I've been meaning to write a post like this for some time. Not because I want to shame people who have made insensitive comments to me in the last 10.5 months or so, but because of all that I've been learning in these months, and in fact, because I want to thank people who have made comforting comments to me in this time. Today, as I sit here eating a fudgsicle and rock out to a song by Alessia Cara that I think Mag would like (Scars To Your Beautiful, if you're wondering), seems as good a time as any to try to type out some of my thoughts.
[I know that most of my blog posts recently have been about grief, so if that's not what you want to read about, and you're my friend or my family member and you feel like you're supposed to read my posts, it's totally fine. I'm not going to be offended if you admit you've never read any of these, promise. ;) I am blessed to be surrounded by so many wonderful people that if this topic makes you uncomfortable, you don't need to enter into it with me. I have people who will and who do. And there are times when I don't need to talk about it, and in those times I will be happy to discuss practically anything else with you :) My purpose in writing posts like these isn't to ask for help- I am gratefully so well supported already.
My purpose is to contribute to the online body of personal writing that talks about grief, that I have been so thankful to stumble across these past months. I've found great comfort and wisdom in the words of others writing about their losses, their journeys with missing loved ones, and I hope my words can do the same for someone else. I digress!]
Grief isn't my whole life, but it has become an important part of it. I am learning how to embrace life that is happening now while still missing Maggie, how to hold the terrible and the beautiful in both hands and let them coexist. I think it's important that I clarify that I will never stop missing her, I will never stop noticing her absence, and I will never be okay with the way that she died. This doesn't mean that I am always sad, it just means that I am allowing myself the freedom to feel what I believe it is right for me to feel.
I've been wrestling through what it looks like to respond to this loss in light of my faith- a faith that was shaken when I lost Mag. In truth, it was shaken before she died, as I watched her struggle and I watched God seemingly ignore the heartfelt pleas for healing prayed by herself and a multitude of people I would consider as close to righteous as humans can get. Ironically enough, the very event-her death by suicide- that caused me to most question God's goodness/character, is the one that most compels me to believe Him. How could He allow this? How could He not intervene? And yet, my one hope of reunion with her, my one hope for her being at peace in a redeemed body and mind even as I write this, is that God is love and that she is now in Heaven with Him.
Oh, the tension.
When Jesus lost a close friend, His response- despite knowing that He was about to literally resurrect said friend- was to weep. If my God's reaction is to weep in the face of loss, even with His full knowledge of the "big picture" and even with both the power and intention to bring His friend back to life, then surely it must be okay for me to weep too, in my human state here without that omniscience and without that power over death. If loss breaks His heart, it is right for it to break my heart too, it seems. (Forgive me if I am repeating this from a former post, it's been a profound thought for me.)
I'm less angry at God now than I was a few months ago, so you might see or hear me talk about my faith a bit more, or at least with less bitterness in my voice. This doesn't mean that I've found peace about losing Maggie or that I see a reason why God allowed it. In fact, I venture a guess that I won't ever get to know that reason, if one exists, this side of Heaven.
Which brings me to the point I meant to write about to begin with...
I am the type of person who always wants to say the right thing to the hurting person. And goodness has losing Maggie taught me how HARD that can be. Phrases like "everything happens for a reason" are phrases I once used to enjoy. I probably even said that phrase in the past to someone who was hurting and patted myself on the back for offering up such a helpful, hopeful platitude. Now I grimace at my former self. But I meant well. And so do the people who repeat my mistakes. It's important that I note here that, based on my own experience,
it is better to say something, anything, even the wrong thing, than to say nothing at all. That simple truth will underlie everything I am about to write. Having said that, there are things you can say that are helpful and things that are not-so-helpful. Maybe it's comforting for you to hear that your loss happened for a reason. For me, it isn't. Because I don't know the reason why, and I might never in my lifetime. And even if I did know the reason, would that really make it hurt less? I don't think so. What qualifies as helpful vs. not helpful will differ from person to person, so these examples I'll list will only be for me and my experience.
Not-so-helpful:
1. God is in control.
2. This happened/everything happens for a reason.
3. God must have needed him/her more than we did.
4. Time heals all wounds.
5. I know exactly what you're going through.
^I should note that some things can be true without being helpful. Certain words can be helpful for some, in certain circumstances, and not helpful for those same people in different circumstances, can be not helpful for different people in those same circumstances. We will misspeak, we will say things we shouldn't and we will not say things that we should. Love covers over a multitude of sins. And actions really do speak louder than words. And being present is more important than saying the right thing.
And yet it is still worthwhile to endeavor to say something that may truly be a comfort, and not pour salt in fresh wounds. (Please see the excellent song "Not Right Now" by Jason Gray).
Helpful:
1. (This is so sad, and) I don't know what to say.
2. I'm really sorry this is happening/happened to you.
3. He/she (who you lost) touched my life in a significant way.
4. I would like to bring you food, who should I talk to about this?
(Bonus points if through asking around you've already coordinated with others to find out what is needed, to not repeat a dish, to find a convenient time to drop it off, and to make something that can stay frozen for a while)
5. I went through something similar, and while I don't know exactly what you're going through, I know it must suck.
6. If you want company, I am happy to come and just sit/walk/be with you. Call me any time.
(Bonus points if you make it clear there's no pressure to call)
^It's also super helpful to follow up any of these phrases by letting the grieving person know that you don't expect them to reply any time soon. That you understand they must be overwhelmed, that you want them to do whatever they need to do to cope, that you're there if they want you to be and not if they don't. This communicates that you are recognizing their time of crisis and placing their need to cope over your need to feel like a good friend/family member/what-have-you. Everyone processes grief in unique ways, and often in different ways throughout the hours, weeks, days, months, and years after the loss.
Speaking on my own experience... When I got the news that Maggie died, I cried alone in my room for a short time before knocking on my roommate's door and waking her up. She gave me a really big hug and said she was so sorry and didn't ask me any questions at all, which was what I needed at that time. She is a blessing. At a certain point, I did want to discuss details about that terrible night, but when it felt like I was swirling into a dark hole was not that time. She is one of the friends who has listened to me many times since then, and she's also helped in really tangible ways like bringing me pants which I forgot to pack in my daze of shock.
In the days that followed, despite the fact that I am usually quite extroverted, I found it really difficult to be around more than a few people at a time. I was so exhausted trying to manage my own emotions, that I felt it nearly impossible to try to help others manage their emotions as well. Even though I didn't need to manage their emotions- many didn't need or want me to- unfortunately it's a part of my personality that was difficult to get past at the time, and so I didn't accept many offers for company. I ignored texts and calls from people who I love who love me. It was just too much. I asked a best friend to be there with me nearly constantly for the week between Mag's death and the memorial service. She's definitely awesome, and she's experienced the loss of a close family member as well, but it wasn't that she had some magic words that others didn't have, and it wasn't because I loved her better than my other friends. It was simply reactionary, it was what made sense to me at the time, it was what felt tolerable, what felt helpful. She put food on my plate that she knew I would like, and threw it away for me when I couldn't eat it. She proofread the words I wrote to be read at the service. She handed me tissues, she sat in silence, she cried with me, she watched episodes of HGTV on Netflix with me. She talked to our other friends for me and updated them, and she stacked cards for me to read when I was ready. She is a blessing. And so are the many who reached out that I was not able to connect with at that time. It was incredibly humbling to, in the midst of the hardest part of my life thus far, be contacted by literally hundreds of people who wanted to express their condolences, offer their help, let me know they were praying and thinking and caring for me. In the months since then I hope I've been able to thank everyone personally who reached out (if I missed you, please know I do appreciate your care!).
A couple of my friends have joked with me that I should write a book about all of this. And maybe someday I will. I've read some good blogs and books, but I've stumbled across little that deals specifically with losing someone to suicide, very little that deals with losing a sibling to suicide (usually focused on losing a child to suicide), and almost nothing on losing a younger sibling to suicide (a few I've found were younger sibs grieving a lost older sib). It is true that loss is loss- while each is unique, there are some deep similarities in the human experience with grief that transcend the specifics. Maybe someday I'll use pieces of these blog posts to form a larger piece. I've also been collecting brilliant quotes and lyrics from others that bring me comfort, and maybe sometime I'll compile those into a post too.
For now, I just wanted to get these thoughts and lessons written down, and say that I SO appreciate the folks in my life who are muddling through all of this with me. Seriously appreciate. I cannot express in words how valuable it is to have people in my life who are totally comfortable laughing and crying with me, even in the span of just a few minutes.
I am so blessed. Thank you to everyone who is learning, with me, to enter into the pain and the joy of our own lives and the lives of people we love, and to do it with as much grace as humanly possible.
~~~~
"I did not go through pain and come out on the other side; instead, I lived in it and found within that pain the grace to survive and eventually grow. I did not get over the loss of my loved ones; rather, I absorbed the loss into my life, like soil receives decaying matter, until it became a part of who I am. Sorrow took up permanent residence in my soul and enlarged it."
-from "A Grace Disguised" by Jerry Sittser
