[Part 3] Grief support : It is an intricate, unruly mess
So, give grievers grace instead of asking them for it
In the last two instalments, I wrote about why it is important for everyone to begin to understand what grief is, even if you have not faced the death of a loved one. I would amend an oft-used quote this way - “There are only two sure things in life - death and grief.” If death arrives at the door, it brings its sister grief as a lifelong companion for the ones left behind.
Words fail when someone is asked to express what grief really is, but words are important, and attempts must be made. When they are given their true meaning, words become alive, and contrary to usual connotations, death and grief are one of the most alive things.
Grieving is like going to a remote island in the middle of nowhere. You are in an upside-down world, a bit like Alice, though not in Wonderland. Perhaps Alice in Heartbreakland is more apt.
You realize you can no longer speak or understand the language of the ones who have not visited this island yet. You learn a new vocabulary through the ether. You squint to see if there is anyone else on this desert island, but you can’t spot anyone near you to practice these bizarrely natural words with.
Finally, thank God, finally, you see some people in the distance. You would like to talk to them. You are too tired to get to them right now, but you at least know now that are not alone.
You imagine that they might confirm that your new words also belong to the universal dictionary - that you are not incomprehensible, and therefore, an outcast. They validate your hopes, and add further that they had also felt the same way when they had first arrived there.
You realize that the island is not as isolated as it seemed at first. But you do need to keep looking till someone is brave enough to cross the waters of cultural shame and wave a hello to you, and you are brave enough to wave back to them.
I have also written previously about what you can say or do to be there for a griever here and here, instead of avoiding them and causing them further hurt and shame.
To put aside your own discomfort to sit with them, and be with them, even if they are as numb as a zombie or wailing like a wolf. To not rush them. To not impose your framework of accelerated healing upon them. To not flinch away if they cry, to not prod them if their tears seem frozen - that is the work of those who want to take care of those who are grieving.
I channeled my inner gentle grandmother to tell as best as I could what one could say or do to support other grievers.
I will not be gentle today. I feel enraged. It is expected, because anger is one of the emotions that comes up very often in grief. I don’t want to explain the obvious reason for why that would be the case, but I am sure it is not that hard to grasp.
Are there some things I wish people wouldn’t say or do?
Plenty. I didn’t want to scare you away, dear reader. I thought you might not be able to accept this side of me, so I didn’t bring it up earlier, but you need to know the whole truth of the grieving experience and I am choosing to trust you. If you stuck around for the first two instalments and are still here, I need to let you in on a big secret.
I think you should know that we are very angry.
Or at least, we have been very angry, and by now we have learned to temper it in your presence. This is not just personal anger. The more I talk to those grieving the death of a loved one - a parent, a spouse, a sibling, a child - there is so much anger that we have suppressed underneath and forgiven you all for, without you knowing about it of course. Forgiven you for your lack of interest in and capacity to see our pain in all its furious glory.
A widow told me recently that a a few years after her husband died, her close friend chided her for not having behaved ‘gracefully’ in the aftermath. Dear reader, why is it so difficult for people to understand that grace needs to come the other way around? That someone who has lost her world will very likely, and for good reason, not have enough grace to offer to anyone else? If they have some for their own selves, even that would be a miracle.
How is it so tricky to accept that the rage one feels - when a mother dies without a warning, or when the kids never come home after a wedding because their car overturned on the way back, or when a sister doesn’t make it because the dupatta she wore when she was sitting on a motorbike got caught in a moving tyre - will be the furthest thing from grace?
How can one dole out the incredibly rude platitude of "everything happens for a reason”, or insinuate that someone's past karmas brought these tragedies upon their families?
Why is it so hard to trust that it is your time to offer compassion, and when grief visits you, as it surely will, it will be someone else’s time to do the same for you?
Can we let those who have faced their personal devastation to arrive at whatever conclusion they reach, in their own time, at their own pace?
If there is one thing I would tell you to not do or say to a griever, apart from outright avoidance, is to not pass out moral judgments on how the world works, or what is supposedly written in the scriptures about karma, or how elegant and stoic one should aspire to be when they have lost the one they loved the most in the whole world.
In her book, It's OK That You're Not OK, Megan Devine talks about the unsaid second half of the commonly used sentences said to grievers. So many people in their desperate attempts to ease the discomfort - which is more theirs than the grievers’ - end up saying… well, just plain stupid stuff at best, but harmful, incredibly insensitive statements at worst.
Here are some examples of statements many grievers and I have heard, and the unsaid second half, in brackets -
They would not want you to be crying like this. (..so stop crying and move on.)
Shouldn’t he be crying by now? It’s been days since she died! (I am worried about his lack of ‘correct’ expression of grief.)
This must be the result of past karmas. (They had it coming, so accept what happened and stop feeling so sad about it.)
Everything happens for a reason. (..so take this in your stride and get back up on your feet.)
They should have taken better care of themselves. (..so they are to be blamed and you should not feel guilty at all)
You should have gone to another doctor. (..so you made a mistake and should not cry about it now.)
They are in a better place now. (..so do not feel so sad about them dying.)
You can connect with them in the spiritual realm. (..so it really isn’t as bad as you think it is.)
As you can see, the actual intended bottomline is : stop feeling so sad and get on with it. To arrive at such a reductive conclusion after what is possibly one of the biggest events of someone’s life makes me wonder about the emotional paralysis of our culture as a whole. I wonder if people would say any of these things if they had faced a loss too and had allowed themselves to be truly human, to truly feel the waves.
I hope you will sit with not just the sorrow, despair, relief, guilt and the other mess of emotions that come with walking on the uneven terrain of grief, but also face our anger with generosity.
So please, don’t flinch away. Look at me when I tell you how it feels, and just be. You don’t need to think of a God-like response that ties up all reasons for living and dying with a pretty little red bow on top.
And whatever you do, don’t bring karma up. Leave that for some other armchair philosophy discussion.