“At least he was probably unconscious when he drowned.”
“At least you have another child.”
“At least you have your husband, you can grieve together.”
“At least he had a faith life.”
“At least it was quick.”
“At least you will see him again at the resurrection.”
For years I have repeated that narrative to myself and let others tell me that “at least he was probably unconscious” and “at least we have another child.” You know what, it is all bullshit. We tell others and ourselves “at least” statements to somehow mitigate the tragedy. To make the awfulness more palatable.
I am not okay with Justin drowning. Conscious or unconscious. Every time my brain wants to sort it out, I tell it an “at least” statement. What I am doing is invalidating my own grief. That is what “at least” does. It shuts down and invalidates a real and worthy emotion. We are made to feel shame if we don’t see the flipping bright side. You know, he was unconscious, so that’s a positive.
Our surviving child is not an “at least.” He is his own person, not the second in line, or a consolation prize. So don’t call him an “at least.” Yeah, I know what you meant. But our children are irreplaceable. There is and will always be an incompleteness to our family. Ryan is the reason we breathe, but he is not an “at least.” He is kick-ass extraordinary in his own right. When we get told “at least” that denigrates the impact of sibling loss, which is profound and often overlooked.
The myth of having a spouse to share the grief. Not so much. Grief is a solitary journey. I grieve. Doug grieves. Different. Separate. We grieve as individuals. I can not know my husband’s or my son’s interior grief journey, I did not have their relationship with Justin. I am grateful for my spouse, but we don’t grieve together. We drink coffee together, a lot of it. But grief is soul work, not corporate work. When we are told “at least” that invalidates our grief journey as individuals. Like some how burying a child is easier together – it’s not.
And by all that is holy, don’t shove the resurrection line at me as an “at least” statement. If we aren’t cozy with God, it ratchets up the anxiety that some how we will screw it up and miss out on the only opportunity we have to see our child again. That is God’s work with a soul, leave it to the Divine to sort out. I am thinking that if He threw the universe together and created the platypus, He can work out other details also.
I am burying every “at least” statement. I am going to feel everything, the horror, the pain, I will sit in the sea of despair if I need to. I am betting on the hypothesis that if pain is invalidated and not felt, then neither is joy or hope. Here is to ripping away the old band-aid.
The pain is palpable. Thanks for sharing this insight. So very sorry, Terri. Thinking of you and sending a hug.
Thank you so much Anne for your faithful friendship. We think of you often also, you are a treasure.
Thanks, Terri, this post is powerful and really resonates with me. Thanks for putting the “at least” statements in the ground where they belong.
Amen Valerie, may they stay buried! Thank you my friend for your company on this journey.
How true this is. I have never understood the “at least’ statements. You are so right that it is only said by those who are looking to make it easier for them. Grief is a personal event. Grieve how you need to but know you are surrounded by those that love you and support you!
Thank you Kelly! I hope you have a great weekend!
Terri, thanks for sharing these thoughts. I agree. All the “at least” statements need to be buried. I am sure I used them even when my dad died over 20 years ago, but you are right. It invalidates the grief or at best just puts it off. As hard as it might be we need to feel the grief when it comes. And it will often when we least expect it.
You know, God can meet us in our despair and feel it with us. Have you ever heard the song “Come Lift Up Your Sorrows” by Michael Card? I have found it to be very comforting. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mg91IWQuvJc
Much love to you, dear Terri. xoxo
Dear Gayl,
Thank you for the gift of your time to read and reply with so much love. I love Michael Card, but have not listened to him in a long time. We at one time had all his CD’s. He was a great favorite of Justin’s. I followed the link and listened to “Come Lift Up Your Sorrows” – it is beautiful. I started to watch his teachings on Lament – I shall have to bookmark those so I can go back to them. Thank you for unconditional love and acceptance.
Much love to you also Gayle,
Terri
Terri, he has great teachings on Lament. My husband, oldest son and I went to a week long conference with him specifically on Recovering the Lost Language of Lament. He has written at least 2 books on the the subject. One is The Hidden Face of God. The other is A Sacred Sorrow. You might find them very helpful, too.
By the way, I love the photographs you have been sharing. They are beautiful!
Love,
Gayl
Hi Gayl! That must have been an amazing week. My husband watched all the youtube teachings that were posted of Michael’s teaching on Lament. He brings such a fresh and necessary insight to the wilderness experience. We will look up his books. And thank you for your kind words and encouragement about my photos – the camera has been a way to walk the wilderness. Thank you again for renewing our relationship with Michael Card. Starkindler was one of our favorite albums, and I can stream it on Amazon Prime. Pretty Cool! Thank you again Gayl for coming along side and walking with me. I am so very grateful for your company. Love, Terri
In reality within each of us there is NO ” at least” . I am reminded of another time when I had to remind folks that each of us has to find our way through our grief, if we can. Your writing put so many thoughts into words many can understand and identify with, myself being one of that number. I can’t offer words that will make it better, however I can and do offer understanding on some level. Thank you Terri for sharing with us.
Dear Laura, the shortest distance between two people is “me too.” Understanding and companionship makes the days bearable and lighten the burden of loss. Thank you for your kind words, you are never far from my thoughts.