By Gerri Graves
This piece of a poem is about the pain that comes after the pain.
The hollow shell of a person who follows immense sorrow. Where you argue on the hour, if you could or should go on at all. It’s heavy. Exhausting. Nothing inspires. Nothing gets done. Every breath feels like a betrayal.
It’s like taking pictures of a day at the beach…and the sun is snipped out of each one. There’s a hole in every scene where someone used to be.
Life is incomplete. Life will remain incomplete.
When I experienced loss, I locked myself away. Stopped returning calls. Perpetually busy when the invites came. Hid behind a locked door when someone would dare to visit in person.
Some of the advice that was forced on me after the loss was unconscionable. I honestly couldn’t bear to hear one more word of it.
I’d like to think they meant well, but it’s hard to excuse some of the statements uttered. Perhaps we, as people, are unaware of what to say. We don’t like to talk about death or the uncomfortable silence that comes after. We need to fill that silence with words; otherwise, the silence might be contagious. Sorrow might be communicable.
It occurred to me that maybe I could dispel some common misnomers. Even the uncommon ones. I’m not a professional, but I can speak from experience.
If you find yourself in the company of someone in the deep throes of sorrow this holiday season, here are some words born out of experience that might help you navigate the conversation instead of avoiding it altogether.
Silence
Most of us will be stuck in a room with family and friends who bring their baggage with them. Grief does not take a holiday. If silence is all they can muster, sit with them in silence. Let them BE silent. Try not to let the discomfort that accompanies silence rule the conversation…..or lack thereof. It isn’t about you and your discomfort. It’s about one human needing another human. Even if it’s just living in the quiet for a moment.
If they want to talk, let them.
Try not to fix them or give unsolicited advice. Let them talk it out, uninterrupted. Listening is one of the best gifts you can offer someone who is grieving.
There is no time limit on grief.
Every one of us grieves differently. There is no wrong way. Some recover quickly, while others never recover. They just learn to live with their new reality. Giving a time limit to one’s grief is hurtful, even if you mean well.
The replacement
I had someone actually tell me, “You can always have more children.” Like she was a truck that broke down! You cannot replace a loved one with another loved one. It just doesn’t work like that.
“She was a very sick little girl….”- That one hurt just as much as the one above. Being aware that someone is sick does nothing to prepare you for a death. She deserved to live just as much as any other child.
Avoidance
Avoiding the name of the person who’s passed feels as if they never existed at all. I think you’ll find some prefer not to talk about them until they feel more in control of their emotions. But some want to talk about them and remember the joy they brought into the world. This one, you’ll have to navigate carefully. I belong to the latter category. I wanted to remember her often. Use her name often. But my ex, he couldn’t say her name without crying. I would wait until they approach you with it. You’ll know where to go from there.
Honor and legacy
I know families that set a place at the holiday table for their family member who has passed on. I keep a photo on my dresser and light a candle under it. Some sponsor benches or trees in parks. There is a long list somewhere of all that is done in the name of a loved one, I’m sure. I’ll add one more- perhaps donate money to a charity in honor of the departed and give it to the family at Christmas. Maybe buy a Christmas dinner box for a needy family, in the name of the loved one. It’s a way of saying- I still remember them and wanted you to know that I remember them.
These are just the tip of the iceberg, but I’ll leave off here. I think the key here is just to be present for those who are experiencing grief. Squeeze their hands. Meet their eyes. Listen with all your heart.
It’s especially hard this time of year. When family get-togethers spotlight the one who is missing. We don’t talk enough about grief. Often, we avoid conversations about it. We tiptoe around the bereaved and quietly pretend that it never happened. It’s Christmas. No one wants a Debbie downer under the tree. But grief is a natural part of life. It’ll happen to all of us one day. The hand that reaches today may be that hand that receives in the future.
Because we loved her so hard, her loss is harder. It speaks volumes to how special she was that I cannot mend her absence.
Someone out there knows exactly how that feels. I see you. I hope I touched on the topics you’d want to talk about when you’re ready to talk about them.