An act of Kindness

Grief is such a difficult construct. One that a human layers with differing views of timelines, guidance, and social acceptance. When someone passes away in our culture, we bury them in the ground after a series of services preluding the burial and we try to find solace that our loved ones are in what we deem to be a better place.

              Grief has been a difficult construction for me. On January 3^rd, every year, for the rest of my life that day will be a solemn reminder of the day my mother passed away. For the past two years, it has been a deep inner struggle. One that, admittedly, has been in solitude. I would make the conscious decision not to discuss grief in group settings and in one-on-one environments, I would keep the conversation superficial. Talking about death makes people uncomfortable, I would tell myself. Why bring such a painful topic to this moment of joy? So many thoughts would flood my mind and in split seconds, I would decide that I would manage my grief on my own. The only issue was that I was not actually managing grief. There were many nights that I cried myself to sleep. Many mornings, I would wake up and curse the sun for even rising and me having to go out into the world. And even in moments where I was supposed to be feeling joy, I would tell myself that it was not okay to be happy. It has been a long and torturous road.

For a couple of months, I had been working on my relationship with God and regaining my confidence in faith. A personal decision that has been unparalleled in significance in my life. It was a mildly warm fall day. I headed to the back of the room, as I normally did. Silently still gaining comfortability with being on my own in a building full of families, couples, and a lot of people, who just merely had someone with them every morning. I was glancing at the sermon handout that previews the message every week, when a man walked up to me. It was a man that I recognized from a video that had played at a service in the summer. He and his wife talked about their journey with faith and the loss of their son. It had been quite a powerful message, as if they had spoken to me directly and not been a video playing on a screen. But even with his familiarity, I still wanted to sink in my chair and become one with the seat.

He asked me how long I had becoming to the church and what God had been teaching me in the moment. I answered him, unsure of the right answer. One of the most challenging things is wondering if the answers you give to someone’s questions about your faith is the right answer. Before I could think about what I was saying, I told him that God had brought me here in separate ways. I then told him that losing my mother was a particularly painful experience. I am normally not open with strangers about her loss. I am still barely transparent with close friends and my own father about her loss. But I can acknowledge that it is something on the forefront of my mind throughout most days. I half expected him to disregard my admission. Unfortunately, in the past two years, I have run into conversations where I would decide to be vulnerable about her loss and I would get deflection or the person I would confide in would try to make grief one culminating construct. Sometimes even comparing their grief to mine. Like mine is more painful than yours for whatever reason. I have particularly grown uncomfortable in those conversations.

 I did not know what this man would do. But he responded with acknowledging that losing my mother must still be a source of pain for me. Simple validation. Then what he did next is something that still lingers in my mind daily. He sat next to me and put his hand on my shoulder, and he told me he was going to pray for me. Never in my life had someone done that. He spoke to God in that moment and asked him to provide support and solace to me. Tears instantly fall from my eyes. It was a combination of sadness and gratitude. When the man had finished his prayer, all I could simply do was say thank you. I was not sure of what even to say. I had this preconceived expectation when he originally walked up to me, and he had exceeded those expectations. When he walked away, I found myself looking around to see if anyone had noticed this moment. If anyone had, it was not apparent to me. The gravity of that moment is indescribable. Thankful is not even the right word to describe it. I wiped the tears that had settled before my eyes and said my own personal acknowledgement to God that I was aware. Aware of what he had done.

I have thought of that moment numerous times since then. When I find myself in a particularly grueling day, I think back to the gratitude of that man and how someone that was a stranger was able to provide such support and comfort. It was something I would have never expected even in that environment which has been nothing short of comforting and revelatory since I arrived.

During one of the services, the pastor spoke of this man and his wife. His wife had been struck by a car while she had been walking. Fear spread through me as the pastor told the story and my instant thought was that the story would have a tragic ending. But his wife had made it through this accident without any life-threatening injuries or long-lasting effects. She was bruised and had suffered a concussion but was fortunately, resting at home. I began to feel tears in my eyes. Incredibly thankful that this person, who had been so gracious to me, was not experiencing the ultimate grief.

I feel continued gratitude towards this man even now. I am hopeful that, in the future, I can tell him how the few minutes he spent talking to me had such a lasting impact. In that small increment of time, he had changed my perspective on sharing grief with someone I barely knew. He had broken a few stones of the wall that I had built to protect myself from judgement or shunning. Grief has made me isolated from so many people and so many things. It has broken friendships. It has kept me from setting standards in relationships. It has found me trying to find gratification in things that either end up in the trash or only provide momentary pleasure. Grief has made me lose confidence in my ability to ever feel whole. It has run savage on so many aspects of my life but in one small moment, all those hard feelings felt less hard. The man, who is an elder pastor, helped me to realize that my grief does not have to be one spent in isolation. That grief is not a journey one must take on their own. Some people can find you, place their hand on your shoulder and wish you well. Grief may be a difficult construct, but kindness is a simple one.