This past Sunday night I completed facilitating another eight-week course I created called “Navigating Grief.” I began research on coping with grief after my daughter-in-law was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer in 2017. Out of that research and experience, a course for assisting others in dealing with their grief began to emerge in the months following her death in April 2019.
From my research, I compiled a bibliography, which I provide to all participants. I have drawn from several more grief-specific books for information and exercises to have participants engage in examining how we deal with grief in this country. Much of what we say, believing we are helping, for intending to alleviate the grief, does not help at all.
My reflection on the evolution of the course development this week has had me rethink and potentially repurpose the intention for the course that I plan to update and lead again in August.
What exactly is my intention for leading this course? I want other people to feel better. I am uncomfortable around grief and loss. I don’t know what to say or what to do. I want those people to just be happy, so I will feel better.
While that is certainly true, I have had a few losses in my life that I thought were devastating. The emotions were overwhelming, and I thought I could not breathe, could not live, desperately trying to hold on to something, someone, or some circumstance that would never be the way it was ever again. I did live—and I did have insights and breakthroughs that I think would be helpful for others.
It seemed the more research I did, the less I knew about this bear called “Grief.” I started to realize that the less I seemed to know, the better I could be with others. If I thought I knew anything, then what I knew was not what the grieving needed to hear to heal.
So, what was it that I could do or say that could help in the situation? I still want others to feel better. I’m still uncomfortable around grief and loss.
I started realizing that the things people say now that frequently do NOT help, likely help some people: “He’s in a better place,” “He is with God (or Jesus or whoever your deity is) now,” “There is a reason why this happened,” “God will not give you more than you can handle” only made me wish God did not have such trust in me.
All those seemingly innocent statements likely worked FOR SOME PEOPLE. There are people who used these clichés to pigeonhole their grief so they could make some sense of it. There are people who have used catastrophic grief to create something extraordinary—Mothers Against Drunk Driving is one. We want life to have meaning. If we cannot find meaning, then we are frustrated. We don’t want our family or friends to have “died in vain.” We think they need to have died for a reason. Perhaps if we cannot find a reason, we can create one.
I finally realized that it comes down to perspective. Is there a perspective I can find or create that will make this pain go away? And if there is, how do I find that perspective?
This is it—perspective. My dogged search for meaning really started after my older brother died in a helicopter crash when I was 15 years old. Nothing fit. This was not supposed to happen. We were a good family, went to church, mostly followed the Ten Commandments and Beatitudes, followed the rules, so how could this happen? After that, I was totally pissed off with God. How dare he? Although I had always felt a strong spiritual side, I started looking for what spiritually would make sense. Other denominations? Other churches? Other religions? Other cultures’ spiritual practices?
This is what seems to make sense to me now: if I can see something differently, then there is an opportunity for peace. Then the obvious question to me or to God (if there is one, and I am inclined to think there is) is, “How can I see this differently?” Now that did not seem hard, did it?
OR maybe it did. I know that many times I have been so attached to my view of something that I could not see it another way. No, it was not that I could not see it another way. In my view, there was no other way to see it, and I was not willing to listen to anyone else try to inform me of a different perspective.
So, this is it. I have found the access to peace. Ask, “How can I see this differently?” Take a deep breath, and see what comes up.
Mary Rose Campbell
5.23.2024