Name Your Grief
It was during the Fall of 2019 that I was asked to give the eulogy for my cousin. His wife, my biological cousin, died roughly thirty-years earlier. Although I had only seen him a handful of times over the years, I loved him. I loved him and was honored to be trusted to eulogize him. On the morning of the funeral, I arrived earlier than everyone. Although it's a significant part of my work and life, dealing with death and dying sometimes leaves me feeling inadequate. It's because I never want to say the wrong thing. I am still nervous about not showing up the way people need me to show up. I even walk away from end-of-life rituals, hoping I provided what was needed. And I know that this is work that has called me.
I'm glad I arrived early because it allowed me to deal with the overwhelming sadness that washed over me. It was like a flood. The sadness bubbled up so quickly that I could not prepare for the tears. They were warm. They fell fast. I walked, no, I ran back to my car and cried- a deep guttural cry. I missed Pauline. That's my cousin's name. And at that moment, I remembered that grief may show whenever it pleases. And that day, grief smacked me right across the face. I sat in the car, called my significant other, and cried. He said, "I told you not to do that funeral." But I wanted to do it. And I knew that I had people with whom I could be free to name and express my feelings. I knew that after today, I would not have to be alone- if I didn’t want to be alone.
Once the tears stopped, I applied a little more make-up and returned to pray with the family- my family. But it was hard. I know that grief and loss are part of life – for all of us. Everyone is grieving; yet, the way we deal with grief leaves much to be desired. Instead of encouraging people to name their grief, they are encouraged to ignore it. Rather than sitting in the discomfort of their grief, people are told to push it aside. We treat grief like the RONA and those who have it as if they should self-quarantine until they are no longer sad or angry or anxious and can highlight for us how this loss has made them a better person. Quite frankly, I'm an ordained clergywoman, and I am still not so sure that every loss will make or has made me better. I’ll admit that part of me believes that some wounds are neither healed by tears nor time.
What are we to do with the wounds (or grief) that linger? Yes, some wounds heal without much difficulty. For example, if you cut yourself while making dinner. If it's a small cut, you can rinse it, maybe apply a small bandage and go about your business. But not all wounds are small cuts. Not all wounds heal without difficulty - some wounds cause significant damage requiring much more than a Band-Aid. I think the same is valid for grief. Some of the grief we experience, we can navigate our way through without much difficulty. But what are we to do when it feels like we are being worn down by grief? What are we to do when it feels like death and loss keep coming?
I don't know that there is just one answer, but I know the importance of naming what you feel. I know what it means to have a person or community with whom you can articulate your feelings. We all need a safe and non-judgemental place- a place where we don't have to worry about being shamed because we are grieving.
Do you have a place to name your grief? Do you have people with whom you can share? If you don't, I recommend finding a therapist, a coach, a counselor, a Doula or Midwife, or even a friend. Find someone you trust enough to let in to hold space for you- someone who can hold your story and hold you, too.