grief in such an accurate way and embracing the intensity of the insatiable longing for the son/brother/friend that was lost. I wonder if they work through grief dynamically different than us? Or is this screenwriter unique in his approach? Who knows? But since a trusted adviser told me my Fifth Chakra is out of balance and I needed to speak my truth I figured, why not?
Not long ago I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a while. We exchanged pleasantries and then before saying goodbye I asked after his friend who had recently lost her husband. He said she was doing "okay" but of course it was extraordinarily difficult. And then he said, "some day I will have to connect you two" ... long pause ... "but would you even have anything encouraging to say?" To which I surmised "yeah maybe not".
This conversation has come back to me many times already and it completely amuses me on so many levels. My first thought is this ... is there really anything to say to someone who's whole world has turned upside down? The love of her life and partner is gone and she is left to singlehandedly raise the kids. All the things that a parenting team of two did will now have to be done by the one survivor. Not to mention the massive identity crisis she will eventually have to wrestle with. What could possible be said? I think my well meaning friend has missed a crucial piece of the puzzle and one that frankly our culture does not understand. There really is little if anything to say. When loss strikes, the survivor need friends that will stand with them in their mess, weep with them in their shattered world, hold them up when they don't have the strength to keep going. There is just so little that needs to be said. I think this is a problem in our culture. People are frightened over what they are going to say when all they need to do is show up. In fact, the fewer words the better, because you will probably put your foot in your mouth if you have not experienced a loss of the magnitude of your friend.
My second thought is ... am I doing life so badly that he doesn't think of me as having anything important to contribute to this dear soul who has been left to pick up all the pieces of shattered and broken dreams and walk out of her ash heap into the land of the living? I have to discard his comment as a reflection on me doing life badly but again a shallowness in our culture and incapacity to understand the complexity of losing someone so intricately bound to yourself. I just really do believe that getting out of bed is enough for anyone in this situation. But I have gone on to do so much more than just get out of bed each day and to have that dissed just really sort of has gotten under my skin.
I have noticed that the long years of grief and accompanying metamorphosis from the girl most would have voted least likely to survive the loss of her husband to frantic mom with high stress career who somehow manages to be nice to people some of the time while she is juggling work, house, home life, parenting and everything in between ... these four years have taught me to stifle my despair. While this has made me successful, at least, at my job, I have lost my voice. My true voice. The reality is, it makes the people around me FEEL BETTER if I'm not writhing in pain and so I have hidden from the world, from our culture, and to a certain extent myself. And so I find that my personal success and the success I have had at hiding my internal wrestling about all that has been lost has cost me my voice, my authentic self. Ironically, my authenticity juxtaposed against intensity, were perhaps the traits that Brian loved most about me.
Not long ago I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a while. We exchanged pleasantries and then before saying goodbye I asked after his friend who had recently lost her husband. He said she was doing "okay" but of course it was extraordinarily difficult. And then he said, "some day I will have to connect you two" ... long pause ... "but would you even have anything encouraging to say?" To which I surmised "yeah maybe not".
This conversation has come back to me many times already and it completely amuses me on so many levels. My first thought is this ... is there really anything to say to someone who's whole world has turned upside down? The love of her life and partner is gone and she is left to singlehandedly raise the kids. All the things that a parenting team of two did will now have to be done by the one survivor. Not to mention the massive identity crisis she will eventually have to wrestle with. What could possible be said? I think my well meaning friend has missed a crucial piece of the puzzle and one that frankly our culture does not understand. There really is little if anything to say. When loss strikes, the survivor need friends that will stand with them in their mess, weep with them in their shattered world, hold them up when they don't have the strength to keep going. There is just so little that needs to be said. I think this is a problem in our culture. People are frightened over what they are going to say when all they need to do is show up. In fact, the fewer words the better, because you will probably put your foot in your mouth if you have not experienced a loss of the magnitude of your friend.
My second thought is ... am I doing life so badly that he doesn't think of me as having anything important to contribute to this dear soul who has been left to pick up all the pieces of shattered and broken dreams and walk out of her ash heap into the land of the living? I have to discard his comment as a reflection on me doing life badly but again a shallowness in our culture and incapacity to understand the complexity of losing someone so intricately bound to yourself. I just really do believe that getting out of bed is enough for anyone in this situation. But I have gone on to do so much more than just get out of bed each day and to have that dissed just really sort of has gotten under my skin.
I have noticed that the long years of grief and accompanying metamorphosis from the girl most would have voted least likely to survive the loss of her husband to frantic mom with high stress career who somehow manages to be nice to people some of the time while she is juggling work, house, home life, parenting and everything in between ... these four years have taught me to stifle my despair. While this has made me successful, at least, at my job, I have lost my voice. My true voice. The reality is, it makes the people around me FEEL BETTER if I'm not writhing in pain and so I have hidden from the world, from our culture, and to a certain extent myself. And so I find that my personal success and the success I have had at hiding my internal wrestling about all that has been lost has cost me my voice, my authentic self. Ironically, my authenticity juxtaposed against intensity, were perhaps the traits that Brian loved most about me.
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