Conversations are tricky these days. Not that the words are tricky or that people are tricky… ok, maybe sometimes people are tricky… but emotions, those are the trickiest. In the middle of a normal day, sometimes in the middle of a normal conversation, the underlying truths of grief and loss can come bubbling to the surface and rear their ugly heads. Without warning, and without wanting.
Not because we have forgotten, I can assure you that at any given moment my brother’s passing is just as present as the day it was final, but because emotions are reactors and the smallest things can set them off.
We try to be strong, to ignore it, but it can be crippling, suffocating, and even immobilizing.
The loss of every moment that passes that my brother will never get to hear about. Every birthday that he will never know me “this old” as. Every funny story that we will never have the chance to laugh at together. It is always lurking in the back of my mind and while I can go whole days without crying (I have had a handful of those), more times than not those tricky tears pour over at the most inopportune time.
While laughing - yup. That’s awkward.
While talking to a room full of people - literally all the time.
While handing the new neighbor whom you’ve never met and who also called Animal Control the day after you brought home your deceased brother’s dog because he was barking too much, a letter to ask for a little grace - yes, of course, that time too.
- But then there are these magical unspoken moments. -
The moments in the middle of normal conversations with friends when you feel your eyes begin to swell, your chest tighten, your throat close and you tell yourself to pull it together, that you don’t want to be a “downer” or “the boy who cried wolf”, and that no one will stick around if you can’t get through small talk without breaking down. Nine times out of ten I can push those pesky feelings down until the next time I am alone or the next time I find myself listening to a worship set… because for some reason that is when God chooses to work with me through my grieving most.
Nine times out of ten still leaves that one time that you can’t pull it together.
Photography by Stephanie Renae
When you feel the all too familiar warmth on the side of your face and you forget where you are or what you were talking about. These are the best and the worst conversations. Because these are the opportunities to see the beauty of what true friendship can be.
I was speaking to my sister about this lately as we limp together through this journey of grief and she shared the most wonderful story. And since she too was “Sissy”, I knew it was a story I wanted to share. May it speak to our hearts and teach us how we can better love the broken. How we can set the emotionally captive free and give them the time and space they need to fall apart, without assuming they will never be able to pull it together.
From my sister, to you…
My dad was a firefighter the majority of my life. We learned how to keep calm in emergency situations, handle whatever was going on quickly, then get over it as quickly as we possibly could by shoving it back into some dark recesses of our minds.
Was this effective? Yes. Is this healthy? We realize it probably isn’t the greatest.
When I got the call from the hospital regarding my brother’s accident I made calls to immediate family as I raced to him. When I saw him there were no tears, just spoken assurance that he was still here and that everything was going to be ok. Throughout the week we all did as we needed- talked with him, danced, listen to him crack jokes, sat and talked to him while he was in his medically induced coma, talked about worst-case scenario amongst each other, then calmly talked about how all medications needed to be stopped and we all needed to be there with him in his final moments here on earth.
Life things. Unexpected things. Hard, hard, hard things.
I contacted the majority of his friends to inform them. I packed his room up. I completed all of the needed paperwork for his old job.
We kept our chins up and our quivering lips in check at the memorial. We went back to our daily lives of being there for everyone else. We grieved behind closed doors, and only when our busy schedules allowed. Otherwise it was stuff the hard stuff and just take care of business.
I was fortunate as my other half encouraged me to grieve in whatever way I needed. He would place a hand on my back in the middle of the night when I was silently sobbing, leave me to myself when I needed a good cry alone, and encourage me to be open about my hurt in front of my daughter. I resigned myself to be shut off from the outside world that had been force-feeding me “how to move on” and seek solace in my emotionally safe place of home.
Within a month some of our best friends purchased plane tickets for my fiance and I to come out and see them in Washington. Being there was like a breath of fresh air, and I promised myself that I would not “bring everybody down” with my grief. We laughed and had a great time catching up. We played with the kids and it felt good to get outside of the bubble I had placed myself in.
Then came the part of the evening where the children were put to bed.
Deeper conversations due to months of being unable to see each other.
I began to vent about a friendship lost due to insensitivity regarding my brother’s death, and I choked. I apologized and paused to regain my composure. And do you know what they told me?
“Do not apologize. Grieve however you need to. If you need to cry then do it.”
Those few sentences, outside of my own home, lifted a huge weight off of my shoulders. I felt like I didn’t have to pretend or keep up appearances, and the fact that I was able to completely be my raw self with no judgment was freeing.
A shared burden does not multiply. It divides. Being there for someone who is grieving and just being a listening ear is one of the biggest things you can do for someone else.
An old acquaintance recently messaged me, and when he found out about the recent state of things he asked me these few, simple questions.
“How are you feeling?
Are you dealing with his passing?
Do you have a support system?
How’s your daughter?”
I was blown away. His specific, deep questions hit me to the core. They were not superficial. I cried because someone cared about how I was REALLY doing. Not just physically but emotionally, and not just me, but my daughter as well!
Care for ALL of a person.
Bringing them their favorite meal or coffee or a comfy blanket can take care of them physically, but what can we do to care for people emotionally? Listen. Encourage healthy grief in whatever way you can. Check on whether they have supportive people around them. Be the person to send the “thinking about you” text. Show up and wash their dishes. Take them to a park. Get involved in a club where you have mutual interests. Go to a concert.
Do. Something.
Do something for the whole person, and soon the whole person will start to heal.
Be the safe place for others to cry big crocodile tears that pour over from the depths of their hearts, friends. Please. Please just be the safe place.
-XOXO Sissy
Isaiah 61:1-3 The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.