Welcome back. I received a comment on my last post that inspired me to write a bit about wording and understanding. The words we use with someone who has experienced a trauma, mourning a death, etc., are very important. If the wrong thing is said, our intended words of kindness can blow up in our faces.
Years ago, my mother-in-law lost her mom and she was obviously very distraught. I lost my mother just a couple years before so I could at least grasp what she was feeling. When trying to console her and identify with her to make her feel better, I hugged her and used a very bad choice of words. It didn't blow up in my face, but I felt horrible knowing what I said was the wrong thing, especially knowing how bad I hated the same words being said to me after my mom died so tragically. My exact words were, "don't worry, I know EXACTLY how you feel." I didn't know exactly how she felt. I could understand, but nothing more. No one knows exactly how the other feels. Everyone grieves in different ways. Everyone grieves with different traumas also.
I thought I was telling her she had someone who understood, who she could talk to, that she was not alone. I was wrong. It didn't affect our relationship, I'm not even sure she was bothered by it, but it bothered me. I say all that to say this, choose your words wisely. You never know exactly how someone else feels. With people experiencing PTSD, we can take it a bit harder. I don't know about you, but many times I feel that not only do other people NOT know how I feel, but they also don't UNDERSTAND how I feel, and when they say that, it just pisses me off.
Anyway, the author of the comment had some issues he needed to talk about (I am using he in a universal sense as the author's title is quite literally "anonymous"). He did the right thing by going to a friend he trusted who happened to be a 30 year veteran of the police force. What made "anonymous" feel better was the police officer's wording. Instead of using the comments of "I understand how you feel", "I know how you feel", "it's not your fault", "don't feel guilty", etc., he used "I see no cause on your part." It gave the author the sense that he actually did understand without bluntly stating it. Now maybe I'm misinterpreting the comment, and you can view his comment under Silver Linings and make your own assumptions, but either way, helping someone may all be in your word choice. Sometimes you don't have to say anything at all to help someone feel better, just the silence and physically being there may be better than 1000 kind words...
My usual sign off ends with "Above all else SURVIVE," but the author of the post believed there was a better word, so in honor of his inspiration...
And remember...
Above all else...PREVAIL
The old school way of helping another deal with grief is actually to say as little as possible. For the reasons you imply we are socially compelled to brevity- because grief is as unique as a fingerprint. A universe unto itself.
ReplyDeleteA retired cop I know remarked when I told him my brother had just died at age 54 of Pancreatic Cancer Stage B inside of three months. Bam.
He shook his head and said, "Cancer. There is so much of that going around nowadays. It seems like everyone you talk to has it or someone they love has it."
At first I thought, "Hell, this guy is a hard-nose!"
Then...weirdly...I suddenly felt comforted by this almost off-the-cuff, nearly dismissive reaction. I can barely explain why, but I'll try. I will preface by saying I know this retired cop to be an exceptionally caring man.
He keyed into something primal. In the back of my mind, I'd been thinking my brother had been singled out. Like he'd taken a bullet I could have jumped in the way of. My world was pivoting around that cluster of malignant cells that exploded inside him. A time bomb.
He died. I lost a leg.
But the retired cop was pointing out another scenario - a universal hail of fire. That, statistics being, we are all under constant siege - if not from the disease itself - then as collateral damage in the collapse of grief. Cancer is a hail of scatter bombs.
He could have said, "Hey I get it, Me too!"...and given me his casualty list. Now THAT would have pissed me off. But he didn't. He spoke of cancer as a lethal weapon type. Cut and dried.
In describing the battlefield, indirectly, he called attention to my wound and the attention it deserves. And, he served to remind me to keep my guard up as best I can, to cover myself and to remember that others, so wounded, are among those I pass on the streets every day. We are all in the same boat.
Now...maybe this cop just reacted instinctively. Did he say the right thing? For me, yes. It was the right language for me. That is all I know.
By way of context: I should add that the retired cop I mentioned my grief to was not a friend, more like an associate. He himself has suffered two small strokes. Undaunted, he continues to work for the public good against all manner of adversity.
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