Life Without Mother

Dear friend,

They say “misery loves company” and to be honest, I would say I have and have not in this process. Perhaps this may resonate with you: in my grief, there were often certain people I wanted to share the misery with and others with whom I didn’t.

It’s the loneliness of feeling like no one could possibly understand my grief. Maybe you have lost your mother suddenly — lost her right after your 18th birthday even — or even just shortly after — maybe we have both lost the same person — both lost our mother — but you don’t understand my grief, just like I could ever fully understand yours. Because we are all unique. In our relationships and in our processing. No one any more important or valuable, but each should be valued in their own right.

I’m ashamed that just after first writing this, I failed to apply it in conversation with a family member. Here I am, asserting the value of sensitivity toward the grief of each person, and the next moment making an errant comment out of my own assumptions as to what grief outweighs another for someone I’m close to.

Yet, my family member showed grace even while making clear how my comment implied a wrong assumption. And I’m so grateful for both the correction and the grace — because that’s the point: we don’t have to tip-toe around each other, even as we strive to be sensitive.

Grace. Grace is the key! First, understanding the uniqueness of grief. That we could never fully understand one another’s grief. Nor how different another person’s grief can be between two losses.

Then, both receiving the grace God showers over our own hurting hearts and extending that same grace toward others. Assuming the best of the other person (as my family member did toward me) and being willing to be clear about our thoughts and needs. (In the case of my family member and I, correction came from a need for me to understand both where I was wrong and the parallel paths of grieving this loved one we are on — that though our journeys may look different, this specific piece of our paths converges still.)

I will revise my title with application: You could never understand… until you ask.

I believe one of the greatest ways of demonstrating that grace and love toward someone in grief is to ask questions. Not accusing questions, but invitational questions:

How are you? (and actually stick around for an answer)
Could you tell me about ___? (invite shared memories)
Can I tell you about a time with __? (even sharing your own memories to show they’re not alone in remembering)
Would you like to talk about it or a distraction? (providing a no-pressure option)

That last question I have used often with friends. Some of my closest friends are not avid verbal processors like myself. At least, in the moment. And I’ve learned not to assume others always want to talk as I often do. (Or as much as I do.) But, sometimes even my “distraction” friends do want to talk, so asking this takes the pressure off of me to immediately know what they need and off of them to ask.

Learning to listen — not just hearing the words someone says, but to understand where they are — changes relationships for good. To be honest, it took going through my own grief to grow in my ability to listen well. To understand that even from my own valid experience of grief, I don’t know what someone else needs now, or exactly how they feel. I can imagine, I can empathize — however, that should lead me to listening, not assuming.

So, to those I’ve failed to listen to, I’m sorry for not giving you the simple grace of space to be where you are, and promise to do better by God’s grace in His Spirit.

Ever learning by His grace,
Hannah