The message read, “Patient pronounced at 0400, family arrived and are grieving well.” I pondered this for days.
What does “grieving well” mean? During the shattering process of grief, it may not seem that anything is “well.” And yet . . .
Perhaps “grieving well” means being outright heartbroken, and unable to imagine how things will ever be okay again. And yet, in time, they somehow will.
Maybe “grieving well” means having support, even though the support won’t be perfect, because none of us are. Maybe it means expressing one’s overwhelming feelings: raw and loud and messy and wet, or quiet and unseen. Maybe “grieving well” has limitless ways of looking to outsiders, because grief is so personal that it can’t be put into any container. Maybe we can’t even presume to use these words, because they involve some judgement (good, bad, well, unwell). And yet I knew what the writer meant.
Maybe all “grieving well” means is that somehow the survivors are still managing to inhale and exhale, and their hearts have gone on beating, even though their loved one’s heart has stopped.
For one family, 0400 marks the end of one kind of journey, and the beginning of another. I don’t know what that will look like for this particular family. But I pray that there will be unexpected gifts of grace to sustain them along the way. Hospice care includes bereavement support for one year following a death. In effect, we are saying what Jackson Brown Jr articulated so well: Life is slippery. Here, take my hand.
This post is devoted with heartfelt condolences to all of you who might be grieving.
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