I just heard from a second person that I need to go to some type of professional for “grief counseling” or “grief therapy”. Both of the people who have suggested this are my friends, and so I know they are saying this for my good. But I’m starting to think that there must be something that is physically or visibly noticeable about me - something which is flickering like a neon light bulb on the verge of going out, or something which is almost audibly “screaming” in unmistakable language – indicating that this guy needs professional help, and that if he doesn’t get it soon, there’s no telling what might happen.
Because both of these people are friends, perhaps what is happening is that they are “sensing”, rather than “seeing”, some kind of vibe emanating from my spirit that, to them, is an indication of a cry for help. I hope this is the case rather than what I described above. Otherwise, people I happen to meet, and even complete strangers just passing by, might find themselves taking one look at me and then high-tailing it for the nearest exit just to not be around when whatever is going to happen to me happens.
I am thankful for these friends, and for their care and concern for me. I know it is genuine. In fact, it has reminded me of a period of time in the life I shared with Renee where something like this was going on with her. For a number of years, she walked with a visible, and obviously painful limp. The pain was emanating from both sides of her hips. Stairs became a virtual impossibility for her. And she could not keep pace with me whenever we found ourselves walking. [And now I shamefully remember how aggravated I would become as I waited for her to catch up, or as I slowed down my own steps so that she could keep up, thinking that time was a-wasting. I mean, I had places to go, people to see, things to do, and here she was, holding me back. Instead of seeing and feeling her pain, it was always all about me, and what the delays were costing me. Oh, how I regret those moments of selfishness. What I wouldn’t give to have those “lost moments” with her back again.]
During the years in which she was living in pain, I told her several times to tell her doctor what was going on. So did others in my family as well as some of her friends. Renee was not, however, receptive to our pleas. She simply continued suffering. And this went on for years.
As it turned out, she had a reason for her continued refusals to accept the advice coming from all of us to take steps to address the cause of her pain, and she eventually revealed that reason to me. She did not want to tell her physician about the pain in her hips because she was sure the answer was going to be a referral to an orthopedic surgeon for hip replacement surgeries for each side of her hips. The thought of undergoing two big surgeries, and two long periods of recovery and rehabilitation, was just too overwhelming for her to consider. As long as she could still get around, albeit painfully, on her feet, she was going to just keep living with the pain.
As usual, she was exactly right about what the surgeon was going to prescribe to alleviate her symptoms. But, eventually the pain she was enduring reached a point that she was finally willing to go through the traumas of two big surgeries and recoveries. I am happy to say that the surgeries, and the rehab work each time, were smashing successes. And she experienced so much relief from her previous pain that she could not believe she had waited so long to have it done. It was a long and difficult journey for her, but well worth it in the end.
The two friends I mentioned above would probably point to Renee’s experience and tell me that I am now in that exact same boat. And maybe they would be right. Maybe I am, like she was, needlessly carrying around pain that, with much hard work, a professional therapist or counselor could erase. Maybe.
But I’m not really convinced. Somehow, I have a hard time seeing that I am in that same boat. The pain I am carrying does not seem to me to be the kind of pain that yields to medical intervention. In my former life as an attorney, I had a client who was an orthopedic surgeon. He told me once that, except for the “medical knowledge” part of his training [which, obviously, was a big part], the things he did in repairing orthopedic issues could essentially be done by a good carpenter. A little hammering, a little sawing, a few nails here, a few screws there, and – behold! – that fractured leg, that shattered pelvis, that broken ankle, those ruined hip sockets, are all pretty much as good as new, almost like it never even happened.
Maybe there’s a reason that orthopedic surgeons don’t do delicate heart surgery. For me, for what’s going on in my heart, no amount of hammering or sawing, no amount of nails or screws can make it like it never even happened. There’s nothing physically broken that can be repaired. And what are “words” from a counselor or therapist going to do? It’s not like I am in denial about what has happened. Or that I have lost my faith because of what has happened. Or that I have been wondering – “Why me?”
Yes, I still grieve. And it still hurts. How can words change any of this?
Of course, it has been more than a year since Renee died, and it’s been seven months since my brother died. So now I’m wondering - is that an unusual length of time for mourning? Is that wrong? Should I have gotten over it by now? Have I been doing all of this wrong?
If I have to ask, maybe that should tell me something.
Strangely, just as I was typing this, the phone rang, and it was one of the two friends I mentioned who keep on advising me about counseling. Sure enough, he brought it up again. And it made me wonder – is it so obvious that I need professional help that it even resonates through the phone 100 miles away?
That was just a coincidence. Right?
Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd
