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Dorothy Copus Brush The bumper sticker talked about love Bumper stickers are eye-catchers. Most make
us chuckle, while some make us blush because they carry a naughty
message. Last week I saw one that evoked a different emotion.
It read, "Someone I love was murdered." Those words
still haunt me. At first I thought it said "loved"
but no, it was someone I "love." As I thought about it I realized I was making
the same mistake so many do when they are confronted with another's
grief. We make a judgment on the length of time mourning should
last. This seems especially true when the death occurs because
of a completely unexpected tragedy such as those we have seen
in schools these past several years. At Columbine a candlelight vigil was held
five days after the killings and many reports spoke of it as
"the healing begins." Grief counselors react with dismay
when they hear such descriptions. Research has proved that during
the first few days, weeks or even months after this kind of loss
those dealing with the trauma are in shock, even though they
appear to go through the motions expected. Who can ever forget
Jackie Kennedy doing just that at JFK's funeral? "Closure" is a word heard often
as are the judgmental words, "They still grieve." That
attitude assumes there is a time limit for grief. Several years ago I drove a friend to an isolated
country cemetery where many of her family were buried. There
I saw a small plot enclosed in a white picket fence. The marker
was for a child who had died in the 1920s. I was startled when
I read the date because the grave was well tended and had fresh
flowers. Someone still remembered the loss of that young life.
Just as there is no set time to learn to talk or walk, so each
person's struggle with grief is a very personal matter. When a group I was with visited an Indian
village in New Mexico, we could not enter the church because
a grief-stricken widow was inside. This custom allowed the mourner
a time alone to fight her sorrow, but the tribe chose the length
of time. Then the mourner returned to the normalcy of village
life. In a close-knit community where from childhood this was
the accepted way to face death, it worked. Perhaps those of us on the fringe of tragic
events feel so utterly helpless in finding words to comfort the
bereaved we come up with insensitive expressions such as "the
healing begins" and "closure" because of our own
discomfort. Just as that bumper sticker read someone I
"love" and not someone I "loved," the shock
and pain slowly fade but the love remains. |