One thing we found so true in losing Nathanael arises in losing my Mum. Whereas when we were losing Nathanael people might say, ‘Well, at least you won’t have the hard ordeal of bringing up a disabled child,” now it’s something like, “Well, your mother was sick for a very long time,” as if these things said make any sense in the situation of grief we find ourselves in.
What may be true can also be a gross case of emotional bypassing, where the person uttering the insensitive truth cuts off the opportunity of connecting with the one grieving through a lack of empathy—that is, resisting or refusing to stand in the grieving one’s shoes.
What I want to say to my world right now, as I cope with a truth that threatens to tear me in two, even as our whole family reels with the loss of our matriarch, is stop the nonsense talk, and bear the strength of empathy by simply being present. You do not need to say anything! Indeed, just holding a little space, sharing the moment of pain with me, that’s what I need.
I also don’t need you to rescue me. Indeed, in attempting such insanity, you’ll make things worse. Don’t come when you see me sob and think your words will make it better. A hand on the shoulder is all that’s needed. Or catching my gaze, a look of connection. Accept the sanctity of grief in the precious sacredness of lament. It actually works marvellously! Simply put, tell yourself, “I can’t fix this or make it better, and that’s okay.”
Oftentimes in my own case, I find that I do grieve best alone, and I have complete faith that the tears and time in lament are themselves the salve I need.
Please don’t think you can “heal” me or fix the situation somehow by your words. Words simply threaten to betray empathy and possibly prove a paucity of understanding.
Perhaps offer by your silence that you’re willing to listen, IF I’m willing to share. The truth is my wife I’ll share with. Sometimes with others, but if me not sharing with you hurts you, that’s not my problem, it’s yours.
The less we DO to “heal” people in grief the better the outcome. This does not stop us from offering practical support, just make sure the offers are based in a heart that simply wants to give, i.e., without strings attached. Simply holding space and being present with a person in pain is the empathy that will promote healing itself.
In my situation, it’s true that my mother battled poor health for two or three decades. It inspires me what she put up with. It’s wrong and dishonourable to her memory for anyone to say, “well, your mother WAS sick for a very long time.” Like, “her death was a long time coming, and that ought to help you in your grief.” Well, it doesn’t! As if saying such a thing will do any good. Those words cut me off from my lament, and instead of my feeling your empathy, I feel angry that you robbed me of your empathy just to make your point.
Don’t make your point. Please. Don’t be “right” because in being “right” you’re being unkind. If you can see this, you have a compassionate spirit, but if you can’t, you really don’t get it. By being “right,” in making your point, however true it might be, you engage in emotional bypassing.
What happens in emotional bypassing is our pure primary emotional response of lamenting sorrow is cut off and the secondary response of indignant anger takes its place. This is how people are robbed of the purity of their grief that would, with a little time and care, heal them.
AFTERWORD: my father had his fledgling faith shipwrecked many years ago when a minister visited with my parents after they’d suffered the stillbirth of my little sister, Debbie. It was only one thing that was said that upset my Dad at that precious time. “Something beautiful will emerge out of this...” was what was said. It didn’t need to be said.
Interestingly, what was said actually came true—my youngest brother was born. BUT even though something beautiful might probably have come out of such a tragedy, it not only didn’t need to be said, but it set Dad on a path of interrupted grief for many years, and he certainly had no time for faith. Instead, had that minister been gentle and patient, and importantly not tried to bypass my Dad’s emotions, he may well have been in a great position to disciple Dad through his silent yet present care.
NOTE: please don’t expect me to engage with any comments you might have at present. I love your encouragement, but I don’t need to fawn my pleasure by engaging with comments. I’ve said what I feel needs to be said.
No comments:
Post a Comment