One of the most powerful lessons I ever learned about choices and power came from some people that I was once helping. (How many times do we get back so much more than we give?) A friend of mine asked me to speak to a bereavement group that involved people who'd had children die. My friend had been one of the founders of this group about 10 years earlier. In fact, I had spoken to one of the early meetings of the group. The group did not have speakers very often but was run like a support group, with participants sharing with the group how they were coping with their losses.
The meeting was being held at a church. I got there a little early and noticed that a few of the old timers in the group were already there having coffee in the back of the church. These were people who had been in the group eight to 10 years. They were laughing and joking and having a good time among themselves. If you had come into the church for some other reason and just observed those few people, you would have never guessed that this was going to be a meeting for people who'd had children die.
People filling in the pews a little later were not laughing and joking, however. These people were the newest additions to the group. They were people who had suffered their losses usually less than two years earlier, and most of them less than one year. These people were not crying; but they were just numb. If it was a couple, they were usually hanging on each other for comfort and strength. If it was a single person, he or she just looked shell-shocked.
In between these two extremes was the "busy group," as I called them in my mind. These were people who had been in the group for about three to six years. They weren't quite as raw as the newest group, but they also weren't ready for laughing and joking at the coffee bar. They were - busy. It appeared to me that they needed to be busy. They greeted everyone who came to the meeting, making sure that new people were given all the appropriate information to help them for that meeting and possible later meetings. That particular day, the busy group was passing out pins that they must have ordered at an earlier meeting. They were making sure that all attendees had their pins.
As with most meetings of this type, when it officially started, everyone shared why they were there. This is not a mandatory sharing, but usually almost everyone does it. As I watched all the members share their story of loss, I noticed something very interesting. Everyone glitched when they talked. By that I mean when they started to share, something happened. For the newest group members, the glitch, for most of them, was a great deal of crying and sobbing that came from the depths of who they were. It was as if the speaking itself released some pin that was holding everything in. For the "busy group," the glitch consisted of deep sighs and major pauses in the sharing of the story. "My (pause) son was (sigh) killed in an (pause) automobile accident (pause) five years ago." They didn't usually cry, but the pauses were painful to watch. The old timers had a glitch also. It was more subtle, and in fact was a glitch that could easily have been overlooked. It consisted of a small pause during the sharing, usually with a fairly quick "uhmm." "My daughter, uhmm, died from cancer nine years ago." The "Uhmm" was no more than most people do in normal conversation from time to time. I noticed it, however, because I was listening to everyone, and every old timer did this. I began to realize that the old timers were telling the new participants, both through that glitch and through their laughter before the meeting, that "you can get through this, but you'll never get over it."
I have seen people who were actually afraid to get through the death of a loved one because they thought that getting through it might be being disloyal to the one who died. Survivors are also sometimes afraid that if they get through this loss and possibly let go of the emotional pain, sadness or anger, they might lose the face or the voice of the loved one. They start to believe that the only thing keeping the dead person alive in their mind is their pain. The old timers were saying, by their behavior, that you can keep your loved one alive in you and that just because you are moving on in your life, it doesn't mean you are forgetting that loved one. The laughter showed that they were getting through the loss and the little "uhmm" showed that they had not gotten over it.
If I had said to the old timers that they were teaching such a lesson, they probably would have thought I was crazy. They were doing it from inside themselves. They were living the idea that there are choices, even in the most traumatic situations. Some people have these losses and fall apart, while others move through the pain and come out the other side stronger and more alive to their humanity. Why? They believed in the power that was in them, God or otherwise, and they made different choices. This is not some vague abstract concept. It is something that happens every day. The choices we make do not always present themselves as typical choices. This was not a choice like picking a movie. We have to pay attention so that we can be aware enough to see what kind of choices we are or are not making. We have to have some understanding of what we are doing, and we must be willing to accept responsibility for our lives. Unfortunately, we quite often fail on both counts.
Dr. Scott Sheperd has a PhD in Counseling and has worked for over 30 years with people dealing with death and dying, substance abuse, and everyday difficult situations. He has had 6 books published and did a six part series for Public TV. He is a nationally known public speaker. His website is http://www.rekindleyourheart.com
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