Pt. 4 A Grief Observed

It has taken me a long time to get back to this promised post about grief and loss because my heart hasn't seemed to have the courage to work through these thoughts and ideas. So tonight I am going to give it my best shot. Be gracious kind readers.

As a Freshman at my college you are required to take a strengths finder test, my top 2 were: Harmony and Empathy. First and foremost I'm the peace maker. I'm that person that hates drama and fights and even structured debates in class. I won't voice my opinion if it is going to cause controversy and I tend to let people walk over me. I want everyone to agree (even at my own expense), I want them to get along and love one another. ha! But secondly, my heart beats with empathy. This is something that runs deeper then just sympathy.

Sympathy: feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else's misfortune.
Empathy: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.
When your heart breaks, my heart breaks with you. I'm that person that cries in the movies or cringe in pain when someone gets hurt. (Also, fun fact: a tendency of an empathetic person is to pick up quickly on gestures of people around you because you are deeply engaged in their body language and emotions!)
When you grieve, I grieve.

One Sunday during finals week I was at Starbucks pretending to study for my exam when I got a call from one of my residents. It was one of those calls you never expect or wish for. She told me the news that her father had passed away. I had that pit-in-my-stomach, heaviness-in-my-heart, searching-for-any-possible-right-words moment. As an RA I am invested in these girls lives and even though it is not always easy, I really love them and want the best for them. In this moment, my heart broke for this girl who I spent the last semester getting to know. The following week I thought greatly on grief (where much of these posts starting formulating).

I thought about my friend from the mission field who had lost her mother last year. I remember not messaging her because we were never super close and I didn't know what to say. I had a conversation with someone about loss and they said that there really are no words you can say, but sometimes saying something is better then the silence. I finally wrote this girl 6 months later and told her that I never messaged her because I knew my words didn't feel like they were enough. I sent my love, encouragement and prayers. I knew that was what was what I should have done all along. I learned that not saying something is the selfish thing to do because it puts us out of our own discomfort.
Last week another resident of mine experienced another traumatic loss in her life. I am not particularly close with this resident and I did not know the words that would ease her pain. I kept walking away from my phone until I finally decided to be brave enough to say something. I sent the following message, "...saw the news and I am fully aware that there are really no right words that can make anything like this better, but know I was thinking about you this morning. Praying for peace and comfort. I'm always a listening ear also. See you in January!" There was a day in my life where I would have thought this was not substantial enough, but when I sent these words I knew that sometimes less is more. I wanted her to know that I knew and that I cared. No amount of eloquent speech would add value to that. 

My RD and I decided to go to the funeral of my residents father, and it was one of the most enriching experiences. The night before I went, I skimmed C.S. Lewis' book "A Grief Observed". Lewis wrote this shortly after the passing of his wife. I found it very raw and honest as you can tell he is writing out his thoughts and not even editing them because he'll follow up a paragraph by explaining that he wrote that in a moment of anger or he'll clarify something. It also reflected greatly on what a good marriage looks like, because he and his wife had an incredible one. But mostly he talked about how real and painful death is. He talked about how it is something that needs to be acknowledged and not swept under the rug. He said something along the lines of "Death is real! If we do not acknowledge death to be real we might as well say that birth isn't real either" (paraphrased). The extend of pain that permeates everyday is expounded upon. "A death of a loved one is an amputation" he says. Lewis is writing on the pain of loss but I like that he notes how real it is, how real the pain is and allows himself to express and feel it. I love the title "A Grief Observed" because I think all too often culture makes it "a grief submerged". As I have said before, (to a healthy degree) we need to allow ourselves time and space to grieve.

The funeral was beautiful. It was evident that this man was an incredible man of God who had the heart of a servant. He cared for his family and loved his wife wildly. Watching his family support each other and lean on the Lord was inspiring. There is so much I could say about the funeral but I'm just going to say it was an honor to be present and leave it at that because I feel it is important to respect that space. We got to stay until the end where I got to hug my resident. In that moment my love and support was the only thing I knew to do. My words have never felt more inadequate. My prayers never felt more feeble. I told her that we were there for her and I squeezed her with all the love I could give.

Like Lewis, I know that sometimes the hardest days are the quiet and still ones that follow the initial shock.This girl loves elephants and so when I was at the World Market the next day I stumbled upon these small wood elephants and I bought one. The elephant sat next to my bed to remind me to pray for her every time I saw it. Prayers for peace and love go out to her.

I'd love to hear your input and reflections on grief and loss. I'm still gaining perspective on this expansive topic. What do you think is the right thing or wrong thing to say to someone going through this kind of experience? Comment below.