{"id":14890,"date":"2019-04-17T09:11:00","date_gmt":"2019-04-17T13:11:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lifeinsurance-orleans.ca\/Life-Insurance-Blog\/what-to-make-of-grief\/"},"modified":"2019-04-17T09:11:00","modified_gmt":"2019-04-17T13:11:00","slug":"what-to-make-of-grief","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.lifeinsurance-orleans.ca\/index.php\/2019\/04\/17\/what-to-make-of-grief\/","title":{"rendered":"What To Make Of Grief"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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\nI scanned the roomful of strangers as my wife and I entered. Up front was the familiar face of my neighbor, George, looking down at his wife in the open casket.<\/p>\n

\nImmediately, attending the wake seemed like a mistake. We were only neighbors in a room of family members and friends who had known them longer than I had been alive. Should we sit? Should we go up front? What would we say? Shouldn\u2019t we just leave?<\/p>\n

\nThese are typical questions that come to mind at these moments, especially those involving someone you know, but not well. What is appropriate in those situations?<\/p>\n

\nMost of us do not know what to say or do at any spot on the spectrum spanning from loved one to acquaintance. \u201cSorry for you loss,\u201d is what we say, even though it sounds lame.<\/p>\n

\nThe phrase is as ineffectual as it feels, according to Amy Florian, who has made a career of understanding grief after experiencing it profoundly as a young adult. Her husband died in a car accident, leaving her a widow with a baby.<\/p>\n

\nShe learned not only how to deal with that grief but she also went on to get a master\u2019s degree in pastoral studies and now practices thanatology, which focuses on issues around death. Amy was this month\u2019s interview with Publisher Paul Feldman.<\/p>\n

\nDuring the interview, Amy discussed better things to say than the ubiquitous \u201csorry for your loss.\u201d She pointed out how much of a difference advisors can make when they show up authentically for clients. It helps ease discomfort and can be a factor in whether an advisor keeps the family\u2019s business.
And grief is not reserved just for those closest to the departed. It radiates all the way through anyone who even heard about the death. Grief is not always rising from just death, either. It shows up whenever there is a loss, even associated with a positive change. Someone could have accepted a great new job, but misses the commute through the countryside to their former job.<\/p>\n

\nWe help ourselves and others when we acknowledge and make space for that grief, however insignificant it seems.<\/p>\n

\nLooking In From Outside<\/h2>\n

\nLisa and I did not know George Brigham\u2019s wife, Laura, very well. We knew George from the yard. It was our first house and we were struggling to learn all the things we should do.<\/p>\n

\nOur modest houses sat on adjoining city lots, with no fence in between. George was the kind of neighbor you would rip down a fence for, rather than put one up. We didn\u2019t know Laura, but we knew George loved her like crazy even though they were in their 80s.<\/p>\n

\nDuring the first Gulf War, he and I sat on his back steps with cheap cigars and beer after a long day of working in our yards and talked about his war.<\/p>\n

\nHe was a Marine in the Pacific Campaign during World War II. Until then, I knew little about the gruesome work it took to claim island after bloody island. I don\u2019t have the space or the desire to go into those details here.<\/p>\n

\nBut George put it best when he said, \u201cPeople who love war have never been in one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nHealing Through Helping<\/h2>\n

\nLaura died of injuries from a fall down their basement steps. The loss felt senseless, but any death is not supposed to make sense. It is just what we make of it.<\/p>\n

\nWe attended the wake even though it was uncomfortable because we felt like it was the right thing to do. We crept around the room\u2019s periphery to George\u2019s proximity to at least acknowledge that we were there for him and perhaps mumble a \u201cSorry about Laura.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nGeorge spotted us and walked right over, smiling like we had just stopped over his house. I started to extend my hand but he just stepped in between us, putting one arm across my shoulders and the other over Lisa\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThanks for coming,\u201d he said, still smiling. \u201cLaura really liked you two.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nThat was a surprise. And it helped us to hear that.<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCome see Laura,\u201d he said, walking us over to the casket as he cradled our shoulders. \u201cIsn\u2019t she beautiful?\u201d<\/p>\n

\nI scanned down to see Laura looking as if she were sleeping and could awaken any moment. I marveled at how they were able to make her look in perfect health. And, actually, I hadn\u2019t really looked at her intently before \u2014 but, yes, she was beautiful.<\/p>\n

\nTurning to George, I saw him gazing down, just glowing, like the first time he saw her. Maybe he always saw her like the first time, every time.<\/p>\n

\nI looked to Lisa, who was also watching George. We caught each other\u2019s eye, probably with the same questions: \u201cWill this be us? Do we have this?\u201d
George led us to the side of the room, where he thanked us for coming and told us he would see us back at the house.<\/p>\n

\nI don\u2019t remember what we had said \u2014 or even if we said anything. We did not have to. He helped us through our grief. He helped us get through one of the worst days of his life.<\/p>\n

\nAfter a few weeks, George resumed working in the yard. The following spring, he started to drive down to Florida just as he and Laura did every year, but had to turn back because of a throbbing pain in his hip that turned out to be a tumor wrapped around the bone. Soon, a hospital bed replaced his.
George\u2019s daughters, Lisa and I took turns sitting with him as he withered in pain and morphine. I relished his stories as I sat with him. One night, the stories were silenced by thrush, an infection of the lining of his mouth, apparently a sign of imminent death.<\/p>\n

\nAs I sat with him, he looked past me to the door and motioned for someone to come in. I turned to see no one there. I turned back to see George watching someone walk the perimeter of the room and sit in the chair on the other side of the bed.<\/p>\n

\nI assumed it was an effect of the pain and the morphine. But I didn\u2019t wonder long who he was seeing. I had seen that gaze at the wake.
The next morning I learned he had died during the night, leaving me feeling guilty that no one was with him.<\/p>\n

\nThen I scanned the garden and the house next door, glowing on that perfect spring day and remembered the night before. No, I didn\u2019t need to worry. He had been with the girl of his dreams.<\/p>\n

\nSteven A. Morelli
Editor-in-Chief<\/em><\/p>\n

Read the original article at InsuranceNewsNetMagazine.com<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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