Lets try this. I received several responses from readers who inquired about how one goes about trying to humanize an entire planet. I picked out one reply with which to open here by a member of my former church. I conducted her husband’s memorial service a few months ago. Mary offers some helpful insights related to the grief she’s experiencing, and my reply follows:
Dear Buzz,
I like the idea of humanizing. In my work world, I clearly recognize there is a lot of humanizing that is needed. I’m thinking small though — like tackling humanizing individuals who don’t understand grief, grieving, and what it means to be without your spouse, partner, or any other significant person on whom you’ve relied.
The precipitating event is this:
I was out in our back yard soon after Chris died, standing on an eight foot ladder, electric trimmers in hand, dripping sweat (no glistening for this chick), trimming oleanders at least 6 feet over my head, when along came my neighbor who checks on me from time to time. Nice enough fellow, married, pleasant wife — middle aged, and most likely younger than I. He remarked about my doing my own trimming and I proceeded to inform him that I had been doing the yard work for ten years — nothing new to me. He expressed a sincere dislike of yard work, made some minimal small talk, reminded me to be careful and walked away.
My epiphany you ask? First, Chris would have never walked away from a woman standing on an eight foot ladder, trimming giant bushes. At that moment, once again, the grief began to flow deeply. As I hacked and trimmed, and climbed up and down that ladder in 100+ degrees, I became angry at a multitude of friends and family members — feeling that most have utterly abandoned me in the depths of my grief. Furthermore, I decided that actually, most people are clueless about grief and what it means to lose a spouse or partner. Most have no idea what it means to face the endless minutes of a weekend or what it feels like to walk in the door after work to an empty house after years of having your husband greet you with a hug, kiss, and a glass of wine.
I’m actually very lucky that I’m surrounded by friends and family that truly do care, despite my grousing above. But that one single event — my neighbor leaving me alone and hanging in mid air (literally and figuratively), really did nag at me over the weekend. It also made me realize that the ones who are most perceptive and most helpful are my female friends (both married and single), my gay friends, and our doctor friends who have seen death time and time again.
I find myself in a sadly familiar zone (now that I’ve lost two husbands, I think I can call myself an expert at this point). It’s the one you get in when you realize that others have forgotten you — either that or they’ve decided you’re fine. The end result is, they get on with their lives and don’t understand that it’s a gut wrenching task for the grieving person to move on with theirs — there is just too much life going to all of a sudden face alone. I can safely say that lack of support dwindled both times after about two to three months.
Where do I go from here with my cape and my attempt at humanizing one small group of people? With all of the grieving people you have helped over the years, how do I help? Would it be helpful to have something written to share with others in their life that helps to identify their needs for those who ask — a broad checklist to be handed to those who make the offer?
I’ve learned that people might commit and then back out. Ouch, that hurts! Could there be such a thing as win-win solutions for grieving? If the answer is yes, then perhaps it may be another way of humanizing a small part of the world. Do ya think?
Dear Mary,
Here’s the ironic part, friend, before I got your response I had begun thinking about when and where I was in a humanizing mode throughout my life and I immediately recalled my grief work with parishioners. When we lose loved ones we descend to the deepest emotions we may ever have and when they are revealed to someone that connection can become holy ground, a high privilege. Those were the times I wondered why everybody wouldn’t want to be in the ministry field or something like it – social worker, counselor, mortician, etc.
For us, it was when we sat in a family waiting room at the hospital and you began to share within an hour or so after Chris had died, and his body lay in a room nearby, about your love for him, some regrets and honest comparisons related to your marriage to Bill. Those were highly sensitizing moments for me in that short time together, maybe 25 minutes, given the rush to get back to family members. I would contend they will be among the most crucial feelings I will ever experience on this earth. I’ve had survivors confess to me days after the death of a spouse they were not sure they truly loved him/her but the marriage was good and they never would have revealed that secret to their loved one or anyone else on the planet. That’s holy ground. The world doesn’t get much holier than that for me. I’d contend those fleet connections can contribute to the humanizing of an entire planet.
I think all mortals are designed to pursue and experience such quick-quality bonds on this earth with loved ones, friends, total strangers and maybe a few creatures. Capturing and honoring those moments may have everything to do with the ultimate purpose of human existence. I’m not sure I would have come to believe that notion if I had not gone into the ministry. I might have also missed getting it if I’d not come across an account described by Loren Eisley, paleontologist and poet, who managed to bond profoundly with a fox pup. He had discovered it beneath an overturned boat on a sandy beach. The scientist drew close to it, got down on his hands and knees and mimicked the furry creature by picking up with his teeth some tiny dried bones and shaking his head wildly. The renowned professor who had received over 35 honorary degrees claimed it was one of the most profound experiences of his entire life. He mused that the epiphany would not be worth reporting to the Royal Society because it would not get it.
Eisley’s encounter with the pup confirmed for me that it’s possible for a human being to be sensitized, that is, totally embraced and made to feel whole inside a brief bond with another living mortal or creature within a matter of minutes or hours. And here’s the sensitizing part, Mary; when you risked momentarily to allow me into your shattered world over your loss you may have sensed you had impacted me for all time and that gives you a feeling of power, however slight, at a time when you may have been feeling hopeless, broken and without power. So, it’s not necessarily the number of occasions concerned friends or loved ones affirm you while you’re in a state of profound grief but how deep those isolated bonds go whenever or wherever you might experience them. My subsequent meetings with you were not that all-embracing, but again, I’d emphasize the importance of the willingness to risk running deep by both parties. So I was not so much the healer in that context but more or less the ‘engager.’ Also, you may have caught some brokenness on my part by sensing in our meeting an element of fear in me while having a few millisecond flashes of losing my own spouse at a young age. Moving instantly into a mutual trust zone is crucial on such occasions, the sooner the better and that’s not easy.
There could be a bit of an up-side for terminal patients and their loved ones. Our professor of Pastoral Care in seminary told about a graduate student in a university class who seemed irritated, impatient and rather noisy during a session; out of character for him.
The teacher asked “Douglas, why are you being so disruptive today?”
He bellowed “I just learned from my doctor that I have an acute form of Leukemia and I’ve been told I have only months left, sorry I’m not acting to your satisfaction!”
The professor paused and countered “Congratulations, Douglas!”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“You’ll be experiencing an unbelievable level of emotions that you never could have imagined happening until now. The rest of us here will have no clue as to what you will experience.”
The student exploded with “Screw you, I’d love to trade places with you, you in particular, right now!” He grabbed his books, slammed them on his desk and left the class. The professor visited his student several times in the hospital and Douglas confirmed that he had indeed experienced some incredible feelings.
I had not thought about that illustration until years later when I called on a young mother who would die within days. She was lucid but evasive when I asked “What are you thinking about right now?”
“Oh,” she stammered “I can’t tell you, Pastor.”
I jokingly risked stating “You have to, it’s part of my job description to ask.”
She grinned and confessed “I feel a little guilty. I’m not thinking about my husband or my young children and that surprises me, in fact I’m shocked because I’ve been obsessed with my concern for them up until a few hours ago. It’s a strange, peaceful mood I don’t recall ever having. Is that a normal sensation for those who are about to die soon?”She actually alluded to it being ‘unbelievable.’
“I have no idea if it’s normal, but enjoy, Janet” I left reluctantly to allow her to continue in her bliss. It’s always difficult to step away from Holy ground.
And finally, Mary, I’ll end on this note. When I’ve described such pastoral episodes to people several have remarked “Well, you’ve been trained to relate deeply at that level.” I spent five years trying to get out of a pretty decent seminary but I don’t think I picked up anything that would have helped to get me into those highly privileged bonds other than through sheer risk on my part. I’m becoming more and more convinced that we are genetically equipped to run deep with anyone, no matter how grave the situation, if we will dare to go there. Whether we are in a state of grief or engaging with one who is.