Barnes in Common

the magazine of Churches Together in Barnes
May/June 2005

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Grieving and Coping

by Christabel Gairdner

In a recent issue of Barnes in Common, Rosie Findlater wrote movingly about the death of her father. Her piece triggered thoughts on some of the emotions aroused in the loss, and the hard-to-handle state of grief when some thirty years ago, my sister Elizabeth (Liz), was killed in a car crash just three months after her marriage to Roger.

Letters received at the time are full of, 'We can't believe this has happened'. And even now I can almost not believe that it did. One never forgets. And I am not sure that time really heals. But one tries to move on.

There are recognised stages of grief: unreality, denial, disbelief; anger and the searching for answers; deep sadness as the reality of loss sinks in; and then resolution. For some, this last stage can be a long time ahead.

It fell to my brother to identify Liz at the scene of the accident, which leads me to reflect a little on the burden of coping with the emotions and grief of others at times like this.

I think immediately of my parents with each other. During the initial period of shock and disbelief, my father cried despairingly. He was inconsolable. To my mother the stiff upper lip was a matter of pride and for all she was tortured by grief she could not weep one tear in front of anyone else. She busied herself in the house, took telephone calls and coped with the grief of others on top of her own. People presumed she was all right because she never flinched; but of course she wasn't. I have learnt much from those early days: never assume that the person who appears to be all right really is. It is possible to withhold the outward signs of grief but not to deny the need for it.

Myself, I felt unable to cope with the emotional impact Liz's death had made on our friends and family. I felt tight with emotion that I tried to control in order to help them, yet now I think it would have been better if we'd broken down together. And I hated myself for the intolerance that often I felt towards those who drew out all the lovely things about Liz. The most profoundly comforting thing anyone said at the time was: 'I cannot begin to imagine how you feel'. That said it all.

A church-going family, alas, we felt God was in His heavens, but all was not right with our world – and He was not doing anything about it. Believers and non-believers tried to comfort us, imagining we could accept death more easily because of our faith: 'How lucky you are to have your faith, it must be everything at this time.' I have been wary ever since of that approach: no one can presume on anyone else's relationship with God.

Wonderful letters from others helped in the loneliness of grief, but the searching for answers seemed to be a long, fruitless one: Why her? Why us? If God is good, how could He have let this happen to us? Many went out of their way to avoid talking about her – I found myself reacting quite angrily to this. But how can anyone say the right thing? People try hard, but there is no 'right' thing to say. Often just being with the person, not necessarily saying anything, is the most helpful. Loss is such deprivation, and grief so dreadfully lonely. A sympathetic presence, albeit a silent one, can be of great comfort.

Deep sadness works its way into your whole being; it's as though you are constantly under weights, being pushed to the ground. Other people's laughter and fun give you pain. Sleep is fitful, and there is remorse that you didn't do or say certain things when there was the opportunity. I found physical contact comforting, but not everyone feels at ease giving it. Memories come back to haunt, and can catch you unawares, often when you are ill-equipped to re-live them. There are constant reminders that once there was that other person.

It is very hard to know what to say to someone who has lost a loved one. But, it is possible to walk with them, as Christ walked alongside those two grief-stricken disciples on the road to Emmaus, listening and opening up to them. We can all be compassionate and loving.

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