Love Never Fails*
If you’re following along, you know—or even expect—that I’ll be writing about grief in some way each week or so. Writing truly is a way for me to try and understand the depth of loss that is like a constant shadow for me each day. And, you’ve probably heard me talk about some of the ways that really get to me about how others respond and react to those who are grieving. Not everyone, not all the time. I’ve had very lovely expressions of comfort and sympathy shared with me for which I am grateful. But every once in a while, something shows up either via social media or another human that simply stuns me. I try to be nice about it, but sometimes it really bothers me and I get a little—well, not nice. (Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not like I yell or curse at people, but I can take on a tone.)
One expression that really rankles me—and I know you’re all going to think I’m an ogre for this—is “grief is just unexpressed love” or worse: “grief is the price we pay for having loved someone.”
Oh, really? Since when is there a price attached to love? I thought love was unconditional? And kind and patient and always protects. And doesn’t keep records. Why do we have to pay for having loved someone, especially if that currency is grief? That just doesn’t make sense to me.
Everyone lives in their grief the way they lived in their love—uniquely and personally and individually. It does make sense that if you’ve loved deeply, you’ll grieve deeply, but that’s not the cost, the price. The very steep price is that we never see our loved ones again. Our daughters, our sons, our husbands, our wives, our family, our friends. There’s no cost analysis to correctly determine the depth of grief someone will suffer that directly pertains to the length of relationship times the risk of desolation based on impending futures. I don’t believe love works that way.
Grief is big business, though, and all the experts and influencers (imagine being a “grief” influencer?) have to create content for their accounts and posts and reels. Not every catchy meme and coined quote will be for everyone but I suppose everyone finds support where they can. I’m certainly not using my own little corner of the internet to even suggest that people shouldn’t seek comfort from whatever or whomever gives them solace. But I am saying that it really is time that we all—me included—have a responsibility to be keenly aware that grief is as present in all our lives as all the other life experiences that maybe we have a little more familiarity about and we have to be more responsible in how we acknowledge it.
One of the things I heard over and over as a child was, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” (Thanks, Mom and Dad.) But we yearn to say something comforting; that helpless feeling of not being able to make it all better is rooted in both fear and compassion. We have to say something, don’t we?
I don’t think so. I think we humans connect just fine on a nonverbal level. Touch and presence are powerful messengers of love and comfort and devotion. Just using me as an example, I was one of those “I’ll-just-mumble-something-hopefully-soothing” folks until I was on the receiving end of some of those hit me like a two-by-four in the gut aphorisms. I eventually started saying something like, “I don’t really know what to say, but I know it’s awful.” I get that people often really don’t know what to say, but that shouldn’t be my responsibility, should it, to make them feel better about adding to my pain?
I’m all Bible verses and old sayings this week, aren’t I? (I think a couple of my friends and family might have just fainted.) I write, read, experience, and teach about grief with lots of people who have suffered immense loss and talk and share about it through their own writing and innumerable conversations. What I understand from it all is that, but for a few distinctive situations, love is very much expressed, very much a part of the grief.
But it’s not the cost of it.
* 1 Corinthians 13
Other ways to support the arts (Me, I’m the arts I’m talking about . . .)
Thanks, Cindy. I don’t think you can go wrong with saying, “I love you,” or “I care about you.” Then follow up with action: invite them out for dinner, a walk, a movie, or to your home for a meal. If you both play the same sport, suggest a date you can play. Definitely don’t say, “Call me if you need anything.” It’s too much to expect a grieving person to tell you what they need when they don’t even know themselves. And if they say no the first time, keep asking so they’ll know they’re not forgotten.
Such a difficult topic for a difficult time. I think we don't understand the impact of what we say to those experiencing grief until we are the ones grieving.