I had a routine appointment at the hospital the other day.
It didn’t go as expected.
The consultant across the desk asked, quite innocently, how I had been since I last saw him. I gave him the truth.
This seasoned medical professional welled up with tears and had to search for something for he and I to dab our eyes with, as I told him what had unfolded since we last met.
The cancer diagnosis of my daughter last year who, at the time, was an otherwise vibrant and fun-loving 21 year old.
The painful processes and procedures she undertook with unwavering bravery.
The major operations, several immunotherapy attempts and 11 rounds of chemotherapy she endured.
The realisation that – in spite of our determined optimism and faith that a miracle would save Charlotte – there was, in fact, only one outcome.
The fact that she was so loved, 450 twenty-somethings showed up for her funeral – some from America and one friend of the family from Australia.
His response was because of the imagined loss of one of his own children.
When we hear stories that touch us deeply, we put ourselves in the position of the storyteller and imagine we are that person. The emotions, however, are not imagined; they are real.
That’s why grief is still such a difficult thing to talk about openly. In fact, grief is a dangerous emotion that threatens a lot of people. It is safer to keep it under wraps, hidden from the world’s gaze and experienced only in private.
Why does talk of death and grief often make others feel uncomfortable?
Most people have empathy, compassion and good intentions, but many are afraid to open that particular can of worms, because they don’t trust their own emotional stability. There is the fear that allowing someone to talk about their grief will lead to an avalanche of feelings that the listener will not be able to cope with.
So we express our sympathy in bite-sized chunks, designed to recognise the grief, but keep it at arm’s length.
It is totally understandable and safer than unleashing a potential storm of pain – both for the griever and the listener.
Grief brings up many existential questions that threaten our equilibrium. It forces us to face the essence of who we are, what life is about, what it means to lose someone close to us and perhaps even why we are here.
These are deep questions that are too painful or frightening for many of us to consider, so we would rather keep the grief brief and avoid diving into deep waters that may have undesired consequences.
And yet – grief is an integral part of life. Almost no one escapes it. Whether it is the loss of a loved one, or a relationship that was once close and loving, it will eventually catch up with us.
The way to avoid being blindsided, is to give these questions some reflection before grief hijacks our world. This is the work of those committed to self-leadership, which often asks us to dive into the discomfort of the uncomfortable.
Counter-intuitively, grief can be a gift.
When I spoke to the surgeon that morning, we shared a moment that was rare. Relative strangers talking frankly about the rawness of death, how it can inform our lives and how important it is to focus on the positive and the good that may result from loss.
My personal experience has taught me that death is as much as part of life as breathing. It is not something to be avoided but accepted with grace when it shows up, because it ultimately hones our compassion, allows us to communicate with others on a deeper level and shows us how much there is that we can still be grateful for, despite feelings of overwhelming loss.
An article by Ruth Owen a friend of mine
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