Let the Grief In
“It’s a beautiful day, just to be a-live...” my 6-year-old sang off key in the bathtub as she went through her usual medley of songs they’ve been practicing at school for the upcoming kindergarten awards ceremony. But obviously it hit different now to watch a happy and free and safe child sing about how beautiful it is to be alive. I swallowed the catch in my throat and pushed away the thought of the kids in Texas who would never sing for their parents again. Later, I said to my grief. You can come in later.
We have all had so much practice with grief the past two years but when a tragedy of this magnitude, this level of horror, happens, we have to relearn all over again. Yes, this is what it feels like to hear the news about murdered children, like you want to throw up, like you want to scream at the top of your lungs until your throat is sore. Yes, this is the rhythmic nature of the grief, the shock, the rage, the cold stone of sadness so heavy in your chest you have to sit down.
What I started learning two years ago when my dad died I'm trying to remember now. Grief is terrifying and our first response is to escape it. Grief is a tsunami of such force that it's only natural to want to outrun it, to search for some higher ground that it can't touch. But what I have I am trying to do is let the grief in. Stop running, turn around, and let that giant wave rise up and crest and then break down over me. Then I'm drenched in the grief, swimming in it, surrounded by it. Eventually, though, just like a wave the grief recedes, and I'm surprised to find I've survived it. I can dry my tears or take a deep breath and go about my work, make dinner, give my child a bath, until the next wave.
I once heard someone say that grief is a friend. Grief is a companion that helps us process a loss, that guides us to the other side, to hope. We can't get there without letting the grief in. And as horrible as it feels, this sadness and grief we are carrying is a way of honoring our connection to those closest to the tragedy, those who lost their babies. At a chapel service yesterday at the school where I work (starts around 2:20), the chapel director said some lovely things about how it is right to feel this way, to feel that eating or laughing or going about our days is wrong somehow. It's because we are connected. We belong to each other.
If you are having a hard time knowing what to do when the grief wave is rushing toward you, something that has helped me is from Kristin Neff's work on self-compassion. There are three steps. First, put your hands on your heart, or even one hand on your heart and the other cradling your face gently. Acknowledge the pain. Say, “This really, really hurts.” Then, connect to our common humanity by saying to yourself, “People around the country are feeling this pain too. We are all so sad and so angry about what happened.” Finally, finish with a statement like, “May I be gentle with myself and others,” or “May I be kind to myself and others.” It's such a simple process but I promise it really helps.
Being gentle with yourself means knowing what you need. Does being on social media right now make you feel like you are falling down an endless black hole of despair? Log off. Does being on social media make you feel connected to others in your grief. Stay on. Does reading every detail in the news make you feel safer? Or do the details and the images start taking over your mind in an unhealthy way? I need to shut down almost everything when tragedies like this happen. But you might be different and that's ok.
And then of course there is action. There is donating to Moms Demand Action or Everytown and contacting senators and hopefully marching soon. But if you're like me you might be feeling so strongly that you wonder if you need to now dedicate your life to this cause. My prayer the past two days has been from Richard Rohr: “What is mine to do?” We can’t do everything. We can’t simultaneously dedicate our lives to anti-racism and ending gun violence and reversing climate change and stopping modern day slavery and mass incarceration and the myriad other systemic problems wreaking havoc on our world and hurting the most vulnerable among us. However, there is something that we can all do, and if we ask the Spirit, or the Universe, “What is mine to do?” I think we will receive some direction.
I love what Anne Lamott wrote yesterday on Facebook in response to the Uvalde tragedy:
After an appropriate time of being stunned and in despair, we sigh and help each other back to our feet. Maybe we ask God for help. We do the next right thing. We register voters and march. We buy or cook a bunch of food for the local homeless. We return phone calls, library books, smiles. We donate money. We practice radical self-care and say hello gently to everyone, even strange lonely people who scare us. We go to the market and flirt with old people who seem lonely. It can’t be enough but it will be.
Articles
Daydreaming About a Nationwide Gun Ban (DesignMom) - Gabrielle Blair lays out the facts and arguments in a very no-nonsense, accessible way. I highly recommend this read.
Podcasts
I'm looking forward to listening to this episode of We Can Do Hard Things that dropped today, with Moms Demand Action founder Shannon Watts.
Navigating Loss Without Closure (OnBeing) - I have listened to this episode a couple of times, with grief/loss expert Pauline Boss. The frame is about early pandemic days and the grief that caused, but it is a very helpful, soothing conversation about grief in general.
Books
I’ll Show Myself Out by Jessi Klein - I am not even halfway through this book but I can already wholeheartedly recommend it to you. I have laughed out loud at least once during every essay, and if you are a parent of a young child you will feel deeply seen by this book––and laugh along the way. I was so thankful last night after a heavy day to be able to pick it up and laugh a little before falling asleep.
Stitches by Anne Lamott - Nobody does both/and like Anne Lamott. She is deeply acquainted with and awake to the grief and horror of this world, and yet she is still hopeful, funny, tender, and open to beauty. This is the perfect book for these hard times.
TV
Somebody Feed Phil (Netflix) - Last night when we turned on the TV I had already told Robert I couldn't watch anything intense, and I was so happy to see a new season of Somebody Feed Phil just dropped. If you haven't watched this delightful show yet, please do and tell me what you think.
Life & Beth (Hulu) - I really loved this show. It was sweet and funny (especially if you like Amy Schumer), with some more serious themes but everything is handled so well. I highly recommend.
Wrapping Up
I hope these imperfect words (and imperfect recommendations) were of some help to you. Feel free to respond and let me know how you are doing and what is helping you these days.
All Good Things,
Joy