Grief About Grief
Yesterday Amy and I attended the first day of a two-day retreat for grieving parents. It started out with an introduction, ground rules, and permission to take care of ourselves. We each shared the names of our lost children (including miscarriages and abortions and children given up to adoption)-- their names were spoken as a candle was lit for each of them. It was lovely and tender.
We took a break and when we returned we were suddenly in a classroom complete with a PowerPoint presentation on grief and loss. At first, I thought, ok, maybe a little education is needed..but as it dragged on I started to get mad. Why were we being lectured? I don't need an academic explanation of grief, I'm living it, we are intimate friends. I started to feel like this man thought I was stupid and needed to understand how grief works in the brain before we could share from the heart.
After 45 minutes I asked how much more of the retreat would be lecture and the admin said, "another 40 minutes", which was all the time left. Amy and I decided to leave and cried in each other's arms. It felt abusive to be invited to open up and then have a man fill the space with information and personal stories that took us further and further away from our own experiences.
Sadly, secondary grief is not uncommon. Grievers are treated like children that need to be taught something when what we need is to be heard in the safe arms of community.
We need to be invited to speak about our children-- to say their names, to honor the lessons we are learning, to be with the immensity of our sorrow. I'm furious. Especially since this facilitator has been doing this for 20 years and lost children himself. I'm furious that I have to keep teaching people how to be with a grieving parent (spouse, child, friend).
In case you are interested, here's what we need:
1) Kind curiosity and invitations to talk (over and over, because I'm telling you, it's really hard to break the shell of isolation and fear that it's really not ok to take up space talking about your loss))
2) Space to find words-- We have little room for listening to stories, lectures, chatter. We are in the depths, swimming in mud, trying with all of our might to not drown. When all of our energy has been focused inwardly it takes time to get oriented to the external world. Be gentle with us. Encourage small steps like "How is your heart right now?" "Would you like me to rub your feet?" "What is your connection with your child like today?"
3) Don't assume you know what our journey is like and, at the same time, don't be afraid to offer resources (books, articles, people connections, music)-- I have benefited greatly from people sharing things with me and sometimes they hit the mark perfectly, providing just the stepping stone I needed to keep moving through the wilderness.
4) Be willing to be imperfectly human-- it's better to say "I'm struggling with what to say" than to say nothing. It's better to send loving thoughts and invitations than to wish us "Happy" anything (birthday, mother's day, holidays). It's better to be open to learning that each person in your life will need something different as they traverse the landscape of loss yet what they all have in common is that they need you, they need community, they need to know you will still be there asking about their loved one and their grief in the months and years that follow.
Thanks for listening. Guess we'll spend the day by the firepit rather than in a grief retreat. Sigh