Do Not Assuage the Pain

As I write this, my dad passed away just two days ago. At first, to my surprise, the emotional impact of it did not really hit me. throughout Sunday and Monday, I felt almost nothing, as if I was numb to it. One friend described it as emotional denial, and I think that is a good way to put it.
Despite the emotional denial, I did not go to work last night. It just didn’t feel right to go to work the very day after dad’s death, as if nothing had happened. After I left my boss a voice mail, telling him I would not be in, he sent me a text saying, “Sorry to hear about your loss. Take all the time you need.”
This morning, as I was reading several messages of sympathy and condolences on my facebook page, I finally got teary-eyed. Then I heard a song entitled, “I Want to Stroll Over Heaven With You.” As I listened to that song, the tears flowed more freely. Throughout the day since, I’ve just been generally sad.
I was intending to go to work tonight, saving my bereavement time for the trip down to Oregon for dad’s memorial service, which I believe will be the weekend of the 31st and August 1st. I’m assuming we will make the trip down on Friday the 30th. But when I arrived at work tonight, I realized I wouldn’t be able to concentrate, and I would not be effective. With my boss’s approval and encouragement, I came home.
I am grateful for everyone’s words of sympathy and compassion. But over the past couple days, I’ve noticed something that really does bother me. Not just because it’s me, and not just because it was my dad who passed away. It is something we’ve all experienced and something we’ve all been guilty of.
Over the past couple days, when I’ve mentioned dad’s passing to Christian friends of mine, the first words out of their mouths were, “Was he a Christian?” When I answered yes, they invariably responded by saying, “Well, at least you know he’s in heaven, and you can take comfort in that.”
Don’t get me wrong. I am a Christian. I do believe dad was a Christian. And because of that, I do believe he has gone to heaven. I am also aware that the Bible instructs us to encourage each other with such words. And I do take some measure of comfort in knowing dad has gone to heaven.
On the other hand, there’s a sense in which these words just sound trite. I don’t know if it is in the tone of voice, or the quickness of the response, but it just sounds like a rehearsed, pat answer we give people when they are grieving the loss of a loved one.
As I think about it, with the sadness of losing dad just beginning to set in, I believe this is an attempt to assuage the pain. As human beings, we have an aversion to pain. We don’t like experiencing pain in our own lives, and we don’t like seeing other people going through pain. So we say things like, “He is in a better place,” as if that is supposed to alleviate or assuage the pain of the loss. Before going in to work tonight, I was debating whether or not to even make the attempt. One friend said to me, “Well, at least that will keep you busy and take your mind off of it for a while.”
But that’s the whole problem. I don’t want to have my mind taken off of it. I don’t want to feel like I have to stay busy and keep myself distracted. My dad just died. I need to grieve. I need to feel the pain. The pain is healthy. The pain is good for us. The pain will pass, in time. And then, as it is beginning to pass away, I can comfort myself with the knowledge that my dad has gone to heaven.
But don’t say that to me now. Right now, I don’t want the pain to be alleviated or assuaged. I don’t want to avoid it. And I shouldn’t want to avoid it. The pain is healthy. The pain is good. The pain reminds us that we are alive. The pain reminds us of the love we felt for our friend or loved one who has passed away, and the fact that we do and will miss him/her. The pain reminds us of the reality of death and our own mortality. And if we allow Him, God can use the pain to teach us to “number our days.”
Earlier tonight, I was chatting on-line with an old high school classmate; a Jewish lady now living in Israel. She told me that in Jewish custom, a person’s funeral is held within 48 hours after their death. Then members of the immediately go into a seven-day period of mourning called Shiva. During Shiva, other relatives and friends provide meals and stay nearby to provide emotional support. But the interesting thing she told me is that, during this time, no one speaks to the mourners unless the mourners first speak to them. Everyone else is supposed to be present, but silent. They let the mourners grieve in whatever way they need to grieve. They let them feel the pain and feel the loss. If they need to talk about it, let them talk about it. If they need to weep, let them weep. If they need to just sit in silent reflection, let them sit in silent reflection.
How different this is from our society here in America. And as I am now experiencing this loss, I am thinking the Jews have it right, and we have it all wrong. Our lives are too busy and too noisy to sit in Shiva. Our employers provide two or three days’ worth of bereavement time; not seven. And after that, you’re expected to go back to work. Either that, or take vacation time. And if you don’t have the vacation time, you’re S.O.L.
And is two or three days enough time to grieve the loss of someone as close as a mom or a dad? Not really. Hell, it’s taken two days for it to just begin to sink in with me. But with my sense of obligation, and given the fact that dad’s memorial service won’t even be this weekend, but most likely the next weekend, I will most likely feel obligated to go to work tomorrow night. Already, I’ve got feelings of guilt about missing last night and tonight. Not to mention the fact that I will probably need to take a night or two off for the trip to Oregon to attend the memorial.
This is all wrong. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty about missing work because of my dad’s passing. But because of the work ethic I’ve been raised with and the expectations of society, I do, at least to some degree. Especially since the emotional impact didn’t even begin to hit me until today, I actually found myself questioning whether or not I was using dad’s death as an excuse to not go to work last night. Now you tell me if that’s not insanity.
Part of the problem is that, because I feel the obligation to be at work, it seems as if I can’t truly allow myself to grieve and feel the pain. I can’t let that dam break. Because once it does, I don’t know for how long it will last. But if I have to go to work, then I have to keep myself composed and under control.
I guess I’ve rambled on long enough. If I have to work tomorrow night, then I’ve got less than 24 hours for my “mini-Shiva.” I’d better get to my silent reflection, crying, grieving, and so forth.
And Dad: I love you, and I do miss you, even if it’s taken me a couple days to feel the pain. Remember, I’m only 38 years old. So it will be a while before I come join you in heaven. But don’t worry. By the grace of God, I’ll be there eventually. See ya then.