My writing slowed down recently because my life sped up, in a good way. April, May, June, and much of July danced by filled primarily with excitement, fun, love, and events. Festival season opened with the Milwaukee Film Festival (MFF). I was awed and inspired by Art in Bloom. The beauty, the creativity, the divine smells. Art 64 in Wauwatosa blew me away swiftly followed by the Lakefront Festival of the Arts. Next, Summerfest, cocktail and chocolate pairings, vacation in Saugatuck. Busy. Living.
Conference season, especially for women business owners, took hold during the MFF. Nina Simone at the Rep grabbed me for two incredible, delightful hours preceded by networking. Alice's Garden sponsored an amazing day of reflection on vocation at The Table, too. I also networked in Milwaukee, Chicago, West Allis, Wauwatosa, virtually and learned, absorbed, filled up with facts, thoughts, ideas, and processes. So many smart people found everywhere.
During all of this activity, one thought recurred in my mind - how to be there for people, grieving people. How does one know what to do, what to say, what to bring?
So many grieving people exist in loneliness (or not), sadness (maybe), isolation (sometimes) these days. It seems every conversation I have personally, witness through eavesdropping in public places, or hear about from someone in my circle is peppered with thoughts on grief. Grief and loss are making themselves known.
While I swirled and twirled my way through spring and most of summer, I thought about how people showed up for me. I wondered if I am bringing comfort or annoyance to those I attempt to console. I learned many lessons about offering sympathy over the years. Did I learn the right ones?
One thought that recurs is to realize I will, undoubtedly, say the wrong thing in the spirit of empathizing with someone. Well, maybe not the wrong thing, but the thing that makes people pause, brush a tear away, and sometimes walk away. I have a knack for this in the same way I tend to get the giggles during serious moments. Think the "Chuckle the Clown Is Dead" episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. This is a part of me I try to control, absolutely, but still a part of my make up. Beginning at a time when, as a little girl, my confusion over grief began.
I never really learned what appropriate sympathy was. I remember at eight (?) my godfather - one of my dad's best friends, the husband of one of my mom's best friends, the father of my sister's best friend - passed away. Our house spun into turmoil. I was told, "Dad went over there immediately." Went over there and did what? No one ever told me. As a kid, I saw the periphery of the reaction but not the heart or soul of it. Like the way sex used to be represented on TV and movies, the door closes. Fade out.
The house was filled with whispered conversations. "Poor Bette (my godmother, his wife...). So, terrible." I heard tear-laden conversations happening among my sisters in the kitchen as my mom prepared a casserole to bring to her friend. "That family has suffered so much. Just terrible." My house was also filled with tears. My father, a very emotional man, cried openly. "Why do my friends have to die, lord. Why?" One of my dad's other best friends, his brother-in-law, passed away right before this (I think, but I was a little kid and time did not yet make sense to me). My dad continued with this rant, "Now what am I supposed to do?"
Indeed? What did they do? How do you help your friends and family when they are in pain? How can you mend a broken heart? Like the Bee Gees said, "How can you stop the rain from falling down? How can you stop the sun from shining?" Now, as an adult, I know you cannot and you do not.
My mother told me her ability to cry shut down around the time she was 35 (which was the year she gave be year birth to me, interestingly). She did not cry again until, well, after my son was born about 36 years later. She lived to be 94, so, that means she did not cry for roughly one third of her life (roughly, it is actually closer to 38% of her life). Often she wanted to cry she told me, sometimes with happiness and sometimes with sadness, but she just could not muster a tear.
I believe life throws so much at people that it brings exhaustion. There is no cure for grief. That is for sure. We learn to move ourselves forward. Some people cannot cry while others cannot seem to stop crying.
I still cry. I know the dry, too-sad-to-cry days as well as the non-stop weepy days. Lately, while I am in this lighter state of grief, I continue to reflect on how others supported me. I do not know if I am doing this right - the consoling thing - but I use everything I know to try to support those around me who deal daily with grief.
Ways of Being There I Have Heard, Seen or Experienced.
Pebbling.
Two of my friends send me little videos or memes once or twice each week. I like it! I love it, in fact. Then one of them posted a comment blowing my mind over it. There is a word for it. Pebbling - Just as some penguins bring stones to their loved ones, sending memes, short videos, or sayings to your friends is called pebbling. My friends show up for me. They pebble me with funny things, silly things, serious and true things about friendship, and, of course, little videos of animals doing amazing or adorable things.
Food as Love.
One of the biggest messages I learned as a child was Food Is Love. So many people in my life express their love through food. Food is, after all, one of the basic needs along with water, sleep, etc. I tell a story about The Best Burger I Ever Ate in my Little Things Blog illustrating how someone cared for me and expressed through food.
So, what about that casserole my mom brought to Aunt Bette. I would appreciate such a gift in times of grief. To me it signals love and care, someone is taking care of me, someone cares about me. My niece, Valery, is very good at this. She takes it a step further by asking me what I need. "I want to send you food. Is that ok? What specifically do you want?" she has asked on more than one occasion. My husband appreciates this, too. He recently said, "I just love Valery" while he ate a sandwich from Panera she had delivered to him while he was ill. Panera is so entwined with the grief and difficult conversations in our family, that my nephew experiences PTSD at the mention of it. Maybe not the best way to show support for him.
One kindness I will never forget happened when Valery showed up at the hospital right before we moved my mom to hospice. She carried a little cooler bag loaded with items for me. Cold sparkling water, a delicious lasagna casserole for me to heat up when I was hungry, a few power bars and Propel (the powder you add to water) in case my electrolytes needed a boost. To me, that epitomized love and caring. She stayed there long enough to give me a break, took my place feeding cookies to mom, and then left me to spend a few more hours alone with my mom.
While my reaction to food as love is positive, I recognize not all others feel the way I feel. What if I show up with an unwelcome casserole and alienate a friend I am intending to console? That friend may say, "Another casserole? What could Mary be thinking? I don't eat carbs!" Okay. Unlikely to sabotage a friendship, but food is a possible kindness I tucked into my sympathy bag years ago. I use it with caution for those I believe I know appreciate the comfort of carbs and chocolate in a crisis.
Sharing Physical Space.
Once, many years ago, a friend of mine broke up with her boyfriend. She called and asked me to come over right away. I did. I felt the usual struggle with what it is, exactly, Dad did when he "went over there immediately?" What would I say? Should I bring something? Chocolates? Ice Cream?
I showed up empty handed. Turned out, she just wanted company. Did not want to talk. Did not want to drink or eat ice cream. "Please just be here," she requested. So, I existed with her in the same space in silence for a few hours. She told me it helped.
Since then, I visited friends during hard times and noticed holding hands to be a good gesture. Thinking back, I believe my mom and dad probably held hands with my Aunt Bette and her family when Uncle John (my godfather) died. Maybe they prayed, too.
My beautiful, amazing niece Eve did this exact thing, prayed, when we sat together at my mother's death bed. She instinctively knew what Psalm to recite. It comforted her and me, and I believe my mom as well. After Eve shared the restful verse, my mom seemed to calm. Such power we bring through our energy, knowledge, wisdom, and love!
In physical spaces that carry swelling emotion, the greatest strength exists. My husband brings healing energy to situations but it did not come easily to him. Now if I am crying, he sits with me. It was not always this way. He used to leave the room overwhelmed by the powerful unseen particles bouncing around. Particles of energy and emotion that most can't see or feel, and he tunes into without trying.
He would leave those rooms until I started telling him what I needed. "Please sit here with me," I said. Sometimes, I told him, "Please just hold me." And, guess what, he did it when I asked him to do it. He discovered the emotions were manageable and I discover this lesson: if you ask, most people will deliver.
Telling, Doing, and Showing Up.
"Don't ask someone who just suffered a loss what you can do. Just do something," a friend shared this bit of wisdom with me once. It is so hard not to say, "How can I help you?" or "What do you need me to do?" What if I make a mistake? What if I show up at your house and you don't want me there? What if I send the wrong kind of bitmoji in my text message? It is very possible, I do not always understand the meanings of the emojis and bitmojis.
Recently, one of my coaching clients told me she wanted to ask for support from her friends (regarding the business she is starting) and wondered if it was okay to ask for assistance in specific ways. "It would be great if you support me by... Do you think that is ok to ask of someone?" she asked me for advice. YES! To me the concept is similar to a bridal, baby, or new home registry at a department store. If you do not let people know what you want, none of your dishes will match. If you do tell people your needs, you will get what you request. No need for exchanges.
It is just like me asking Steve, my husband, to sit with me. Or my friend asking me to sit with her after a breakup.
This concept of asking for help, specified for our own benefit, is tough for those used to supplying rather than receiving comfort. Several of my friends asked me, "Why didn't you call me?" when family illness was happening. Truthfully, I never even thought about it until they said it. A friend of mine went through a cancer scare with her mother and was going to wait nearly ten days when we planned to meet for coffee before telling me about it. I sensed something was going on and then texted to her, "Call me right now if you want to. You don't have to wait." She never thought of it either.
Friendship and community exists to support us. We show up for each other. It does not mean I show up for you and I sit alone with my grief. It does not mean you show up for me and you sit alone with your grief. We share all things - love, sadness, elation, beauty, art, and grief.
As the grieving person, I find nothing a caring person tries to do to comfort me is wrong. I feel the love no matter the form it takes. Therefore, I am teaching myself to leave the worry of whether the casserole is the right thing behind me. The important thing is to show I care.
What About Absence?
The one thing that does make me wonder is absence. No text, no casserole, no expression of support. There have been a few instances of lack of connection for me over the years. But, even as I wonder about those circumstances and where certain friends may be, the knowledge of the depth and breadth of grief swarms me with the answers. Everyone I know, everyone I do not know, everyone I meet, deals with some kind of pain.
I know time and circumstances took me elsewhere on occasion when friends or family were suffering. I did not show up for them. I must give myself a break - grace - for all of my missteps and offer grace and space for others.
Comments