Nov 10, Grateful I have learned how to support someone who's grieving

Grief; deep sorrow, especially that caused by someones death.  Pain. Agony. Heartbreak. Misery.  Torment. Sadness. Anguish. Desolation. Despair. 

Those words are so real to me.

Maybe they are to you, too...

I have debated on whether I should write about this topic because it might be perceived completely differently then I would like. This isn't a cry for sympathy or help, just a voice for any who would like to learn what not to do.

 My perspective is "guilty as charged!"
 Oh how I've learned from experiencing devastating grief,
the mistakes of my past. 

Grief I believe is the most raw and unforgiving emotion. It follows you, a constant reminder lurking in your brain of what has gone so completely wrong according to your plans of what life should look like.

It's a dark shadow that I have tried so hard to run from.  In moments when the light seeps in and I feel refreshed, I have come to understand that it's just a break, and I know in the back of my mind that it's still right around the corner... waiting. It's a memory full of fruitless hopes and dreams..It's the nightmare I wake up to sometimes many times a night... It's always there, my new reality.. I find grief is full of endless searching for ways to feel connected to Madie, at times I wonder when I won't constantly be looking for her, or thinking of her during most of my conscious moments... I try really hard to engage in other activities and people, it is just always there but with the passage of time, it hides deeper inside because I sense it's what's expected of me, and to help others feel more comfortable around me.

A lifetime without feeling the reality of those words wouldn't be long enough.

There isn't a rule book or a simple "diy" for the journey through grief.

And there really isn't a rule book that outlines what to say to someone who is grieving.

Holding someone to any kind of standard in the cycle of grief just doesn't seem fair, well it isn't fair but since not many people get such a close-up perspective who would openly share their journey, here are some things I've felt as I have experienced a deeper journey into grief then most will. 

This comes from a place of love, 
hoping it will help others be more aware as they walk with someone who is grieving.

I believe that in our purest desire to comfort and console, that sometimes a phrase that feels gentle and positive on the way out... can feel abrasive and painful on the receiving end.

I have spent the past year trying my hardest to wade through the never-ending tide of grief as I figure out how to form the person who splintered off the day Madie died. 

I have felt supported and loved by so many friends and family members who have rallied around me to offer their strength in moments when I have none... in moments when the waves of despair are crushing the very life out of me.  

"I'm praying for you." I'm here if you need me."  "What can I do to help?"  
 "Let me bring you dinner"  "How are you holding up?"
 "Let's go for a walk"  "Tell me about Madie"

A sampling of things I have heard that have been very supportive; uplifting...

But there's others...  that seems to be the most encouraging and uplifting on the surface... and yet they carry the deepest daggers; although I believe it's completely unintentional.

"You are so blessed to have six other children who need you right now."

"It's a good thing you understand that you will be with Madie again, and that she's in a good place."

"Just look at everything you have been blessed with."

These are sometimes the common responses to grief, given from a place of concern, and yet these often result in feelings of guilt and shame. 
Let me explain.

These concepts I have said to myself numerous times this year, and were already a given when Madie died.  Yet in the ups and downs and all over the place emotionally, sometimes I am doing my best to just pretend that I am not going to fall apart at any given moment.  I already am very aware of my short comings as I wade through this process that is on going without knowing when the end will come. I often feel guilty for how hard it is to be the mother I want to be, or grateful as I know I should be. I often give myself the pep talks about how blessed my life is, and what I need to be focused on, and yet it is hard to do on a consistent basis, which gets really old and frustrating.  Often it feels like the loneliest journey.
SO....
when I hear these words uttered, the conversation is basically over.  I find I have no choice but to move on from the conversation, often a conversation that was necessary and needed, but not one that's discussing what I am struggling with in my role as mother, or my grateful heart etc.

"I'm so thankful for them!"  "I am so blessed!" "I'm so grateful Madie is in a better place and I will be able to be with her again"

but the words hang close, leaving the taste of an implied sense of failure...

I hear...
 "You're too focused on the loss of Madie when you have six other children and wonderful grandchildren, right in front of you!"
"When will you stop talking about Madie and enjoy the things you do have?"
"Let's stop talking about this and talk about something else."

They carry  the implication that my sadness isn't fair to my family... or that I'm taking too much time to grieve... or that the moment is gone and it's time to move on.

SO,
How can a person support someone wading through the quick-sand of grief?

Be upfront!
This levels the playing field so that both parties understand that this is new territory.

Tell them
 "I just don't know what to say.  I know you're hurting and I wish I could help but I don't know how. It's ok to hurt. I'm so sorry. "
 It's enough. No expectations. No instructions or suggestions.

When grief consumes you, the permission to hurt keeps you afloat... but it's the knowledge that you'll never be left alone, no matter how much time passes or how long the sadness lasts or who you are on the other side, that brings the most healing to someones heart.

 Some interesting parallels from the Bible...
The day before Jesus died,  when he was in the Garden of Gethsemane atoning for the sins and afflictions of mankind, he asked his closest friends, his apostles to sit with him, stating
 "My soul is exceeding sorrowful,even unto death, tarry ye here, and watch with me. He went further, and fell on his face, and prayed saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." (Matt 26 : 38-39)

I have no idea what Christ experienced in the Garden , but these lines could have been spoken by me and have been in the past year. I went through periods of wishing I was dead, wishing I didn't have to wake each day to the horrific reality of Madie being gone.  The pain crushed me to my core, and at times still does.

 I so wanted to be removed from the pain I was going through. And yet, I find almost a year later that I am still alive, and that I need to find purpose in life. 
More than purpose, I hope to again find passion.

 The statements that were so difficult to hear in the early months,  are what help to bring meaning  back as I have worked to heal, and yet it has to be as I can integrate back into some of my responsibilities.

 I have realized that I need the free card, the one that says, "take the time to heal."  "Add what you can as you can." "Start with yourself, then work out to others."

Just as Jesus wanted his disciples to stay awake with him, watch over him, he didn't want to be alone. And yet so that he can understand every aspect of anything that any of us may ever experience, he was completely alone as he suffered. They fell asleep.

I have come to understand, that He understands ever nuance of my journey.

Being the friend of someone in pain is not a job to be taken lightly... It's hard.  Walking this kind of path with someone can turn into a long-term position... and it can be almost as hard for the friend as it is for the one in need.

So you ask again...

How can I support someone wading through the quicksand of grief?

Let them hurt. Remind them often that you hurt because they hurt.  Be with them.  Stay awake and alert.

And one day... hopefully not too soon... but one day... you'll have the most amazing friend keeping watch for you.