By Patsy Kelly
Hospital chaplains hear all kinds of things when someone first learns their loved one has died – disbelief, repeated questioning, blaming, outrage – all that and more. After the shock has diminished somewhat, the question often surfaces, “My loved one and I have been good persons all our lives; if that doesn’t mean anything, what does?” “What matters, anyway?” “Is this just a world run by an idiot, or is it a world run amok?”
Those are understandable reactions from someone thrust into the wilderness of grief and finding no foothold or shelter that is familiar. In our previous lives (before grief threw us into this place with no gravity and no sense) we might have had convictions that good actions and trust in a Higher Power were insurance plans somehow. They protected us from tragedy. Those weren’t rational thoughts; but unconsciously, that was our operating principle.
If all our good actions come to mean nothing in the end, why bother? It’s a very helpless, meaningless place to stand. And it feels as though we stand there all alone, and nothing looks familiar. Even the image in the mirror is no longer a familiar face. The loss changes who we thought we were, just as it has changed what we thought of the world.
This is fearful and very difficult for the grieving person, because many around us fail to understand how we could be so shaken in our beliefs and convictions when once we were so sure. This uncertainty isolates us because not only do others fail to understand how we could be so shaken, but we ourselves don’t understand. We can’t wrap our minds around what has happened.
Yes, we acknowledge there was a death. Our loved one is gone from us. We are stricken with sadness that seems to have swallowed us and the world as we knew it right along with us. There is no longer any concept of order – morning no longer registers as the time for awakening, making coffee and reading the paper, making breakfast, and opening the blinds. Bills coming in the mail no longer trigger the thought that it is time to write checks and satisfy accounts. Hunger no longer comes with the recognition that something must be prepared for eating. Oh, there’s nothing in the refrigerator? Oh, the milk has soured? Oh, the cat acts as though she hasn’t been fed? And she hasn’t, for how long? Where is the order that once prevailed? Where is the routine? Gone.
Clarity will return. Order will once again prevail. There will be paid bills and fed cats someday. But it won’t happen easily, and not without effort. The task of finding meaning once again will be daunting and, at times, overwhelming. It is not a task to be undertaken alone.
Support with like-minded, like-wounded persons who understand the maelstrom that is now our life can make the difference between impossible to possible. For information about the Grief Group, sent your email to griefgroupjax@gmail.com.
