Take Courage and Be Held
Although it’s not directly related to the outbreak of the COVID-19 virus, this post may be unintentionally more relevant to a greater number of people than when I first began writing it.
You know that feeling of uncertainty you have because of this virus? That’s grief. You know that feeling of a loss of freedom? That’s grief. You know the disappointment that comes when the highly anticipated trip you were planning just got canceled? That’s grief. You know that cloud of worry that just won’t go away? That’s grief. And you know that feeling of concern for those who are battling this virus right now? That’s grief.
The whole world is struggling with a mighty grief monster that is smaller than the human eye can see. And, from the looks of it, it’s not going away anytime soon. It’s consuming us and eating away at what was once “our normal.”
This is our “new normal.” I can’t give expert advice on how to deal with the virus, but I’ll say this: we’re in it together.
Although no one ever intends to be insensitive or inappropriate, one of the most difficult questions people ask is
“How are you doing?”
As our family is in the 16th week of a tragic life-changing event, I believe I should still be approved to say
“I’m horrible.”
What people hope to hear so that it makes them feel better is
“I’m well.”
And what I should say because of our son Carter’s positive attitude towards his unexpected life trajectory, is that
“I’m better.”
What I want to say is
“I’m coping, sometimes better than other times.”
I can work, I can shovel the driveway, I can teach, I can cook (not all that well) I can clean (very well) I can laugh, I can play and write music and I can even walk alongside friends who are struggling with their own grief.
But, I can’t answer the standard question when greeting another “How are you doing?” with the expected “Fine” because it’s not really true.
I’m not sure how to respond because our family has been pushed into a new normal that we didn’t ask for. It’s not normal to…
Live—until further notice—a four-hour flight away from my husband.
Open letters from the insurance company telling us that Carter’s latest hospital stay was denied coverage.
Head to the freezer for a meal when I’m used to a fresh home-cooked meal prepared by my husband—chef extraordinaire.
Be continually and unequally concerned about one child when we have two other wonderful sons and a daughter-in-law.
Make only one side of a king bed.
Discuss what type of prosthetic would be best for Carter.
Apply for an extension on taxes so we can get a grip on reality before we punch the numbers.
Learn that my husband is dealing with leaky pipes in a condo we’re renting in Florida while driving Carter to one or two appointments in a day and working, too.
What I hear from fellow grievers is that this “living arrangement” with grief (the initial cause of this new normal) doesn’t come with a voidable contract.
And to that I say, dammit!
Whoops, that slipped but if you’ve hung around me lately, you’ll know that I can’t be anything but transparent anymore.
This new normal has me looking for ways to understand, validate and express how I’m feeling.
There’s plenty of lament in the Bible—think David, Job and Jesus. I know they know pain. And there’s also a heap of consolation in the Bible. I admit, some verses are encouraging, especially those now linked with a contemporary lyric and tune and yet, some still feel archaic.
I’m digging into what 21st-century experts have learned about grief and it’s impact on the brain. My findings have begun to shed light on this “thing” that’s infested the life of our family and the life of so many others—similar to the Coronavirus! I was fearful about our family being isolated or sidelined because of grief; instead, it’s ushered us into good company. Apparently grief likes to take up residence in just about everybody’s household.
In addition, it has me questioning why our culture struggles with those in grief. It seems we clumsily walk alongside those who mourn. I know I have in the past. Perhaps it’s because we perceive those who suffer a loss as living IN grief, IN a world set apart. Although I understand that perception, I believe that those of us who grieve, live WITH grief; it’s now part of our DNA. We haven’t left this world for another. We’re right here, we’re just carrying an extra heavy bag of grief along with the groceries, the smart phone, the car keys, etc.
My search for answers has led to reading books given or suggested to me by friends. listening to podcasts and and watching TED talks.
So, if grief has moved in with all it’s baggage or if you know someone who carries a heavy load of grief, you may find some of my findings insightful.
1
As mentioned earlier, questions like “how are you doing?” seem trite in tragedy. That’s why this quote stuck out to me in a Kate Bowler podcast:
“The reach of language can be laughable.”
- Kelly Corrigan
In other words, your presence means more than your conversation skills. Use words if you have to.
In the meantime, I’m trying to think of a substitute for “How are you?”
Perhaps one of these?
“What’s new?”
“What’s going on in your world?”
“What’s better than yesterday?”
2
These words from David Brooks’ TED talk shed light on response to grief when it shatters reality:
“When you have one of those bad moments in life, you can either be broken, or you can be broken open. And we all know people who are broken. They've endured some pain or grief, they get smaller, they get angrier, resentful, they lash out. As the saying is, "Pain that is not transformed gets transmitted." But other people are broken open. Suffering's great power is that it's an interruption of life. It reminds you you're not the person you thought you were. “
-David Brooks
First, the phrase “interruption of life” struck me because I noticed that grief blurred my reality—my faith, my relationships, my self-esteem, my confidence, my career. It’s exactly as Brooks says: “grief showed me that I’m not the person I thought I was.”
Friend, Cathie, shared this quote that helped me think about this statement in a new way:
“My dark days made me strong. Or maybe I was already strong and they made me prove it.”
-Emery Lord
I think I’ll go with that.
Second, Brooks gave me words to address those who are concerned for our family. We’re fragile but, we aren’t broken. We haven’t stopped fighting this uphill battle and Carter is leading the way. Yes, we’ve been broken open and you’ve seen the evidence in my past blogs—it’s not pretty.
Perhaps that’s why so many people are afraid of people who are grieving? It’s scary to reach in the gaping hole of someone’s brokenness when there’s no instruction manual to fix it. Brooks’ words remind us that we don’t need to (we can’t) replace what’s been broken open but, we can step inside the darkness of the deep gash and be there ready to lean in, be present and listen.
3
This animated clip features the wisdom of Brenè Brown and illustrates what leaning into brokenness looks like. She claims there are two types of mentalities of those who attempt to offer comfort: sympathy and empathy.
4
Scripture passages can offer promises of comfort. But as I’ve said, some seem trite in tragedy.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
-Romans 8:28
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
-Jeremiah 29:11.
These are easy to quote when “all things” aren’t so bad or maybe years after a tragedy? But when a boat takes your child’s arm and despair grips your soul, grief blocks out the promise of hope. So, right now, these words from Barbara Brown Taylor speak truth:
“God provides minimum protection and maximum support.”
-Barbara Brown Taylor
God did not keep that boat from striking Carter but, He was there with him.
Chuck and I did not know if Carter was snorkeling alone or with a friend that day. Turns out that his coworker Andy was there, swam over to Carter, grabbed him and lifted him into a boat.
Carter already knew his arm was gone but when Carter saw his legs, he moaned, “It’s over, it’s over!”
Andy calmed Carter’s spirit saying, “Carter, God is with us, God is with us.”
“The hard thing about when you're in the valley is that you can't climb out; somebody has to reach in and pull you out.”
-David Brooks
Andy reached into the water, pulled Carter out and coaxed him into a place of calm and resolve. I believe that Carter is as strong as he is today in good part because Andy was there. He didn’t let Carter slip into the valley. I also believe they are both accountable to each other for making sure neither slip back into brokenness.
Now the question, what to do with all of this information if you’re living with grief and it won’t move out?
Here are two things that I grabbed on to through my discovery process:
1
Determine a motto, a saying, a meme, a verse, a hashtag—whatever works for you—and say it over and over.
Chuck’ s motto: “Charge On.”
Leila’s motto: “Take Courage.”
2
Be okay with not kicking grief out on the street. Stop trying to take control of it. Instead, live with it. Let it become part of you, a new you, even a better you. And then treat yourself. Instead of holding on with white knuckles, let go and let yourself be held by the strong arms of those who love you.
A couple of other resources to get you through:
A small book called Grief One Day at a Time.
A blog by Donna Marie Berger called Living Through Loss. Her powerful story is gripping and gives you pause for thought and for hope.
I’m wearing a courage necklace that my friend Shana gave me from the Women’s Bean Project. I adore it and it keeps me accountable to my motto.
#chargeon #takecourage
