Part of learning the art of suffering (which I've been taking remedial classes in) is practicing the art of witnessing the suffering of others, which can be just as challenging.
Based on my experiences after my mother's suicide *, I believe that the most helpful thing a comforter can do is
show up,
shut up,
and (depending on the person) touch.
The least helpful thing people did was to interpret my experience for me, offering explanations or advice, unsolicited.
One friend wrote a condolence letter telling me about a philosophy paper he'd written in college proving that suicide was a "morally neutral act."
Another told me that many people kill themselves at winter solstice, as my mother did, and so I should take comfort in the thought that she was traveling with other souls.
While I felt more assaulted than comforted by these well-meaning people at the time,
I understand this reaction perfectly, because I do it myself:
in the face of someone else's suffering, I want to explain it away, make it make sense.
Which one can't, and which it doesn't.
And I want to do that not only to relieve their suffering, but, maybe even more, to relieve mine--my discomfort, my sense of helplessness.
The suffering of others calls us to learn to comfort like an animal,
and that bucks everything my U.S. culture advises, which is to call up the Marines to attack suffering.
LEFT: "Chimpanzee Comforting Crying Child," by John Drysdale
The Jewish traditions around sitting shivah, the seven-day mourning period after a death, make sense to me:
on the first day of mourning, you, the comforter, come in and you say nothing.
You let the mourner initiate talking, or not.
The idea is you are not supposed to try to cheer mourners up, but to give due weight to grief.
(Judaism is a practical, life-oriented religion, and after a year, the mourner is supposed to get on with life.
I see the sense in this too: We don't want to get trapped in an endless Ken Russell drama.
Of course, this only applies to "normal" grief, not extreme ongoing suffering. The idea of telling someone to snap out of it or buck up in those cases is another form of assault.
Again, the key is to listen.)
There came a time when I wanted to talk about the whys and wherefores of suicide,
but I needed it to be on my own time, with people I chose.
______________________
I was pleased to read, via RR, Jack Kornfield's Buddhist take on offering comfort. He says much the same thing.
From Mindfulness and Psychotherapy: An Interview with Jack Kornfield, by Elisha Goldstein. JK is an American Buddhist teacher and co-founder of the Insight Meditation Society.
Elisha: If you were sitting across the table from a person who was experiencing deep emotional suffering in their life right now, what advice or suggestions would you give them?
Jack: "Very little advice to start with.
"I believe the most important thing I can do is to be fully present as I sit with them and not to try and advise them.
"To sit and be present, even to hold their hand or, if they were not open to it, hold them in my heart and let my own experience resonate with theirs.
To bring myself to their experience with as much compassion and care and perspective and deep breath and love as I could.
"To start with words I’d be curious,
what is your suffering,
and what are your tears and anguish and trauma?
"I’d want to know and not impose any advice, without first clearly hearing what they knew and where they were and what they were looking for.
"And then perhaps from this shared capacity to be present I’d want to communicate a deep trust that we can open to it all and move through the experience of suffering.
"I’d want them to know that their experience is part of their humanity,
part of the difficulty and the gift of human incarnation and we are all called upon to bear our sorrows
as well as our joys, and that we can bear them and they’re not the end of the story.
"That our sufferings don’t define us,
and we don’t have to be so loyal to our suffering
that we don’t see that there is a greater mysterious majestic dance that we’re a part of so that the communication of trust as well as the capacity to be present is there.
"Because it is as William Blake says that in the minute particulars that goodness is transmitted,
not in the general or the ideological, but actually in the presence itself."
[end of Jack Kornfield quote]
____________________________
Last night bink and I were driving home from the Monday Brit Noir film (It Always Rains on Sunday, 1947).
I was burbling on about how thrilled I am that I've met the guy who arranges these screenings of old films,
and that that very evening when I'd suggested to him a William Shatner film fest,
he'd replied that he was already working on getting Shatner's Kingdom of the Spiders!
And in my unalloyed delight it came to me:
I am fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
So, it took way more than a year to recover fully, if that's the right word, but here I am.
Burbling about Bill.
Life is a strong force.
____________________
* If you want it, an earlier post provides some of my story's background: "After My Mother Killed Herself".
_________________
Based on my experiences after my mother's suicide *, I believe that the most helpful thing a comforter can do is
show up,
shut up,
and (depending on the person) touch.
The least helpful thing people did was to interpret my experience for me, offering explanations or advice, unsolicited.
One friend wrote a condolence letter telling me about a philosophy paper he'd written in college proving that suicide was a "morally neutral act."
Another told me that many people kill themselves at winter solstice, as my mother did, and so I should take comfort in the thought that she was traveling with other souls.
While I felt more assaulted than comforted by these well-meaning people at the time,
I understand this reaction perfectly, because I do it myself:
in the face of someone else's suffering, I want to explain it away, make it make sense.
Which one can't, and which it doesn't.
And I want to do that not only to relieve their suffering, but, maybe even more, to relieve mine--my discomfort, my sense of helplessness.
The suffering of others calls us to learn to comfort like an animal,
and that bucks everything my U.S. culture advises, which is to call up the Marines to attack suffering.
LEFT: "Chimpanzee Comforting Crying Child," by John Drysdale
The Jewish traditions around sitting shivah, the seven-day mourning period after a death, make sense to me:
on the first day of mourning, you, the comforter, come in and you say nothing.
You let the mourner initiate talking, or not.
The idea is you are not supposed to try to cheer mourners up, but to give due weight to grief.
(Judaism is a practical, life-oriented religion, and after a year, the mourner is supposed to get on with life.
I see the sense in this too: We don't want to get trapped in an endless Ken Russell drama.
Of course, this only applies to "normal" grief, not extreme ongoing suffering. The idea of telling someone to snap out of it or buck up in those cases is another form of assault.
Again, the key is to listen.)
There came a time when I wanted to talk about the whys and wherefores of suicide,
but I needed it to be on my own time, with people I chose.
______________________
I was pleased to read, via RR, Jack Kornfield's Buddhist take on offering comfort. He says much the same thing.
From Mindfulness and Psychotherapy: An Interview with Jack Kornfield, by Elisha Goldstein. JK is an American Buddhist teacher and co-founder of the Insight Meditation Society.
Elisha: If you were sitting across the table from a person who was experiencing deep emotional suffering in their life right now, what advice or suggestions would you give them?
Jack: "Very little advice to start with.
"I believe the most important thing I can do is to be fully present as I sit with them and not to try and advise them.
"To sit and be present, even to hold their hand or, if they were not open to it, hold them in my heart and let my own experience resonate with theirs.
To bring myself to their experience with as much compassion and care and perspective and deep breath and love as I could.
"To start with words I’d be curious,
what is your suffering,
and what are your tears and anguish and trauma?
"I’d want to know and not impose any advice, without first clearly hearing what they knew and where they were and what they were looking for.
"And then perhaps from this shared capacity to be present I’d want to communicate a deep trust that we can open to it all and move through the experience of suffering.
"I’d want them to know that their experience is part of their humanity,
part of the difficulty and the gift of human incarnation and we are all called upon to bear our sorrows
as well as our joys, and that we can bear them and they’re not the end of the story.
"That our sufferings don’t define us,
and we don’t have to be so loyal to our suffering
that we don’t see that there is a greater mysterious majestic dance that we’re a part of so that the communication of trust as well as the capacity to be present is there.
"Because it is as William Blake says that in the minute particulars that goodness is transmitted,
not in the general or the ideological, but actually in the presence itself."
[end of Jack Kornfield quote]
____________________________
Last night bink and I were driving home from the Monday Brit Noir film (It Always Rains on Sunday, 1947). I was burbling on about how thrilled I am that I've met the guy who arranges these screenings of old films,
and that that very evening when I'd suggested to him a William Shatner film fest,
he'd replied that he was already working on getting Shatner's Kingdom of the Spiders!
And in my unalloyed delight it came to me:
I am fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
So, it took way more than a year to recover fully, if that's the right word, but here I am.
Burbling about Bill.
Life is a strong force.
____________________
* If you want it, an earlier post provides some of my story's background: "After My Mother Killed Herself".
_________________
For more info on suicide prevention or help if you are struggling:
http://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/#
or
Call 1-800-273-8255
or
Call 1-800-273-8255
"The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in
distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones,
and best practices for professionals."
Outside of the United States, please visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention for a database of international resources.
Outside of the United States, please visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention for a database of international resources.
