What I learned about Responding to Grief

Image by @silviapecota (artist)

I'm loving all the photos of the hockey sticks on porches, the gorgeous heartfelt drawings too. It is a little thing, but I've given this whole thing some thought and have come to a conclusion. When we post that we are thinking of the victims and that we are praying for their families, in any tragedy (I mean there are so many awful things that happen), we are really saying this:

"I see you are hurting. I see you are sometimes caught in a memory that rips your heart open again and that it's a struggle to even breathe sometimes. I see your eyes searching for a face you'll never see again. I see your fingers twitch to hold a hand or stroke a cheek that will never feel your touch again.You will need a few more minutes, an extra smile or a bit more space. I am thinking of your pain and trying to be aware of that when I am interacting with people today."

That's no small thing. In the days after my father passed, I moved through my days as though wrapped in layers of wool. I couldn't feel the same, hear the same or think the same. I was slower, sadder, more detached. Some folks responded with sharp words and scornful looks. I would have been lifted a bit more if more people had been aware of my wounded heart. If more people could see. It's a pledge to be aware of others and act with kindness. We don't know what someone is grappling with. It could be a bad night of crying babies or a stressful presentation at school or the vertigo-inducing gut punch of losing a loved one.

#humdboltstrong