Letter from Trayvon Martin’s mother to Michael Brown’s mother. “Neither of their lives shall be in vain.”
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Patients don’t read the textbook ~ Medical truism
By the end of my second year of medical school, I ceased to be surprised by the ways that human biology can go awry. Instead, having studied the seemingly endless complications that can emerge over the course of human life, I marveled at how often it all goes smoothly.
After countless hours spent attempting to understand (or, at least, memorize) humanity’s various physical ailments, I didn’t expect my own life to proceed without bodily complication. Like most medical students, I anxiously observed a parallel between the diseases I was studying and my own experiences, wondering whether an involuntary twitch of my finger might signal some catastrophic underlying disorder.
I had read the textbooks – zealously, multiple times.
When I decided to start a blog two weeks ago, I was just coming out of the darkest period of grief (for me, this lasted from about 3-5 months after my son died). That doesn’t mean the grief went away. It never will – and I wouldn’t want it to. I looked forward to combing through all of my writing from the previous months, doing a bit of editing and choosing some things to share. As a way to remember my son and how much I love him. To wallow a bit. To pick things up and put them back down.
Just as I began to do this, though, an entirely new thing happened: I became terrified.
I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. ~ Abraham Lincoln to Mrs. Bixby, who lost 5 sons in the Civil War
Often people avoid talking to those who are suffering a loss because they can’t think of a way to make the other person magically feel all better. I have been one of those people! However, now I’ve learned that the silence can be a burden, and that following the impulse to make the sufferer feel better is often counterproductive.
Saying nothing about the loss? Ignoring the gorilla in the room is generally awkward and isolating, at best. At worst, the conversation may veer straight into the gorilla, leaving everyone bruised and battered.
And trying to talk someone out of their grief? Not helpful at all, it turns out!
For me, simple statements of acknowledgement and validation have been the most reliable balm during a time of tragedy.
Wrapped Up In Parentheses 