On Saturday morning a week ago, I logged onto Facebook and saw that our group for 1000 Voices For Compassion had surpassed its target. We had 1002 people on board to write about compassion on February 20th. (If you haven’t joined up already, just click the link – we always welcome more!)
I felt grateful, and full of excitement at how the initiative was taking off, and that, weeks away from our big day, many people were already writing about compassion, both in blog posts and on social media.
Life sometimes takes us along unexpected paths. As most of the people involved know, my request for bloggers to come together and write about compassion came about after a conversation with Lizzi of Considerings and after reading her post about the need for a supportive village. Although world events played a huge part in stirring me into action, my family’s circumstances played a part too. My mother-in-law died on New Year’s Eve. She had cancer and we knew the end was near, though it came faster than we expected. For me, her death meant a mixture of sadness and of relief that she was no longer suffering; in the last months, she felt a lot of discomfort and pain and she seemed ready to go.
After my own father’s death 17 months ago, I often found myself pondering the meaning of life. Sometimes it seemed almost pointless. Other times, when I thought about the way my father had become so open and compassionate as he grew older, I felt inspired and optimistic. This growth in spirit, it seemed, might be the purpose of life. My mother-in-law’s death stirred up more questions, not just for me, but also for one of my teenage daughters. We had several deep conversations about grief and life.
Then the violence happened in Paris and Nigeria. And then, I read Lizzi’s post. A couple of weeks ago I wrote that the time (and the world) was just right for 1000 Voices Speak to take off, but I guess the time was also just right for me to suggest it. The death of someone close is never easy, but it does shatter our defences and leave us open, and I’m thankful for that.
After his mother’s death, my husband stayed with his dad for several days, helping him deal with the practical tasks. His dad began making plans to sell his apartment and look for retirement accommodation. Then, three days before the funeral, he went into hospital with pneumonia. We visited him the day of the funeral before we flew home. He was out of bed and planning on being out of hospital by Sunday when my husband would be back to see him.
That Saturday afternoon a week ago, my husband and elder daughter went out for some groceries. As they walked back, my husband got a phone call from his brother to say that their dad was very ill. We started checking for flights that evening, but within half an hour, his brother rang back to say their father had died.
Something about sudden death is almost impossible to grasp. A friend described it as the ‘no-longer-there thought,’ and that does define it well. A few weeks ago my husband was ringing his parents every night and now there is nobody to phone. Their flat lies empty. Weeks ago, we booked flights and a hotel, planning to visit my father-in-law at the end of February. Now “no-longer-there” resides as a space where he used to be.
Yet, I’m thankful that now the initial shock passed, I can feel grateful that my father-in-law’s suffering was short. As well as pneumonia, doctors suspected he had developed fibrosis so if he had survived he would almost certainly not have been able to return home. He was spared that. I also feel grateful that he is with his wife since it was obvious he was deeply missing her. I’m thankful too, that I am able to understand some of what my husband is going through, even though our responses to grief are not the same, even though the circumstances are not the same.
I’m thankful too for the support of friends, both off and online. When my father-in-law died, I had been having a Facebook conversation with Lizzi, Roshni and other organisers of 1000 Voices Speak For Compassion. Their response was totally in the spirit of our group, and I am very grateful for their support. I’m thankful that my daughters have teachers who care, who go way beyond their duty.
And finally, I am grateful for something else. That openness I wrote about noticing in my father is something that comes, I think, with facing our darkness – both the darker aspects of our psyche and the darkness of suffering. As far as I’m aware, no human has ever escaped suffering – it’s part of life. We can let our suffering destroy us, or we can go into the core of it and find that in the depth of our darkness there is light. I’m grateful that in the darkness of the last few weeks, I’ve mostly been able to notice when I was starting to drift into a bad old habit of berating myself. Then I could give myself the compassion I needed to give it to my family. Just as airline staff tell us to put on an oxygen mask ourselves before helping someone else, so we need to have empathy for ourselves before we can give it to someone else.
I’ll end with a quote from Rumi. It probably sums up what I’ve been trying to say this post (which has taken me all weekend to write, on and off.)
The wound is the place where the Light enters you – RumiTweet
This post is written for the Ten Things of Thankful blog hop, which is run by Lizzi Rogers every weekend and which you are welcome to join in. To do so, or to read more thankful posts, click on the button below.
15 Comments on “Self-compassion, grief, gratitude and helping others”
What a lot of grief in a short period of time! Three parents in less than two years and two within such a short period of time. My heart is with you and your family at this time.
Sarah, thank you for your kind thoughts.
It’s hard to appreciate your agglomeration of loss without feeling huge sympathy. Until my dad died I hadn’t really lost anyone close – my grandmothers went when I was in my twenties but they seemed old and distant. I expected an immediate impact from the grief of his dying but there was nothing, not even an emptiness. It just seemed I was carrying on as before. But I learned grief is not linear; it is a creeping charlatan who’s impact is random and ever present. I learnt time is not a healer; all time does is allow us to acquire new experiences that coat grief and make it murky, like a foggy day when the harsh light sometimes peeps through, unexpected and, initially unwelcome. But I learned eventually to welcome those bursts of pain, of sore throats and stinging eyes because they accompanied a sharp and tangible memory, a full five sense remembering of the man I loved and who time cannot erode. Shakespeare said it best. ‘Love’s Not Time’s Fool’ – Sonnet 116.
Thank you Geoff, for your sympathy.
I totally agree with you that grief is not linear. Your experience because of initially carrying on as normal sounds similar to my husband so thank you for sharing that, and for your description of how it creeps up on you. Good that you learned to recognise the feelings would bring lovely memories with them, and so welcome them. Even though my grief definitely comes up instantly, I can relate to what you write about memories and the sore throat accompanying them.
Thank you.
Rumi’s a smart cookie. I’ve seen many of those posts about how brokenness lets the light shine through the cracks, and I always thought that it was inwards to outwards, but no – it’s outwards IN, which counts.
Took me a long time to figure that one out.
I’m glad that your FIL and MIL are back together. With fibrosis and not being able to go home, he would have been so sad…I know there’s never a good time to be ill or lose a spouse, but it seemed as though so many catastrophes happened at once…at least he has peace now.
Well done you for hanging in there and keeping your family going. Hope you keep remembering to breathe that oxygen.
Lizzi, yes I enjoy Rumi. Perhaps the light shines both in and out? Interesting fact – if you are in total darkness, that darkness contains a miniscule amounts of light. My daughters and I noticed one night this years ago, and I just googled it and it is scientifically correct! Not sure what that has to do with this, but…
And I agree, it would have been hard for my father-in-law. It’s sad, but it is comforting to know that he is at peace and not having to go through a long, painful dying process.
Thanks for your kind words and your support over these difficult days.
I am so sorry. I hope that being so involved with 1000 Voices of Compassion provides you calming peace during this tender time.
Thank you Kristi.
Like Sarah said, that is so much grief in so short a time. It can be so hard to bear. I found myself nodding to what you said about your husband’s dad missing his wife. My Grandfather was devastated when my Grandmother died. I think he truly did his best to go on without her, but he also died just ten months later. Of course there’s a legit medical reason for his passing, but I believe he really died of a broken heart, trite as it may sound.
You and your family have been in my thoughts and prayers. I wish all of you peace during this very difficult time. The #1000 Voices efforts have been wonderful, I think, and I hope they continue to touch you in a positive way.
Lisa, I don’t think it’s trite to say your grandfather died of a broken heart. I’ve read about studies that show it’s relatively common for a people who have been together such a long time to die closely, and husbands are more likely to die soon after wives.
Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers. And yes, 1000 Voices is a big help to me just now.
I’m so glad to know that, Yvonne. Good people there!
At times of grief, we need self-compassion the most. This is not to say that we can do without compassion from near and dear ones, but acceptance and moving on, require that vital ingredient. Loved Considerer’s interpretation of light entering from outside to illuminate the inside. Prayers for you and your family which has had to face so many losses in such a short span of time.
Being part of #1000 Voices, I am discovering so many wonderful blogs. Thank you!
Zephyr, thank you. Yes self-compassion is so important at this time. It takes the burden off – both from myself and from others, if I am compassionate towards myself.
Thank you for being part of 1000 Voices!
I’m so sorry Yvonne about the death of your in-laws. I can imagine how sad your father in law must have been. May they rest in peace!
It is thru hardships that we become stronger. It’s like a test from above.
I’m glad you’re seeing the light and hope that 2015 will be a good one for you.
Rumi was on to something. I’m a big fan 🙂 Take care and stay strong.
Manal, I agree that through hardships we become stronger – so long as we are able to. It breaks some.
Thank you for your kind thoughts.