We all deal with tragedy differently, and this is something I am coming to terms with as I age and inevitably encounter more loss.
Some people process terrible or sorrowful events with tears, others with anger. Some celebrate the good that has been - such as a life lived fully or a miracle that has come out of disaster - and others demand revenge. Some folks create action committees and vow to right the wrongs of the world, and others hand over their burdens to God and pray. Some of us can't deal with tragedy at all and devote a great deal of our energy to running far away from it.
As might be expected given the nature of this blog, I process loss and tragedy emotively and through communication. When something terrible happens I cry and then typically reach out to talk it over with my loved ones.
A good example of this would be the day my father died, when I was stuck in the hospital about to give birth. I got the news via cell phone from my older brother who had been holding vigil with my sister and mother by my father's bedside for days. At the time a dear friend of mine happened to be visiting me in the hospital, and we wept together.
Soon my mother-in-law and sister-in-law dropped by to visit me, and later that same brother came too. The four of us talked for a while together, and shared our grief and joy over the mysterious and miraculous forces that had brought my father to the end of his life just hours before my daughter would enter the world.
It turns out that my husband processes tragedy quite differently than I do, which is not bad at all - I have actually learned much from watching him deal with heartbreak and loss.
My husband is a "do-er" rather than a talker; although he is quite a capable conversationalist too. When he suffers emotionally, he processes his feelings physically through rigorous exercise and a deep connection to nature. Sitting on a couch talking through his sorrows will not relieve any aching that weighs upon his heart, rather he needs to be pushing his body to its physical limits to literally sweat out the stress and tension.
He also turns to laughter, which at first I did not understand but have grown over the years to see is a really healthy way to process grief. He will turn on a comedy - usually something stupidly witty, even gross 'boy' humor - and chuckle away. At times when we were first together I was surprised by what I saw as an emotional distance from the events unfolding around him, but nearly ten years later I understand that he is actually doing something extremely graceful - finding joy in the good that remains in his world, even when he has lost much.
His mother has a saying, "Life is for the living," which I really like. I think my husband lives by this at a very core level - rather than dissolving under stress or sorrow he throws himself physically or emotionally into being fully alive and appreciating all that he has with happiness and gratitude.
This is one of the interesting and ironic ways in which we differ... I myself *think* about spirituality and the meaning of life all of the time, while my husband rarely thinks about it yet simply *is* a spiritual person whose very essence celebrates being alive. I yearn to be more like him and admire his ability to not get bogged down by tragedy.
Watching video footage of the Japanese earthquake, tsunami and nuclear reactor damage I've been alternately devastated, overwhelmed and horrified by the waking nightmare our Japanese brothers and sisters are facing today. I do feel like they are family to me, even though we have never met, and I mourn their losses with all my heart. I find myself wanting to know about the individual people who perished in that massive and sudden flood of water... what were their life stories? How many children were lost? What were their dreams?
I wish I knew the identity and story behind every single person lost in Japan in the last 24 hours, because it is not their sudden deaths but rather their lives that I wish I could focus on and celebrate. Each of those people had meaning in the world, each of them mattered. I didn't know any of them but they matter to me a lot.
I believe that we are all connected in the web of life and that there is good in all people, ALL people. So I wish I knew something about every one of the farmers, fishermen, travelers and tourists that perished in Japan. I wish I could hug their families and bring them casseroles and help honor their memories.
To process my own grief tonight I pulled up a few recent sermons given (and videotaped) at our church and watched them while washing the dinner dishes. I wanted to feel closer to God, I guess, and to my faith. For me this proved very comforting.
As I grappled to comprehend the magnitude and meaning of the losses that so many have experienced today, my husband processed things in his own way. When he got home from work he took our three children bike riding and later after they went to bed he turned on a re-run of Saturday Night Live. From my post in the kitchen rinsing plates and watching the recent guest minister speak about love and prayer, I heard my man giggling at the opening monologue of SNL. I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that he sounded truly alive ~ and that his heartfelt laughter is a very beautiful sound.
I don't know what happens to us after we die but I do believe that all of life is a gift and we are meant to enjoy and appreciate that gift for as long as we are individually blessed to have it. My husband is teaching me - and our children - how to delight in and appreciate life rather than wallowing in sorrow and loss; a gift of perspective for which I am truly and eternally grateful.
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