I have never
been a good comforter. In objectively sad situations, I tend to bypass the
grieving stage and dive headfirst into insensitive jokes. When people are
hurting, I feel awkward and generally try to casually remove myself from their
presence as quickly as possible.
I remember
when I was a teenager at camp, I was reading in my bed when the only other girl
in the room began to cry. I sunk lower into my cot and tried to make myself as
small as possible in the hopes she’d forget I was there while I silently
panicked. What am I supposed to do? Should I ask her if she’s
ok? Because I’d really like to finish this chapter
of Harry Potter.
Another girl
entered shortly after and immediately ran to her side, gave her a hug, and
asked her what was wrong. I chastised myself. A hug! I could totally have
done that!
So my
question for today is: How do I help a long-distance friend who is grieving?
My best
friend Hope’s newborn baby girl died.
Hope has had
an incredibly Christ-centered attitude since she learned a few months ago that
their baby might not survive. She told me,“If God decides to
heal her, He will be glorified by her miraculous healing. If He doesn’t,
then He will be glorified in how we respond.”
She has been
striving to trust in God throughout this whole ordeal, and I’ve
been reminded and amazed at the amount of pain God can bear. The pain from one
tragedy can be enough to cripple one person, yet God can handle it. He has the
ability to bear the burdens of every single person. His pain tolerance is
infinite.
It’s
astounding the amount of love and support she and her husband are receiving
already. There’s an online campaign to pay for her medical expenses and
another site where people can sign up to bring them meals. But as the weeks,
months, and years go by, they will stop receiving food and gifts, and we will
stop asking them how they’re holding up or even mentioning their
baby Nolah’s name.
It’s
hard to imagine that this is only day one of a great sorrow that will never
truly dissipate. I think I expect people to eventually move on, to look back on
a time that once caused them immense sadness and feel nothing. Because once I’ve
forgotten about their tragedy, shouldn’t they?
David Brooks
wrote an article for The New York Times titled, “The Art of Presence”,
which featured the Woodiwiss family. The elder daughter, Ann, died in a freak
horseback riding accident. Five years later, her younger sister Catherine was
biking to work when she was hit by a car, enduring severe injuries and an
arduous recovery. Brooks shared the responses to grief they found helpful and
unhelpful after enduring these two tragedies.
“Do
be a builder. The Woodiwisses distinguish between firefighters and builders.
Firefighters drop everything and arrive at the moment of crisis. Builders are
there for years and years, walking alongside as the victims live out in the
world. Very few people are capable of performing both roles.”
I want to
encourage you to mourn with those who mourn, even if it seems like they are no
longer mourning. Whether its been weeks, months, or years, be a builder for
someone you care about and show them that they are loved and their pain hasn’t
been forgotten. It is never too late to be a builder. Even if you feel awkward
or comforting doesn’t come naturally to you as it doesn’t
to me, step out for their sake.
As Catharine
Woodiwiss wrote in her post, “It is a much lighter burden to say, ‘Thanks
for your love, but please go away,’ than to say, ‘I was hurting and
no one cared for me.’ Err on the side of presence.”
