Empathy

It felt like a truckload of bricks on my chest. Mother’s Day. While many friends were celebrating, I was grieving. Why was this year any more difficult than others? I was bigger than this, right? I needed to look strong in front of my family and my in-laws. But I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to break down. I didn’t want to look stupid. I didn’t want to feel any more shame. I didn’t want to feel like the odd ball. I didn’t want to get that snarling look from my son. I didn’t want to get hurt. I spent much of the day in our bedroom writing a new song. It will be number seven on my new EP and it is the most candid. It was the missing piece. It was a gift from God. This year, I had decided to do whatever I needed to do for me, regardless of what anyone else might think. Song writing is communion with my Maker. It is me pouring out my soul and God giving me the clarity to communicate what I can’t express in any other way. God made something beautiful from the pain. And yes, I eventually came out of our room and hung out with family. I just needed that time.

Something about this Mother’s Day was different. After seven and a half years, I decided to cut my biological parents off. Well, I blocked their emails. They still have my phone number, as do everyone in my biological family. My parents can call me, but I know they never will. Written word is safe for them. They won’t dare talk to me on the phone. Mourning a lost parent is hard. Mourning your mom and dad and your entire biological family is unfathomable to most people, even more so when most of those family members are still living. Cutting my parents off gives me the only control I have. It’s me accepting the reality that they are gone. Some would say this is unchristian. I guess God is the judge. It’s not like I haven’t tried.

This weekend, I attempted to write a poem about my mom, but I just couldn’t. It came across as bitter and angry - probably not the direction I wanted to go. Beneath the strong words was really just a little kid longing for his mommy’s approval. I’ll never have that reassurance from my mom. She’ll never tell me how proud she is of me. She’ll never tell me I’m fine just the way I am. She’ll never tell me sorry for everything that has happened. Regardless, it’s really hard to be angry at my mother. Sure, she supports my dad and condones his choices…but she also brought me into this world and there’s a bond there I can’t dishonor.  As sick as it sounds, there are times when I wish there was a grave where I could lay flowers. I wish I could say goodbye…but it will not happen in the traditional sort of way. I have to say goodbye on my own terms. And yes, this is so sad. I wish there was a different way to frame it. 

Many of us find it hard to find a place for mourning…especially when someone else has experienced a loss which we can’t begin to understand. As Christians, we’re taught to sprinkle Bible verses and offer simple fixes. Just forgive. Just set down your pride and go to your brother in humility. How does this work in a world of lies and abuse? As Americans, we’re conditioned to scroll past anything which requires true listening and empathy.  A good friend recently highlighted the significance of mourning in other cultures. Often, as Christian Americans, we get uncomfortable when people are hurting. Maybe we don’t know what to do because we’ve been taught that Jesus is a quick fix to every sorrow. If Jesus doesn’t fix things right away, what’s left? Don’t get me wrong. Jesus is the fix. Yet it’s His patient loving persistence and sometimes the patient love of His followers which move people from darkness to light. Real change can take a long time. It takes a real friend to sit with another friend in the pain and doubt. I’m glad I have friends like that. Whether I like it or not, the pain is good because it draws me to God. There’s really no God substitute (and I’ve tried a lot of them).

I hope this post gives someone a new perspective. We’re all here for a reason. Some of us haven’t experienced much pain. Some of us are right in the middle of the war field. Some of us have made it through and are on the other side with stories to tell and hope to share. Whatever the case, we can all learn something from someone else. And maybe we’ll learn to better be the hands and feet of Jesus in the process.