Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Empowering Lament


The tragic deaths of ten people at Santa Fe High School last week reminds us that not all grief is the same.  Ten families are experiencing a grief that is both sudden and traumatic.  My heart goes out to them and to those who are walking with them through that dark and lonely valley.

As a Hospice Chaplain, I have walked with many whose grief resulted from a “good death.”  This is a death of someone who was able to prepare as best they could and find comfort, if not peace, in their last days.  The families that surrounded them were able to find solace in their family member or friend’s comfort as they prepared, as best they could, for the moment and aftermath of the death.  However, as a Chaplain and Pastor I have also observed those who must survive  a sudden, traumatic loss of a child, parent, companion, or close friend.  These two experiences of grief are both painful and deserve to be respected.  But, they can be quite different.

Any death is painful.  As a general rule, the closer the deceased is to us, the more profound our grief.  But when that loss comes suddenly and tragically, it becomes something more.  It can be, and often is, life shattering.

The sudden and traumatic circumstances magnify the effect of the loss on our whole being, our spirit.  Our body-mind-soul experience is broken down.  We find ourselves unable to cope with the loss.  We have not had the opportunity to walk through how we might act-think-feel in anticipation of the loss.  We are likely facing an unthinkable situation that we have never anticipated.  We are surrounded by a thick, impenetrable forest of feelings while trying to make funeral arrangements, call and support family, deal with unexpected expenses, and get through a day that we never imagined would happen.

Unfortunately, we have faced these moments from the very beginning of time.  Many cultures teach us the ancient wisdom of need for lament before we begin to deal with anything thing else.  The human spirit needs to experience the deep sorrow, hurt, and anger that are part of sudden and traumatic deaths.  Lamentation is like a pressure bandage on a deep wound.  It helps slow the loss of “blood” until we can regain our balance.  Lamentation is first aid for the human spirit!  It allows us to get acquainted with the pain, anger, etc.  while helping us to retain a sense of vitality within ourselves.   From such lamentation comes a rediscovery of the will to survive.  It offers us time to find the energy to deal with what has to be done.

Lamentation helps us  to focus on the tangle of decisions, beliefs, and feelings.  We are caught up in that tangle.  We know we have to deal with them.   But the shock of a sudden and traumatic loss steals our focus and energy to deal with them.  I have heard this described as being numb, anesthetized from the pain.  Lament allows us to feel the pain.  It allows the pain to motivate us to do what needs to be done.  It allows us to focus enough to acknowledge and accept the support from those around us.  It helps us focus on what we can do when our soul feels completely and utterly helpless.  That tiny flicker of the human will contains all that we need to regain our feet so that we can take care of ourselves and those around us.  Lamentation allows us just enough energy to be able to breathe through the pain of our grief.

In the aftermath of the Santa Fe shooting, all of us need a time to lament.  Only then will we be able to rediscover the will to do what needs to be done to protect our children.  Then, and only then, with we be able to say with absolute conviction, “Never again!”

Shalom,
Bob

Monday, May 7, 2018

When Grief Piles On

Big Bend National Park in 2017

Bill and Mary had been together for over 50 years.  They had raised two children and enjoyed their five grandchildren.  Over the years they had evolved a comfortable routine.  He had his chores and she had hers.  While having their own friends and hobbies, they also enjoyed the friends and hobbies they shared.  There were difficult moments, but, if asked, they would have both agreed that they were living the “good life.”  And then one day everything changed.  Mary was taken to the hospital by ambulance and never came back.

Several months later, Bill was sitting with his morning coffee group and confessed, “I am tired of the surprises!  Losing Mary was bad enough, but I am still losing something else every day!  When will it stop?”

For many folks, losing someone is not just about the loss of a companion.  It is about hundreds of little losses that keep cropping up along the road through the shadowed valley.  They miss seeing the smile that greeted them each morning.  They miss not having to worry about laundry or bill paying or all the other jobs their companions did.  It is about eating at a table for one or just feeling sad, even when the grandkids come to visit.  It is about the comforting sounds of our companion’s sleeping next to us.  Each day, it seems, especially in the early months following the loss, these little losses keep cropping up and piling on.

In elementary school we played a game that was a cross between soccer and football.  It looked a lot like Rugby, but we didn’t know anything about that back then.   The main idea was to get the ball to the other end of the field by any means necessary.  If someone slowed down or held on to the ball too long they could be tackled and the rest of the players on both teams would then pile on as everyone tried to get the ball.   When we lose someone close to our heart we begin to feel what it was like on the bottom of a pile on.

There is no such thing as a simple loss.  The closer we are to the one who died, the more losses we experience.  The more connections that exist between us, the more losses we will experience.  Each one will take away a bit of our energy to cope but force us to cope, anyway.  Until we are able to make the adjustments, these losses will accumulate and may eventually take our figurative legs out from under us.  We will find ourselves on the floor of our lives, crying out, “I’ve fallen and can’t get up.”

These losses range from…
…the deep to the mundane,
…the foreseen to the “out of nowhere” surprise, and
    …the deeply personal to shared family and community losses.

These losses continue to accumulate making our grief more and more difficult to carry and cope.  Many have described this journey through that valley as all uphill and a path that is both steep and rocky.

What can we do?

First, our journey will be more manageable if we are able to accept that the losses will keep coming.  This will prevent us from expecting ourselves to “get over it” and encourage us to “get through it.” 

Second, we need to accept that we do not have to run up that steep and rocky path.  We need to take one step at a time, dealing with each loss as it appears.  Some of the losses will need our immediate attention, while others can simply be acknowledged and set aside until we have the time and energy to deal with them.

Third, we can allow ourselves to grow through loss and develop the coping required to endure.  These losses do not happen in order to teach us life lessons.  However, they are good opportunities to grow through and to the new life that awaits in that valley and beyond.   This could mean learning a little about being more self-sufficient or discovering how important friends and family can be.  With each loss comes the opportunity for new strength, new skills, and a new life to be lived.

Let the losses settle in and explore ways to cope with the challenges they offer.  I promise you that in the process, life will happen.  We will grow and, in time, meet the stronger, more resilient person we are becoming. 

Blessings for your journey,

Bob Dees

One day at a time sweet Jesus

That's all I'm asking from you.

Just give me the strength 

To do every day what I have to do.

(Cristy Lane)