Falling Apart; Together: Reflections on Old Grief in a New Pandemic
The worst part was that they just kept building.
‘They” being all those construction workers, and the people who paid them, and the people who paid them. And every one who would walk in the future shiny halls and settle into offices and look out windows to watch as more things were built.
It was infuriating. How could people possibly keep going when the best person in the world was dead?
I experienced the unimaginable in 2014. The sudden and unexplained death of my best friend at age 25.
Most people just don’t know what that’s like, god love ‘em. Some folks tried, they rehearsed lines they had read on sympathy cards and tried to adopt as their own.
Others avoided it completely. “I can’t imagine.”
It’s 2020, and things that we couldn’t imagine are in fact, happening.
We’ve stopped building. We’ve stopped, completely.
I so badly wanted the world to stop in 2014. I needed to catch my breath. I felt like there wasn’t enough of anything in order to help me grieve the way I needed to. I felt like nobody really understood.
The current pandemic has triggered all sorts of feelings and memories. At times, I have felt utterly helpless to protect the people I love, something that I have felt in many different ways over the last 5 years. In some ways, I have felt a great exhale, not in relief, but as if my pain expanded and I watched it travel from continent to continent, splashed across the faces of journalists, politicians, celebrities.
I have never known a pandemic, I have never known this situation, but I have known fear and grief and loss.
I watched the world stop, as I felt it should have for the absence of my friend. But it’s not stopping in the way that I once needed it to.
A world that has stopped in fear is not necessarily a world that has stopped to breathe, love, enjoy, and support each other. But it can become one.
I never expected this, but I thought if the world was in need I would rise up to help. But I have shrunk for a time. I am just a woman, who lost a beloved friend. I have learned about grief and loss personally and professionally. But what could I actually do here that could make a difference?
I humbly present to you now, 3 things I needed when I was grieving, that maybe we can give to each other now.
1. I needed someone to sit with me in the stillness and not try to fix it.
It’s a sign of love that we want to take away the pain of the people around us. But we need to take stock of our own emotional state. When we, usually subconsciously, project our idea of “okayness” onto someone in pain, we are communicating that their distress is invalid and unwanted. Minimizing someone’s fears doesn’t make fear smaller, it makes the person smaller. Feelings, particularly fear, are big feelings. We need to give them space to be expressed, to be heard, to be held, and when appropriate, to be talked through.
As a friend, family member, or anyone who loves, it can be difficult to see someone in distress, so take some time before and after intense conversations to decompress.
We can create chains of listeners, helpers, givers, friends, lovers.
Bravery and vulnerability can walk hand in hand here. Be brave in sharing your feelings, your thoughts, your fears. Be the first in your group to express yourself freely, and watch as others unfold in the metaphorical blanket fort you have created.
2. I needed people who wouldn’t give up on me.
There are many ways to give up on someone. We may think of some dramatic blowout, but there’s also a slow death of a connection. So often we don’t foster our relationships with others as we may, for example, a marriage. We assume everyone is doing just fine and we don’t check-up. Most folks who have experienced a personal tragedy can attest to the uprising of support immediately after the loss up to a few weeks after the funeral. Then, a drop-off.
Most people don’t realize that they have dropped the ball. Community support is woefully underrated.
A lack of community support not only can create a sense of isolation in an individual, but it can also put a huge strain on the existing relationships that a person has.
We fail to see how important of a thread we are in a greater tapestry. If we’re sticking with the blanket fort metaphor, and I really insist that we do, each person contributes to propping up the fort so it doesn’t all collapse.
3. I needed someone who was willing to be wrong, but would try anyway.
Look, we’re human. We want to be right. We don’t ever want to say or do the wrong thing, and heaven forbid someone rejects our offer for help. How could they? Well then, I guess I’ll just shut up and stop offering if they don’t want my help! I guess it’s not good enough for them.
It’s not always fun digging around inside ourselves to tap into why exactly we want to help. We may not always immediately find gold. While there may be nothing fundamentally wrong with “hearting” a facebook status, sending thoughts and prayers, well-intentioned advice, or offering a casserole dish, we may forget that every human on this earth has different lived experiences, different ways of expressing and receiving love and support.
Just as we learn to compromise inside of romantic relationships or with immediate family or children (maybe) we can apply this to the wider community of friends and networks. We are all desperately in need of support that lifts us and helps us heal.
When we refuse to be wrong, we refuse authenticity, we deny our humanity.
I encourage you to crack open your shell, even if you feel like your shell is the only thing protecting you right now. Let yourself see others, and be seen. This is hard work, friends.
As I write this, I’m feeling the high of expressing myself, but also the fear of being misunderstood. The word selfish tears through me. This is what we all feel when we are about to do something brave. Telling our stories, sharing our pain and grief, reaching out without knowing if we will say the right thing or if our gestures will be received with warmth or rejection. We have recently learned with much devestation how quickly an invisible thing can travel across our globe. Out of that devestation and fear are stories of hope, tenacity, bravery, kindness, love.
I hope that, through this, we can learn how to be better listeners, better storytellers, better humans.
I love you, and I believe in us.