there is no epidural for grief...

in just 3 short weeks, my first semester as a Divinity student will be drawing to a close. The last few months have been a tremendous transition--personally, academically, and, most of all--spiritually. many ppl have been asking me to blog and blog regularly after the first email update that i sent, but the truth is, though there has been so much going on, i have not had enough moments of true clarity to sit down and write anything that would make sense to anyone but myself & God! however, after a conversation with a friend yesterday, my fingers started itching and my mind started moving. i didn't have my computer with me, so i began jotting down ideas on a scrap of paper. and, here i am, not having blogged in almost six months, but with a little somethin'-somethin' to share with you...

there are 2 things that i fear more than anything in this world: death and rejection. fear of both of these events stands in direct antithesis of a faith which assures as that our earthly end is indeed only our eternal beginning, as well as reminding us that Jesus was rejected by pretty much everyone and still served out His purpose on earth. i subscribe to this faith, study this faith, teach this faith, and preach this faith, but like many people, i struggle with doubt and unanswered questions. seminary makes it worse, let me tell you...but, it is well b/c without doubt, questions, and moments of pure disbelief, there would be no need for faith.

as part of the requirements for my degree, i will eventually complete 400 hours of Clinical Pastoral Education, also known as 'CPE.' CPE is essentially the time during your Divinity training where you spend time as a chaplain, in a hospital setting, being present with patients and families as they face illness and, in many cases, begin their walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. many of my classmates this semester have either already completed their CPE hours or are in the midst of them. because of this, even as a new student, i have been able to get firsthand accounts of what it is really like to be present with families as their loved ones transition. some of these transitions are long and labored as is the case with a terminal illness, and others are sudden, such as a heart attack or a fatal accident. no matter the cause, the pain and heartache is still the same, and you, as the chaplain, are indeed the very presence/face of God at that moment as you walk with that family.

in my background, i have not experienced much death, atleast in my own family. both my maternal and paternal grandparents died when i was relatively young, and i also lost an uncle as a preteen and a great aunt about 4 years ago. i cannot recall any of these deaths really hitting me hard and i think it was for a number of reasons: age, nature of relationship with the person (i.e. lack of closeness), and the unemotional way in which it was handled in a family where practically EVERYTHING is taboo!

but even though i have not walked that Emmaus Rd (yet), i have experienced it plenty with friends of mine who have lost...or are currently losing...close family members. i have seen and experienced this grief up close, and have attempted to--as Buddha would say--let their pain 'wash over me' without completely absorbing it, so that i can be a support to them and love them in the way that they need it the most.

and, so, as i sat and reflected yesterday (as i do often) about death/grief/sympathy/consolation/fear and all that comes with that, i thought about the words...the words that we immediately jump to say when someone is experiencing grief....the spiritual 'fluff' and 'mumbo-jumbo,' as i call it: 'your loved one is looking down on you from Heaven,' 'there is no more pain now,' 'they are with you always as your angel.' the list goes on and on. i absolutely ABHOR shopping for sympathy cards b/c of this issue as i know without a shadow of a doubt, no matter how saved/sanctified a person is--or claims to be--they don't want to hear that! and, b/c we as humans always feel the need to 'have something to say,' we try to find the right words to encompass an emotion that is like the moans/groans that only the Holy Spirit can understand--there are no words that will ever do justice to that heartbreak of loss.

and so, as i am being prepared for ministry--as a chaplain, as a pastoral counselor and beyond--i wonder often what i will be able to offer these families as they go through this time. it came to me yesterday: there is no epidural for grief. before i became pregnant, i was like most women--i had been socialized to fear childbirth--the pain, the loss of control, etc. throughout my pregnancy, i took the time to educate myself about the process, my body, and methods of pain management, and made the decision to make a full attempt at natural childbirth. during my research, i discovered that women's bodies are indeed built to carry and birth children, and also to withstand the pain of childbirth. don't be mistaken: this is not some diatribe about childbirth not hurting--labor HURTS! but, what it is instead, is a true fact--we are built to endure this pain....and we also have options: an epidural will completely numb you, a narcotic will just take the edge off, and natural childbirth with breathing techniques/massage/exercise balls/water will help you to manage the pain, without taking it away.

so, where am i going with this? from the moment the goldfish that we cherish dies when we are young, we are introduced to the concept of death. though we may be too young to fully grasp its meaning, we know the basics of the life cycle--animals/ppl/plants are born/grow/die. we are hurt, we are sad, but we don't also die with that person or animal who died. we are indeed built to endure the pain of grief b/c it is a natural process of life, but the grief does not kill us-- just like a woman's body is built to endure the pain of childbirth (which will not kill her). it may feel like we are dying from the pain--physical and emotional--but we yet live.

'spiritual fluff' acts as an epidural. it is designed to numb an already shell-shocked person from walking through the valley of their heartbreak. kind words and good intentions get wrapped in a shot of pain medication that eventually wears off. 'mumbo-jumbo' acts as a narcotic. it takes the edge off: a person still feels the pain, but may be too 'high' from the medication to fully grasp the feeling. again, it eventually wears off and we're back to Square One--until we get another hit.

what i hope to be to the families that i have yet to meet, to those friends who i have walked with and will continue to walk with, and for myself when my time comes, is a Grief Midwife. i would like to help people learn how to manage the pain. i remember the pain of natural childbirth like it was yesterday--i got a great kid out of it, but it is not lost on me the amount of discomfort that accompanied that process! in that experience, i came to know what i could take--me, the person with THE lowest pain threshhold ever. i learned how to manage...and i believe that is what is missing the most with the grief process.

the truth is, unlike childbirth, the pain of sorrow and grief never completely goes away. there is no smiling, crying baby to hold in your arms to help you forget what just happened. on the other side of the labor of death, there stands an absence, a gravesite, a void that will never be filled on this side of eternity. and, just like contractions, the moments of sheer despair will peak and valley over the days, weeks, months, and years after the loss. and how that pain is managed will be key to the spiritual surviVAL of the surviVOR.

i will face my fears shortly when i start my CPE, having the opportunity to assist families in whatever way that they need me. i will hone my 'midwifery techniques,' while being face-to-face with that which troubles me the most. i will learn to let the pain wash over me, yet not absorb it, and i will say nothing that is not asked of and, insteaf let my presence speak for itself.

i will do my best to be the face of God for them during their most difficult moments, and to be used in however He allows me. in that, i will teach them to manage--and i too, will learn to manage the pain.