In my ministry as a Chaplain, while facilitating various grief support groups over the years, I have been privileged to come alongside folks grieving the loss of a loved one. These group meetings are typically open sessions held a few times a month. Often, those attending feel quite raw and vulnerable, but recognize, or have had it recommended, that they will not find healing on their own. They come to share their experience, but mostly to normalize what they are going through – and to figure out how to meaningfully live the rest of their days in the light of their loss and the shroud of grief that has become their new reality.
Facilitating these meetings often means listening to their stories, their memories, as they find common ground and bond in their shared humanity. Many times, these groups become second families to those grieving – they understand one another, sometimes better than actual family members do, in my experience.
When one shares that they break down in tears when they hear a particular song, or when watching TV and something makes them laugh, they instinctually turn toward the empty chair next to them expecting to see their loved one laughing too. When someone says they talk to their loved one’s ashes on the mantle, no one questions their sanity; no one says you need to move on. They usually just nod knowingly, understanding the all too familiar feeling of loss, emptiness, and longing.
This requires a special kind of listening, the kind that allows for hearing the emotional content of the words spoken and often, more importantly, those thoughts unspoken. It is listening without judgement while accepting what others may be feeling. In that room, at those times, there is a strange dynamic that brings us together in our similar, yet different experiences. Death is the common thread being pulled in every story; death is our enemy, and, at the same time, it is our peer. It either stalks us in the shadows or joins us in table fellowship in the light. Death caused our misery, our sorrow, but it must be embraced if we are to experience peace once again.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
– Psalm 23:4-5a
Every grief support group should be blessed to have a Leonard. In our group, Leonard says what he thinks, can be a bit gruff, a little rough around the edges – eighty plus years and a life like his will do that – but he has a kind heart. Over the years, he has lost three wives to various illnesses; the last one he attributes to medical malpractice. His passions in life were his wives, each in their time, his family, and fishing. His father, a farmer, died tragically when Leonard was just a boy. Apparently not having enough to deal with, he was recently diagnosed with cancer, again, having beaten it twice previously. This time he has elected to forego all chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Leonard is clearly no stranger to heartache and loss. I have not heard him speak of adhering to any particular religion, other than believing in an innate goodness within humanity, and the God-given pleasure, power, and beauty of the open ocean.
Death is the common thread being pulled in every story; death is our enemy, and, at the same time, it is our peer. It either stalks us in the shadows or joins us in table fellowship in the light.
Our grief support sessions started up again in earnest after the Covid “all clear.” The group was still finding itself when Leonard joined. His blunt, no-nonsense style was a little rough for some at the start, but gradually most realized that the quiet safety of the shadows was not where the healing happened. Leonard listened closely to everyone’s story, told his own, then expressed how he found comfort by living a few truisms: First, the worst day fishing is still better than the best day grieving – so he took his grief, used it as bait, and dropped it in the ocean. In other words, find something that gives meaning to your grief, recognizing self-pity as a useless waste of time and energy – leave it over in the corner and live your life. Next, ask yourself, if they could tell you, what would your departed loved one want you to do with your life now. And do that, living that life to the fullest with their memory and your love for them as your source of strength and purpose.
This was a hard message for some, especially those whose loss was new and fresh. A grizzled veteran of so much personal loss himself, Leonard is not a huge fan of sympathy, but he does know empathy. Encouraged by his story and his message, others in the group began to respond, finding their own ways of moving with and welcoming their grief as part of their identity, not to be run from, not to sit in the corner with, but to be embraced in the light of a life well lived.
And he said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
— Job 1:21
When Leonard came to the decision of discontinuing his cancer treatments, he told me that he thought it might be best if he were to stop attending the group sessions. Having mentioned the feeling of family these groups take on, it came as no surprise that Leonard was concerned for the others having to relive their loss with him – that is the kindhearted man he is. I told him that I thought it best if he asked the group, let them help him decide. As you might suspect, the group was incredibly supportive and encouraged Leonard to continue to come to the sessions as long as he felt able. In the meantime, he continues to fish, sometimes needing help pulling in his catch, with his belief in the innate goodness of humanity continuing to be well-founded.
Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.
— Saint Teresa of Calcutta
At the heart of Leonard’s message to the group is the realization that each day is a gift not to be squandered or lived less than to the fullest. Our losses are part of life, they happen and then we have a choice to make. In the well-documented Kubler-Ross model, there are five stages of grief with denial the first. For Leonard, denial was not an option; the loss, the grief, the pain, are all very real, so why deny it? This along with the next three stages, anger, bargaining, and depression, likewise for Leonard are a waste of time and energy. Not only is he advocating moving sooner rather than later to the last stage, acceptance, he is saying figure out for yourself what you are accepting, make it part of who you are, and move forward with life thus informed. Far from saying “just move on,” he encourages enlisting the help of your dearly departed in the process by engaging with their wishes for your future.
For some folks in the group, they were just not ready to let go of one or more or those earlier stages – but hearing Leonard’s testimony was still helpful for them. It served as a reminder that grieving is a unique process that involves choices and decisions giving the one grieving a sense of some control – something they may have lost touch with while dealing with their loved one’s illness, and in many cases as their primary caregiver where their own needs always took a back seat.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
– T.S. Eliot
As of this writing, Leonard just celebrated another birthday with nearly one hundred people in attendance. He still regularly attends the grief group sessions and gets out on the ocean with friends as often as the weather permits. My takeaways from the wisdom according to Leonard: Life happens in the present. The hurts, the losses of the past, become a part of us. They inform us how we should proceed with life in the now, filled with and strengthened by the memories of love experienced that will always be with us. The past, informing us in the present to live in hope, enjoying whatever future we may have as life to the fullest, waiting for that next tug on our line with hopes of being our biggest catch yet.
And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you become fishers of men.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
– Mark 1:17-18
Reflection questions:
- Reflect on the statement, “Death is our enemy, and, at the same time, it is our peer. It either stalks us in the shadows or joins us in table fellowship in the light.” Do you agree or disagree?
- Have you or are you experiencing grief? How does Leonard’s approach/advice strike you?
- If you know someone grieving a loss, feel free to share this post, and/or recommend to them to find/join a support group; they need not deal with it on their own and, as with any journey, it starts with taking that important first step toward hope and healing.
Scripture References
Psalm 23:4-5a Job 1:21 Mark 1:17-18
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