There’s no hope, no one to trust. I can’t cope, it’s obvious.
New Order, Behind Closed Doors
I recently found out that an old college friend recently found out that his daughter has cancer.
As I read the words or encouragement and prayers of hope posted on his Facebook page I was immediately transported back in time to when others did the same for me and my son. (Well, there was no Facebook then, but you get the idea.)
- I am praying! We are praying!
- God will save your son. God will cure your son.
- God is bigger than this.
- God is the great physician.
- God is in control.
- God is (fill in the blank).
- God will (fill in the blank).
Just like with my friend, everyone wanted to encourage me and everyone wanted to comfort me.
Everyone, it seemed, made promises on behalf of God.
Everyone, except for me it seemed, had heard directly from God that my son would be ok.
Everyone wanted to give me hope.
But hope is a funny thing.
Who were these people make such promises?
Who were they to have so many answers? So much insight?
Who were they to speak so clearly and specifically – and incorrectly – for God?
(Enter your funniest false prophet joke here.)
Even at Jude’s funeral I heard a lot of “its ok,” “it will be ok,” “he’s ok,” etc.
Very few people said much else.
One of the most honest responses I received came from my Aunt MaryAnn. At Jude’s funeral she came up to me crying and said, “I don’t know what to say.” I let her know that here was nothing she could say that would make me feel better. I did, however, ask her what she wanted to do. She said she wanted to hug me.
So she did. And we cried. And we hugged. And we cried some more.
And it was amazing. It was just what I needed.
While others were trying to comfort me she chose to mourn with me.
While others were trying to make it all alright she simply grieved with me.
While others tried to give me hope she gave me a hug.
Sometimes giving someone a hug is much better than trying to give them hope.
So what did I tell my friend when I heard about his daughter? I will save that for Friday’s post.
Have you ever had a time when someone tried to give you hope but what you really wanted, or needed, was just a hug?
As you know, I've experienced a lot of personal loss in my life, most recently with the death of my father in February. I've noticed that people who haven't dealt with the same kind of loss just don't know what to say or do, and I think that ignorance (is this the blissful ignorance we've heard about??) informs their words and actions. I think that most of them do mean what they say when they try to offer comfort – or hope – but the exchange ends up feeling hollow to me. So, yes, I've gotten lots of 'hope' but very few 'hugs', and the hugs I have gotten are from people who really get it because they've been there, or close enough to where I am to know the terrain. Or they're smart enough to say that they feel bad for me and then stop talking!
Do you find that people don't know what to do with you once they found out that one of your children has died? I have definitely felt this way once people find out that both my parents are dead (usually someone will ask where my parents live, they're just trying to make conversation) – it's a conversation stopper to be sure, regardless of how gracefully I manage to answer the question.
Your Aunt Mary Ann always was a great hugger!
Thanks for sharing. . . .
Do you find that people don't know what to do with you once they found out that one of your children has died?
Yes, I have found that people don't know what to do or say when they find out that my son died. And you are correct, it is most certainly a conversation stopper!
I try not to bring it up, especially when talking specifically about my to her children, unless I know the other person, or are getting to know them. I usually make a comment like, "you've met my two girls, here is my youngest son."
Unless someone asks me straightaway, "is this all of your kids," I usually try not to bring him up. It does usually bring down the room and conversation!
I think the closer you are to the situation, the less likely you know what to say or do. Your dad & I didn't know how to deal w/our own grief, much less have anything to offer to A & K, the two still living at home. We grieved together . . . I don't remember a lot of words. I do remember lots of tears.
I think when folks say it's going to be okay . . . they just demonstrating what stage of grief they're in.
When the unthinkable happens . . . most people aren't thinking. . . .
..i dunno, it should be a conversation-starter, imho..the ordeal means you have wisdom to share, or comfort to give (even in advance)..
..having gone thru a tragedy, you should be willing to share how you dealt (or are dealing with) it..
..@ anon: yeah, people who haven't gone thru your specific kind of loss won't know how to respond, but that shouldn't diminish the feelings they are trying to impart (i know you prob'ly don't think their's is a lesser response)..
..it seems to me, part of losing our dearest means dealing with the responses that come your way, however awkward or misguided..
..yes, those who are more attuned to that kind of grief will be more simpatico (or whatever), but the entire process seems (to me) to require close reactions alongside more misplaced or misunderstanding ones..
..even if that's just God showing us how to better be, when we become the comforters..
..hugs are always a Good (i'll remember that for the future..haha!)..