This week as we prepare to celebrate the Fourth, I keep finding myself reading the news about the collapsed high-rise in South Florida. My mind bounces from the horror of those last few moments for the people inside to the need for the families to understand how and why this happened at all to the pain of the families who have lost or don’t have a final word about their loved ones. The whole thing makes no sense… It’s awful, and I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.
Yesterday, it was announced that the remaining part of the building is too unstable to withstand the coming storm, and the order for demolition has been given. While the Search and Rescue teams will continue, it has been days with no survivors. For the families who have held out hope against hope, all of this has to be devastating… And my heart breaks for each and every one.
I remember that moment when the reality of Bruce’s death was placed in my lap… And yet, I had no idea what that meant… I had no idea of the magnitude of what that would truly involve. I mean, I knew Bruce was dead when we were driving to the hospital. I can remember calling my parents from the backseat of the police car and flatly saying, “Bruce is dead.” I remember the Emergency Room doctor confirming it a short time later, as well as the hospital chaplain who came to “offer comfort.”
However, there is a shock that happens to many of us at that time. I think it is meant to protect us from what we cannot handle… to keep us from going completely mad… People tell us the logical facts of the death before us. Our rational brains understand the words… But the actual comprehension of that loss doesn’t occur for a while… For me, it was months.
I have vague memories of that time, but they feel more like dreams than real life. I can remember wandering from room to room looking for… what? Bruce? Yes? Maybe? I couldn’t tell you, since logically I knew he wasn’t there. At other times I would sit for hours staring at… nothing…Waiting on… nothing… Just unable to move.
“I know what it’s like to look around a room, eyes glassy with pain, and feel so very alone.”
~ Lisa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget
That went on for months… It wasn’t until that shock started to lift that my mind was finally able to start dealing with the grief and pain. Before that, it was too much to manage. The strange part was throughout all that time, I continued to move through my everyday life doing all the normal, everyday things… Most people thought I was okay… Maybe even “fine.” After all, it had been months. They had no idea that I had simply been in too much shock to actually feel anything yet.
Then, when I finally did start to feel again, it had been a while, and people – those people – were shocked. They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t “over it.”
Sigh…
There was such an avalanche of feelings at that point – anger, heartbreak, fear, loneliness, abandonment, cynicism… You name it, I felt it.
Does that mean everyone’s grief is that way? No… Of course not! Our grief and how we work through it is as personal as our fingerprints. This means we can empathize with someone else’s loss, but we can’t experience it, nor tell them how to experience it… We can only come along beside them and help hold them up as they grieve. To those people who did that for me, I am eternally grateful. For by allowing me the space for my grief, I have been able to heal in my own time, and in my own way.
“It’s hard to move forward when you feel like you never properly said good-bye or resolved your memories.”
~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts
Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you. Sometimes, this journey can feel like nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. Yet, our love for those we have lost is something we all share. I believe the sharing of our stories is also important… I believe it is healing. Do you have a story to tell? I believe we can find courage and strength in one another’s stories. I believe we can offer each other empathy when we open our hearts to one another. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.
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