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miintikwaI am surrounded by grief.
I have lost count of the people I know who have lost spouses. I have a few friends dealing with the grief of losing a parent or parent type person. Several others have lost siblings. And, I have a friend who just lost their child.
I am not even counting those who have lost friends, or who are dealing with the fallout from murder or suicide. And yes, that's trickling through my friends right now. (I have a lot of SCA friends.)
Perhaps this is normal? I honestly don't know anymore. I can demarcate the day where everything changed: a friend lost their spouse very suddenly, several years ago. And for whatever reason, the ripples from that included me. (Not that I lost someone, but that my friend let me be one of the people they leaned on.)
I count myself fortunate to have been able to be a comfort to them. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, but I wanted to be there for my friend, so I was. When it was uncomfortable, I listened, said little, and then processed my feelings later. I learned so much from them.
I learned how universal grief is, and how hard. I learned how to comfort the grieving without ever mentioning my own feelings unless it was to let them know I understood their feelings. I learned how close grief is to anger, and that the anger isn't about you. I learned how to be water, to buoy the grieving up and let their emotions flow through me.
I learned how to cry without ever letting it show in my voice, because my tears were just empathy leaking from my eyes. I learned how important the words "I'm here" are, and how sometimes that's all you have to say.
I also learned that grief can make people crazy, and that flare of crazy usually isn't who they are. But the flip side of that is how grief makes people more of what they really are. The empathic grow more empathic, more kind, more compassionate.
And the assholes become worse, harder, and sometimes cruel.
I have honed my skills at comforting the grieving over the last few years. Some of these losses are old-- but some are fresh and new, and I am doing my best to pass on the knowledge I've gained from helping friends and family through their losses, and the things I have learned from handling my own griefs, my own losses over the last few years.
Not going to lie: this is so hard.
But the other side of that is how you notice how everything you learn while grieving can apply to other situations. The first time I saw this, I thought I was fooling myself. I thought I was doing the "nail" thing: my new tools to help my friends were a hammer, and this was a nail!
But, it wasn't. The discussion I had with my friend, where I used my grief-stricken friend as an example of how to handle pressure with grace, led to another discussion, and another. And suddenly I was helping my friends handle all their different situations with aplomb and kindness. All because I'd been determined not to abandon my grieving friend when they needed me.
Perhaps everything looks like a nail to me lately because now I have a hammer for just about every different situation. When I mentioned this to a friend, he reminded me of my delight with the deadblow hammer the first time I'd ever seen one. And it is true that I have learned a lot about hammers from my extremely handy husbeast, who has at least three different types.
But mostly, grief feels a little like a solvent. It strips us down to our bare bones. How we rebuild often depends on what resources we have.
I'll bring the hammers.
I have lost count of the people I know who have lost spouses. I have a few friends dealing with the grief of losing a parent or parent type person. Several others have lost siblings. And, I have a friend who just lost their child.
I am not even counting those who have lost friends, or who are dealing with the fallout from murder or suicide. And yes, that's trickling through my friends right now. (I have a lot of SCA friends.)
Perhaps this is normal? I honestly don't know anymore. I can demarcate the day where everything changed: a friend lost their spouse very suddenly, several years ago. And for whatever reason, the ripples from that included me. (Not that I lost someone, but that my friend let me be one of the people they leaned on.)
I count myself fortunate to have been able to be a comfort to them. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, but I wanted to be there for my friend, so I was. When it was uncomfortable, I listened, said little, and then processed my feelings later. I learned so much from them.
I learned how universal grief is, and how hard. I learned how to comfort the grieving without ever mentioning my own feelings unless it was to let them know I understood their feelings. I learned how close grief is to anger, and that the anger isn't about you. I learned how to be water, to buoy the grieving up and let their emotions flow through me.
I learned how to cry without ever letting it show in my voice, because my tears were just empathy leaking from my eyes. I learned how important the words "I'm here" are, and how sometimes that's all you have to say.
I also learned that grief can make people crazy, and that flare of crazy usually isn't who they are. But the flip side of that is how grief makes people more of what they really are. The empathic grow more empathic, more kind, more compassionate.
And the assholes become worse, harder, and sometimes cruel.
I have honed my skills at comforting the grieving over the last few years. Some of these losses are old-- but some are fresh and new, and I am doing my best to pass on the knowledge I've gained from helping friends and family through their losses, and the things I have learned from handling my own griefs, my own losses over the last few years.
Not going to lie: this is so hard.
But the other side of that is how you notice how everything you learn while grieving can apply to other situations. The first time I saw this, I thought I was fooling myself. I thought I was doing the "nail" thing: my new tools to help my friends were a hammer, and this was a nail!
But, it wasn't. The discussion I had with my friend, where I used my grief-stricken friend as an example of how to handle pressure with grace, led to another discussion, and another. And suddenly I was helping my friends handle all their different situations with aplomb and kindness. All because I'd been determined not to abandon my grieving friend when they needed me.
Perhaps everything looks like a nail to me lately because now I have a hammer for just about every different situation. When I mentioned this to a friend, he reminded me of my delight with the deadblow hammer the first time I'd ever seen one. And it is true that I have learned a lot about hammers from my extremely handy husbeast, who has at least three different types.
But mostly, grief feels a little like a solvent. It strips us down to our bare bones. How we rebuild often depends on what resources we have.
I'll bring the hammers.
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