On another occasion I divided the people who gather to help after a tragedy: “those you are glad they have rushed to your aid and those you would rather remained home…the first group are all a variety of heroes and champs, but the second group can be further broken down into stupid people with good intentions and the gaggle of morons, dopes and jugheads.”
Oh Lord, spare us the stupid people with good intentions!
I actually prayed this when my father was dying his long and terrible death. If anyone told me he was in a better place I didn’t know how I could resist throwing a punch and I didn’t want to be brawling at my father’s funeral.
Having a child with special needs had laid me open to the SPWGI. My tactic then was to just shake my head and with it try to shake off the ridiculous things that were said. I was merciful because I was reminded of the stupid things I had said, with the BEST of intentions to others.
Tip #1: if someone you know has received a challenging diagnosis for a child don’t say “If any mother/father/parents can handle this, you (two) can!” Just trust me, don’t. It isn’t helpful.
A couple weeks ago I attended Paul’s work Christmas party and we had a great time. Paul works with some really wonderful people. We stayed almost until the end. Most of our friends had left, but one couple, Rick and Jane remained. Paul and Rick were talking with another co-worker and Jane and I were chatting on our own. Their children are grown and I like to pick Jane’s brain. A third woman sidled up to us and gestured at the men.
“My husband has those guys cornered and I’ve been looking around, figuring there has to be a couple women stranded like I am.” Jane and I stood politely listening. You know when you are interrupted and caught off guard and don’t know exactly what another person is going to do? There is that suspension of animation and the underlying tension as you don’t know what’s coming next.
“May I join you?” This woman asked.
Of course, of course. Jane and I both smiled and turned slightly to open ourselves. The woman leaned forward and touched Jane’s arm, “I’m so sorry about your house…about the fire.”
It’s subtle, but something in Jane relaxed and I stood at attention. This was mine. Crap.
“That was my house.” I said.
The woman shifted to face me. “Oh my gosh! My kids and I drive by your house all the time and the first time we saw it – oh my gosh – they were so upset! It was unbelievable! Terrible!”
I can’t tell you how many people have told me, in detail, the trauma of seeing our house. This has been a long hard road and some time last Spring, for the sake of my children, I stopped suffering fools. If my kids were with me, I cut people off.
It was just me, so I listened, but I wasn’t leaning in. I stayed open, but I wasn’t going to make it easy, I wasn’t going to play along, if that makes any sense. I wasn’t going to accommodate, but I listened.
Apparently, our fire had been very traumatic for her four, young children. All of them were very concerned for my kids and, at various times, our situation was discussed and they prayed for us.
“I don’t think you can know how far reaching this was for so many other families.” The woman said and I agreed.
She described how talking about my children losing all their belongings had enabled her family to talk about possessions and priorities and more than once she used our fire to shame her kids into gratitude.
“So it’s sort of a silver lining, I hope, to your tragedy, how far and deeply it touched others.”
Tip #2: You get to define your own silver linings; don’t interpret them for others.
I told her that this can be redemptive and asked her to thank her children for praying and to please continue.
The truth is we are connected and we can be deeply affected by and learn profound things through the suffering of strangers, but here’s the thing: if it’s not your gig, keep it under your lid…or at least wait until you’re sober to share.
The picture is of the deep end of our pool, when half our back yard slid into it, the same night our basement flooded, three weeks after we moved into the new house. I took the picture to show the builder who hadn’t been as responsive – initially – as I would have liked. Later I noticed that mess made one of my favorite shades of blueish green.
I’m going to continue to tell the stories of how people responded to us, the ridiculous things that were said, because I finally can and some of them are funny…or instructive. Does it come through that I’m not bitter about this most recent exchange? This conversation was tiresome and it would have been so if we hadn’t been talking about the fire. Accosting strangers when you are drunk is rarely a good idea.