"...I'm not going anywhere."

        A couple of weeks ago, I said I wanted to be braver than I have been, and work on "standing up to be counted."  So... given I happen to have a rather strong force of ethics, I feel I need to start doing things which follow through, toward that goal.

        Here we go.  Pardon me for linking elsewhere more than usual, but I want to make sure that you can have a better perspective on the backdrop of this post, if desired.

        In a previous post, I mentioned an author by the name of Tim Lawrence.  His writings, like so many whose works I've felt have motivated and inspired me, are powerful, especially in expressing the idea of connection, in particular within the umbrella of grief and the deep heartache of loss.  This past week, he posted to his Facebook Page a poster which moved me, once again.  It says:

Reach out to someone in pain.

Take their hand.

Feel their pain in your willingness

to suffer alongside them.

And whisper:

I'm here.

I'm right here.

I'm not going anywhere.

~ Tim Lawrence

        This, my friends, is the very essence of empathy.  While this can be taken to an extreme which is unhealthy, in general we tend to fall short when it comes to knowing how to best connect with those who suffer in some way, especially in the long term.

        One thing I've noticed among those I know who have experienced some form of grief or loss which is of a nature others know about it - a death in the family, or a diagnosis of something with which everyone is familiar, like cancer, for instance - as soon as someone finds out about it happening to someone they love, they often will say something to the effect of, "What can I do to help?"  This is a very kind thing to offer, if one is willing to follow through.  If the afflicted actually have any idea of what they need, and would be brave enough to ask, often that would take the one who offers by surprise, and it may or may not happen!

        However, often in the overwhelming disorientation of shock and the white-hot pain which follows, there may be many who are willing and able to bring food or watch children for an hour or two, and so on; but there are many needs which are often overlooked, and often get neglected; even little things like shopping for food and toiletries, paying bills, doing laundry, making sure there is gas in the car, or other such things.  Helping someone who is in chaos to run their life in some kind of manageable way is a beautiful gift.

        But that kind of doing, while wonderful, is not the kind I wanted to discuss, here.  What I really want to say is a bit different, and reflects more upon the quote of Mr. Lawrence.  When I have experienced this kind of absolutely devastating loss, either in the way of death, health or otherwise, including those which are not as typical or generally acknowledged, sometimes there have been people there asking, "What can I do?"  Not always, as sometimes I guess people haven't known even how to ask, for one reason or another, as I've had some unusual kinds of losses.

        However, I know how it can be to be in the middle of one of the greatest pains of my lifetime, and have someone ask me the sort of thing like, "Is there anything I can do?"  My most common answer has been, "I don't know.  What can you do?"  They tend to sort of stumble and stammer and not know what to do with that response, and sort of back away, saying, "Well, if you can think of anything, let me know!"  And then I never hear from them again.

Quite frankly, this kind of thing is like that old adage,

"kicking you while you're down."

I don't recommend it, if you truly care and want to help.

        So, I'd like to help you, in the event you actually do care about the person and want to be there to help and support them.  Often, both sides feel helpless to connect, and so maybe it's time someone actually help give some kind of hopeful instruction in the matter, hmm?

        If there is one thing I know about grief and loss, both through my own, and talking with others through theirs, is that there is one thing that is as needed as deeply as anything else, and which can be the difference between survival, enduring, and even growing through the experience.  This thing is not as easy as it seems, and is something many don't consider to be as vital as the more practical things.  It is difficult, and can be painful for the giver, and the idea of it sometimes frightens people into shying away from it, for fear of doing it wrong and making things worse.  And yet, it is as nourishing to the very being as anything else one can give.

Reach out to someone in pain.

Take their hand.

Feel their pain in your willingness

to suffer alongside them.

And whisper:

I'm here.

I'm right here.

I'm not going anywhere.

        If I could truly answer a person who asks me, "What can I do for you?"  What I, and I know others as well, would really like to answer is this:

Please, stay with me.
Please don't let me be alone.
I don't think I can do this by myself.
Please don't let me go.
It's so cold and dark, right now, and I'm afraid.
This is going to take a long time for me to get through this.
Will you please stand beside me, even when it's hard?
And even when it feels unending?
Will you please help me get through this,
even though I'm not sure it's even possible?

         Can you do that?  Are you the kind of person who can do that?  Not everyone can, and that's okay.  But if you can, please, please do.  Reach out and be there, even if it is inconvenient or difficult.  Because for them, even just a message, a call, a visit, and even a hug can be the difference between holding on and letting go, and you never know how much it will mean to that person who will know that they are worth that kind of love.

        So there you go.  That's a bit heavy, but I think it's important.  I'm always happy to discuss things like this, either here in the comments, on the PB Facebook Community Page, or elsewhere.  I also welcome ideas and inspiration!  I love interacting with the readers and followers of the PB Project!  Love to you!

        Better days ahead, my friends!