Many people I care about are grieving lately. Some for a marriage that turned out to be different than it appeared, some for a relationship they were hoping to hold on to, some for time that can never be gained back, some for pets who’d carved special places in their hearts, some for missed careers, some for unrealized dreams, and some for unhealthy family. Talking to all these people makes my heart rip into pieces. I feel a strong urge to have the power to do what was undone. I want to fix everything and hug the people and say, “See it’s all fixed; you can be happy again.”
But I can’t.
Of course, I can’t. In times like these, I recognize my inability to be of any help. I stare my uselessness in the face. Sure, I can be there for them. Sure, I can listen to them and even give advice when asked. I can cry with them. I can hold them when they cry (unfortunately, I can’t even do that since my friends are scattered all over the United States). But I can’t make the pain go away. I can’t give health. I can’t bring back their pets. Or their husbands. I can’t make it right. I can just sit there and listen. And feel helpless.
The amazing thing is that there are many moments when my friends seem fine. They laugh, they work, they eat. For a split moment, they can carry the burden and keep living. Yet, when I think of them, the grief always overtakes me. I remember when my maternal grandfather died, one of my mother’s clients told her, “May God never give you as much pain as you can endure.” A rude sentiment at first look maybe, but a pithy thought. We, humans, are capable of enduring a lot. A Lot.
The difference between my friends and I is that they are actually experiencing the loss. They are hurting much more sharply than I can, no matter how empathetic I might be. The human heart and brain seem to be very strong. For many of my friends whose relationships are ending, they start to rationalize it. In most cases, the situation was a culmination of past events so they are calmer at times than I am. They were expecting it more than I was. They mourn deeper and so they make room for life again. I simply sit here and feel helpless. I feel apologetic that my life is mostly okay.
I respect my friends’ strength and hope that I have it buried in me somewhere, as well, for those times that I might need it, hoping there are none but knowing there will undoubtedly be some.
I can empathize with the hurt you feel concerning your friend’s relationships in a different way… my parents have been divorced for two years now and I’m still grieving over their loss and my loss. The emotions are endless and it’s apparent to me more than ever how passionate my family is. (a blessing and a curse) I grew up in Juneau, Alaska and my appreciation of growing up in a small town is bringing a great deal of hardship to my parents in their new reality of being divorced. Small towns= Drama?
I love my family: father, mother, brother and through mourning and sharing healing happens. I am lucky because I can communicate with and embrace each member of my family.
What I am most grateful for is how much closer this event has brought my father, mother, and brother. It’s surprising, but true. Through hardship, we are more communicative and intimate than ever.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts on your website Karen!
–W