Come to grief: Lloyd Pritchard’s enormity of inadequacy

‘I cannot bleed for you now.’

All I can offer you for your grief is my inadequacy for the task of relating to it.

Some years ago, a dignified and weighty member of my Meeting was walking in the street. She was clearly still ruined by a recent loss. It was a loss that was long expected, and could even be considered blessedly postponed. The deceased had expressed surprise that she had made it all the way into her twenties. She had a magical quality, and her fragile body was shot through with integrity – along with a forbearance that I had not witnessed in anyone before. I had speculated that this integrity and forbearance was related to her illness, in the sense that compromising her character would affect her health in a way that she could not afford to risk. Most of us may be able to tell the odd lie to ourselves and to others, or foster various amounts of resentment, before this inadvertently impacts our health. She did not possess such a luxury, and as a result she shone with a gratitude and generosity of spirit that I have rarely witnessed.

But now she had left us, and the pain of my Friend was evident. I felt ashamed at being unable to do anything for this woman; it choked me. Like most people would, I wanted to offer something for the pain of these circumstances. But I was crippled and ashamed by the enormity of my inadequacy.

Now I have my turn. We lost our first child late in pregnancy, and I am writing this in the evening after his funeral, wrecked and devastated with grief, and with eyes that hurt from crying. Anyone who approaches me with any sense that they are in any way adequate to help me with my grief may as well stab me with a knife.

The humility that is needed to be able to respect the space in my life where my grief resides is not possessed by many. That place is like a wound, and it is dressed. Sometimes it hurts inadvertently, like an old injury out of nowhere. Sometimes I have a new chain of thoughts that inadvertently leads to my grief, with no warning or predictable foresight. Approaching me with the intention or understanding that you are going to be able to relate to me in a way that even acknowledges my grief is like asking me to undress my wound for you.

I cannot bleed for you now.

In fact, I cannot bleed on demand even if I wanted to. Your entitlement to my grief has made it inaccessible. In truth I want to share it. But only those who are sufficiently humble – those who know that they are inadequate to do anything about it – can have any of it shared with them.

This is what brought me back to my inadequacy on that day in the street. I need not be ashamed of this inadequacy. It is the appropriate amount of respect that needs to be shown to those in grief.

---

Comments

Please login to add a comment