Wit and Wisdom: Good Grief, It’s Personal

She was a simple, unadorned young woman. Her long, awkward strides took her quickly from the door of my office to the couch where she unceremoniously plopped down and crossed her legs, swinging it impatiently as I settled into my chair.

Before I could open my mouth, she said, "My doctor says I need to be here. I think he needs to be here."

The double-handful of words she threw at me told me much:

1. She has some kind of emotional or behavioral symptoms that are significant enough that a primary care physician has noticed them and felt they needed addressed.
2. This woman takes the shortest route to a destination. She won’t tolerate beating around the bush, so I’ll have to be direct with her.
3. She's mad at her doctor for insisting that she come.
4. But has a tremendous amount of respect for her doctor to agree to do something she doesn't want to do.
5. She has lots of misgivings about the value of counseling in general and is probably suspicious of me.

I decided to try a question. 

“So, why would your doctor think you need to come see me?”

Grabbing that question like a rodeo cowboy wrestling a calf to the ground, she held the back of her hand toward me and stuck up one finger. No, it wasn't that finger; it was her ring finger. 

Pointing to the wedding ring encircling it, she said, “Doc tells me I need to take this off and get on with my life.”

Folding her arms across her chest, her leg shifted into high gear again, swinging vigorously. There was an air of finality about her, as if she’d said all she intended to say and now it was my turn.

Clearly, I needed some more information. I ventured another question, “Why don't you tell me your story?”

With a huff of exasperation she uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, and launched into what was a heartbreaking story.

Three years earlier, her thirty-four-year-old husband was killed in a work-related accident, which meant she was a widow at twenty-eight with four-year-old twin daughters and an eight-month-old son.

She concluded her story by saying, “Am I still sad sometimes? Yes, but I ain’t depressed. I go to work every day. I take care of my kids and my house. But doc says I need to take this ring off.”

Grief. 

It's an interesting word. It's an effort to describe in one word a myriad of emotions. 

Grief is not pain. It’s our emotional response to pain; the specific kind of pain associated with loss.

When any conversation revolves around human suffering, the name of Job inevitably shows up. It’s hard to find any example of someone who experienced more loss that this ancient man. As a matter of fact, so shocking were the losses that Job experienced that when his friends came to see him, “they sat on the ground with him seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him because they saw how great his suffering was.”

Emotions are internal, but they need an external (physical, behavioral) expression, a means of finding their way out of the heart. For example, if you’re happy, the corners of your mouth turn up, producing a smile; you might laugh and even produce happy tears.

Finding a healthy way of expressing intense feelings is crucial to our mental health.  As a matter of fact, it’s the holding in of emotions that causes a plethora of problems and constitutes one of the main reasons counselors' offices are so busy.

What I appreciate about Job’s story is how readily and openly he expressed his grief. He “tore his robe and shaved his head.” He sat in a pile of ashes and “took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it.”

It’s a vivid picture of someone giving full vent to their emotions. 

Am I saying we should all express our grief the same way Job did? No. As a matter of fact, I rarely offer any suggestions on how to express grief because I believe grief is the most personal experience a person can have. I try to stay out of the way of other’s personal expression of grief. Everyone has to do things in ways that make sense to them, not to me.

The only time I get concerned about how a person is grieving is if, after a month or two, it’s preventing them from functioning on a daily basis. That doesn't mean I think they should be over their loss in a month or so. I'm simply saying that it might be time to consider medications and/or behavioral changes.

Two points I'm trying to make here:

• Don't let someone tell you how you should be processing your grief or what “stage” you should be in.
• Don't make the mistake of telling someone what they should do with their grief just because it makes sense to you. Many people have been greatly wounded by well-intentioned suggestions from others.

And the lady I mentioned in the opening of this article? What did I tell her? I simply asked her if she wanted to take her wedding ring off.

“Hell no,” she said.

“Then don't take it off,” I replied. “It’s your business what you do with your ring.”

She responded with a warm, genuine smile. “Thank you. That's what I needed to hear.” Laughing, she added, “Just wait until I see that crazy doctor of mine.”

* Taken from The Wit and Wisdom of David Johnson, Volume III: A Harrowing Halloween Tale