"Console Me, My Dog Died"

"Sientists" (whoever they are) say that the groves, lines, and ridge patterns on the pad of your finger are only unique to you... no one else in the world. Even identical twins don't have the same fingerprints. When you were a baby in your mother's womb, not only were you growing fingers and toes, but the pressure of you touching your surroundings created fingerprints. Fingerprints are used to identify who you are, incomparably.

Just like our fingerprints, our personality, thoughts, passions, and who we actually are make us unrepeatable and unique. Because God created us in His will (Genesis 1:27), no two alike, we all have our own makeup. We're all different. We all think differently, process emotions differently, hope differently, and grieve differently.

Through our commonalities however, our culture has created responses to help celebrate our alikeness. We celebrate with cake at birthday parties, we cheer at high school graduations, and we bring our best damn casserole to funeral receptions.

There are proper things to say at weddings, ("here's to wishing you a lifetime of happiness") and proper things to say at children ("we do not behave this way in public"). Through our culture, we have placed emphasis on large events (hello every baby announcement on my Facebook feed) and have encouraged a timeline for how lives should be led. Though we are similar, we sometimes forget our uniqueness.

One thing we have failed at? Recognizing that an individual's grief is as unique as our fingerprints.

Since we were children, we were taught to know that life has a beginning and an end. When people hear the word "grief", they automatically associate the word with death. But sometimes we fail to recognize that grief is associated with life.

I remember in college, I had driven home from school to be with my family for Halloween weekend. We all were planning to ride to MD Anderson together for one of my dad's chemotherapy sessions (great family outing, I know). Before we left the house to drive to the hospital, my dog was hit by a car on our road. I had experienced death before, but I hadn't witnessed it right in front of me. Feelings of shock, betrayal, sadness, anger, and sorrow washed over me completely as I realized the loss we just experienced.

After burying my sweet furry friend, we drove to the hospital as I wallowed in the back seat. I remember laying on the couch in the waiting room and my dad texting me (because I was an emotional teenager) and said "The good news is, today can't get any more shitty." It made me smile (my dad always did), but I was still angry. There I was, sitting in a hospital full of terminally ill people, selfishingly wanting to be consoled because my dog died.

The point of sharing that memory is it is an example of how grief can not only be all consuming, but it can happen at any time for any reason. Grief isn't defined by a traumatic event or death, but instead caused by an overwhelming feeling of loss. Grief isn't just expressed through crying and lashing out, but can be evident in physical, cognitive, behavioral, and emotional responses.

During this global pandemic, people are grieving. People have lost loved ones, lost their jobs, lost their financial stability, lost their relationships, lost their sense of purpose, and lost their community. During life, we sometimes forget that we all face losses while we live. Mothers have miscarriages, children are abandoned by family members, friends move away, pets pass on, and marriages sometimes end. Loss comes in many forms and doesn't shy away from anyone.

While I'd like to say a southern casserole can fix anything, we don't always have the right actions or words for those grieving around us. So what do we do? I know it's proper to attend a funeral of a friend, but how to I comfort someone who just had a miscarriage? We don't have the power to heal cancer or mend a brother's divorce. We don't have the power to fix the economy or cure diseases. We don't have the power to bring back a loved one.

We do, however, have the power to acknowledge our grief. We also have the power to sit with one another, even if we don't know how to express sympathy. We have the power to say "I'm hurting" and have the power to say "I see that you're hurting".

Like Jesus wept with his friends (John 11:35), we need to see those who are suffering and have consolation for their pain (no matter the size or cause). We need to have compassion towards one another, leaving judgements aside.

But, we also need to be kind to ourselves if we're grieving. Allow yourself to recognize that you have faced a loss, no matter what it may be, no matter when it occurred, and sit with your emotions.

Grief comes through many forms and many phases, for us and for those who surround us. We all grieve over different losses and we all grieve in different ways. Want some good news after all that talk of grief? "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." (Revelations 21:4)

Like our fingerprints, our battles with grief are individualistic, however we all have a hand reaching out to us (hint: it's Jesus) that will weep next to us, comfort us during times of trial, and give us hope there will be pain no more.