I realize it’s almost Christmas, and hence ‘tis the season to be jolly and spread holiday cheer, but a recent event impressed it upon me to write about a not-so merry topic: comforting the bereaved.
Last week, two days after Thanksgiving, my mom, who was spending the holiday with us, received terrible news from a close friend in her Sunday School class. His wife had taken her life while out on a walk that morning. Not even a note was left for him. Her friend, as you can imagine, was utterly devastated, completely shocked, and wanted nothing but for his wife to come back, or for him to go to her…
My mom stayed up for several nights texting with this man, sharing Scripture with him, praying for him, listening as the floodgates of grief burst open and wave upon wave of anguish and despair gushed from his heart. Being hours away from him, my mom called friends of hers who had been to his house to see how he was doing, and whether anyone else had arrived. He was, of course, beside himself. And no… Regrettably, no one else had stopped by.
My first reaction when I heard that last part was, “What!? How can that be? What is wrong with people!?”
And then I paused, and I put myself in the “people’s” shoes.
What would I do if I heard a fellow Sunday School class member or church congregant had suddenly lost his spouse to suicide? Would I rush to obtain their address and speed over to their home, a bouquet and hot meal in hand? Or, would I think to myself, I hardly know this person. I’m sure his close friends and family are with him and will stay by his side as long as necessary. I’m sure the pastor and the Sunday School teacher are there to comfort him. The last thing he probably wants is more company.
I shudder to think that the latter scenario might very well have described my personal response. I might have let my own presumptions and silly self-consciousness prevent me from being a blessing, however small, to a man beset with unknowable sadness. How self-righteous was I to think I wouldn’t, like those absent “people,” leave it to others to console, support, listen, and serve?
The fact is, it’s easy to show up for those we’re close to, for those we love, because their heartbreak breaks our own hearts. Our motive for comforting them, then, is arguably somewhat selfish because we, whether consciously or not, feel better when the ones we love feel better. But when it’s an acquaintance, a distant relative, a friend of a friend, etc., we’re less apt to visit them in their hour of need because we aren’t directly affected. We justify our decision to keep out of it by telling ourselves it’s not our place, that other people will help, or that we wouldn’t say the right things and might actually make the individual feel worse.
I, like most of you reading this, have been on both sides of the grieving process. I grieved the sudden death of my father when I was 22, as well as the loss of an unborn child, and I’ve done my best to console the disconsolate. I know without question that just being present makes a tremendous difference to those who are hurting. It makes them feel loved, cared for, seen, and strengthened, even if all we do is offer a hug, a prayer, or simply sit with them in silence.
“Sometimes all a person wants is an empathetic ear; all he or she needs is to talk it out. Just offering a listening ear and an understanding heart for his or her suffering can be a big comfort.”
― Roy T. Bennett
The point of our physical presence is not to distract or in some way attempt to diminish the pain, but to fully empathize, which is a word formed from two Greek words and means “to go into the feelings of another.” Although not everyone has experienced the same heart-rending experiences, we’re still able to “go into” another’s pain because we have all, on various occasions, found ourselves in dark valleys, and in those valleys, we’ve either wished for, or been thankful for, warm hands to hold and strong shoulders to lean on.
This is, like the song says, a “wonderful time of the year,” but for many, it’s a sorrowful time too, a time that reminds them of happier days, evokes sunny memories that can never be recreated, and opens up scars that begin to ache and bleed afresh. It’s likely my mom’s friend will never hear the word “Thanksgiving” again without thinking of the weekend his beloved wife committed suicide. I pray that in the holiday seasons to come, people will “go into” his heavyheartedness and let him know he’s not alone.
Who do you know who’s experienced a loss lately? Who do you know who struggles this time of year? I encourage you not to wait, not to deliberate, but to go, to assume nobody else will be there for them and take action before excuses stop you. If C19 is a concern, visit with the person outside or through a window. You could invite them to a park for some fresh air or ask them to walk with you around their neighborhood. Even in the midst of a crisis like C19, we still can, and should, show up for others.
Humans were created for community, and at what other time is community a greater blessing than when we feel alone, afraid, or paralyzed by misery? After the unthinkable loss my mom’s friend experienced last weekend, I, for one, feel convicted of my need to be there for others in their valleys of darkness, no matter the circumstances. As we often say at 925 Strong, we are stronger together. That’s true in the gym, in our families, and in the homes of the brokenhearted.
“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”
― Leo Buscaglia