No Judgment Please

We've all been there at some point, in one form or another, or certainly we will be eventually. Someone we dearly love passes away. The pain is so deep, and it feels like we cannot go on. But the way we grieve is as individual as our own fingerprint.

I have grieved—in my own way. My 24-year-old son was killed in a car accident on Mother's Day weekend in May of 2017. My journey has been my own, different than even the journey of my husband or each of my surviving children, even different than the journeys of other parents whose child has passed away. Much of my healing is attributed to the actions I decided to take, shaped by the pain in my soul, the pain that held the history of all my past traumas and losses—and loves.  My healing was shaped by the therapist I chose to spend a year and a half with, and the online support groups I sought out and still spend time with. One of these groups is Helping Parents Heal, a group specifically for parents whose child has transitioned. In this group, we are able to post pictures of our child anytime we want, and no one complains about it. We are able to write how we feel, whether that may be despair or hope. There is no judgement, because there is an understanding that every single one of us does this in her/his own way.     

My journey guides me toward healing and continues to unfold. But there is no reason for me to ever tell anyone else to do it my way. I could be speaking with another parent whose child has passed away, but her/his circumstances would likely be entirely different than mine. The history and relationship with the child would have been different. Many parents had either a shorter time with their child than I did, or a 
longer time. Maybe their child did not die in a a car accident like mine did. Maybe their child passed from a long illness, or from an accidental drug overdose, or from suicide, or was murdered. Maybe that parent lost the only child they ever had.  Maybe their relationship with their child was troubled, or estranged, or more loving than any other relationship they have ever had. Maybe they took care of their disabled child every single day and night for years, and no longer have that daily interaction. I have no idea what any of that feels like. How could I judge that person's grief?

And likely, different parents' past experiences with other losses are unlike mine. Maybe they've had many traumatic losses, or maybe none at all. Maybe they have felt abandonment or, conversely, total support. Maybe they already had a strong foundation of faith, or an unsettling church experience, a loving relationship with God, or no belief in any God whatsoever. Maybe death for them had always been a taboo subject and seen as something to be avoided, or was a topic that was frequently discussed and philosophized. All these differences are going to affect the way a person grieves. So, who am I to tell someone else that they are grieving too much and should be over it by now, or that they are not grieving enough?

Another online support group I spend time with, Grief: Releasing Pain, Remembering Love & Finding Meaning, is inclusive of losses of any loved one. I have seen people in so very much pain when their parent passes away. These are people usually around my age, in their 60s, whose mother or father was in her/his 80s or 90s. Many of these grievers are totally devastated and distraught. The love is so deep and the pain so great that they have a hard time getting through each day. However, my experience with my parents' deaths was very different. My grief was much softer, gentler, and a bit more accepting of this inevitability in life. Although my heart was heavy, I did not experience difficulty getting up in the morning and facing the day. Does this mean I loved my parents less? Not at all. No doubt this difference in grieving was due to a very different history and relationship with my parents, and also due to the many discussions of life and death we had over the years. My grief in this case was unlike the grief of others. There would be no reason at all for me to tell someone else that they are grieving too much, or conversely, for anyone to say to me that I didn't grieve enough. Everyone's situation is unique.

And on the flip side of that, I have learned never to take personally how someone else views my grief, though it did take some time for me to get there. After the passing of my son, I quickly became aware of who I could discuss my grief with and who not to bring it up to. I would love if people could withhold judgment and understand that grief is a personal journey. But I also know that their judgment is based on their own preconceived notions. It would be easy for me to become offended by or angry at people who make comments about my grief. But the truth is, I know they have absolutely no idea what I have been through in my life, just like I have no idea what they have been through in their lives. I have finally found the grace to just let them be and assume they mean well. I know who I am, and I know why I need to do what I do. This is quite a lesson I have learned, though by no means always easy and certainly far from perfected.

In our society we are quick to judge. We judge people by their appearances, the clothes they wear, and the cars they drive. We judge people by whether or not they have a college education, and whether or not they make a lot of money. We judge people by the houses and neighborhoods they live in and the schools they attend. We judge people by their personalities, whether they are friendly and outgoing, or quiet and reclusive. We judge them by their religious beliefs and political affiliations We are a society of judges, always measuring someone's value, someone's worth, whether or not someone belongs in our group, whether or not they are good enough. We assume that we do is the right way, the only way, and if someone does it another way, it must be wrong. I hope people can begin to step back for a moment and allow others to feel what they feel and be who they are. Rather than judge them for not being like us, wouldn't it be loving to allow others to be who they are and work through grief in their own way? Rather than judge, just offer love and support. Just offer your presence and be a witness to their grief.

You might wonder why I continue to visit these online support groups 4 years and 8 months after my son's transition. My answer is that I continue to learn from the stories and experiences of other grievers. I am reminded of how it felt in the beginning, so that I remain compassionate when someone in my own community experiences the loss of a loved one. I am inspired by those who have found ways to grow and even thrive from the physical separation from their loved one. I am touched by those who speak of their pain and their love, and I can only hope that any one of my posts might be helpful to even one other person. Of course, even though most of my days can be busy, eventful, challenging, or even filled with joy, I still have my harder days where the grief makes itself known and I take the time to retreat into the shadows for some self care. The grief will never go away completely. I will never be done grieving. It lives within me, in my heart, right next to the joy of my memories and the joy of the present moment. So, on the days I wish to post a picture of my son and share a memory or poem I wrote (and I hesitate to post too often on my main social media pages), I know I can always do so in the support groups. I will always receive supportive comments to help me cope, reminding me, once again, of the love that is offered, that holds us up and carries us through.

I have said it before, and I'll say it again. We are here in this earthly experience to, among other things, help each other along the way. Rather than judge, why not reach out a hand to help someone up, or simply provide a listening ear. Offer the compassion you might hope someone would offer you when you need it. Remind yourself that there is no way you could possibly know what that person has been through before this loss because his/her past experiences might be radically different than your own. Remember that the reality is that deep within each of our hearts, we just want to be heard, accepted, understood, and allowed to be who we are. In truth, we are all connected. And that connection is love.

(Read more about my journey from grief to hope in my books Look Around and A Bird Called Wisdom.)