Some disjointed thoughts today on grief, comforting, silence, and how some of the most important things we humans have to offer don't cost a thing...
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There are times when the frailty of life comes into sharp relief. These times also highlight what people really find important in life. In our life, during the past few weeks, there have been two expected deaths, a friend was incapacitated by surgery, and just this morning I learned of a neighborhood woman with four children who was shot down accidentally in the street by men who were aiming at someone else. The people who died were acquaintances that I was not very close too, but whose passing has brought a lot of grief to both good friends and The Simple Man - it's been a sad time. A friend of mine had surgery and needed help with everything, even if it was just sitting with her to allow her exhausted husband to rest.
I have been thinking about what comfort truly is. In both grief and pain - no one is thinking about their new i-phone, 1000 count sheets, grandmother's tableware, or their car. People are too miserable, depressed, sensitive, and/or high on painkillers to read or watch television. What people really want is usually the free and intangible. They want for you to show up. They want for you to care. They want for you to understand how they have been affected. They don't want stuff. A quick message of cheer and commiseration. Help getting dressed. Food, of course, is always good, because it's fuel for the body and a relief in times of stress not to have to think about it - but all the other things in life the marketing drones have convinced us we need to be happy fall away in the face of real and utter unhappiness. Which begs the question - if these things can't make you happy when circumstances are taking you out in the alley and beating the hell out of you - do they really make you happy at all?
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In college I took a fascinating linguistic anthropology course. In one section, we learned that the western Apaches have attitudes they adopt when dealing with people suffering from a variety of different emotions. One was roughly translated to: "Being With Those Who Are Sad." I was particularly impressed that while one can offer support in terms of food and their presence, one was not supposed to really talk to the bereaved. Basically, they consider it a hardship for the "sad person" to have to make an effort to talk. And everyone already knows they are taking it hard - so there isn't any reason to keep asking them how they are or anything else. If they want to talk, you are there to listen. If they don't, you are a silent comfort. It can be quiet healing time without it being lonely time. I find this beautiful, but also incredibly logical.
We grow up believing that it acceptable, to a degree, to be lusty and/or angry. If you watch popular television today, these two feelings are the most prevalent. Conversely, it's not alright to be sleepless, miserable, grieving, mentally ill or anything else that makes you or the people around you uncomfortable. We are in a consumer culture where when someone's partner dies, and they find themselves awake and depressed afterwards, they are prescribed a drug rather than being assured that when the person who is the mother of your children, who you have spent the last 30 years of your life with is gone, it's perfectly normal to feel and act in this way.
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Humans want to fill the space on every occasion, and we are encouraged to on so many levels that it's not surprising that we are neither comfortable with silence, simplicity, or letting things run their course. After cards are given, food is brought, and the poor person has had to reply 100 times to sympathetic, "Are you sure you're alright?" people tend to shrug sheepishly and go on their way - we haven't been taught alternative ways of comforting. And of course we don't want to face that discomfort ourselves. I'm reminded of a great Danish divorce film (Prague) where the couple goes to Prague to deal with the estate of the man's dead father. His wife wants reassurance that her unwillingness to go to the morgue with her husband to collect the dead man's things is fine with him,"You know I'm not good with that sort of thing, right?" Her husband laughs bitterly and mutters, "Yes, because I am so good at this sort of thing!" Really, most people aren't good at these things. It's more the effort you put into it than a natural talent.
And sometimes you just sit there with the person, not speaking. Their face dripping and you palm away their tears and put your arms around them. You lay in the dark with them and hold their hand. You help them throw out the trash from a former life, braving giant spiders, mosquitoes, and waves of spite from exes. You wash them up when they can't do it themselves. You bring tissues. You bring chocolate. You bring corny jokes. You bring hope. You bring a vision of the future when they can't think past this dark spot. You can do all this. You can do it for free.
Share some of the best things you have to offer for free in the comments. And I'm taking a page from Tanja's book (er, blog) and commenting first!
