Responding to Grief
Since COVID started, I’ve had several friends share with me how hard it’s been not to see their families during quarantine. Grandparents are missing their grandkids, adult children are unable to visit their aging parents in nursing homes, and many are missing the regular interactions that families are used to having - some families, that is.
For those of us who have moved cross-culturally, regular family interactions are few and far between. Grandparents are visited virtually and many of us live with the anxiety of aging parents in a different country now inaccessible because of lockdowns. It is a kind of grief that only someone who is in a similar situation can really identify with. While many do not understand my grief, I have grace, knowing it is not within their frame of reference. But do I feel seen when someone realizes that his/her experience during lockdown is in fact my reality? Do I feel known when they ask me to tell them my story? And do I feel comforted when they listen empathetically without offering solutions or reminding me that it was my choice to leave home in the first place? Of course I do.
Why am I telling you this story? Because this past week, as I’ve paused to listen to the voices of my black brothers and sisters after the murder of George Floyd, I’ve heard stories of fear, frustration, and grief. Their experiences with law enforcement are not mine, and their challenges with systemic racism are not within my frame of reference. But I do recognize grief and what I’m hearing is the story of a people burdened with it for longer than any of us can care to imagine. And while my grief is in no way comparable; knowing how I feel when someone takes time to understand my cross-cultural experience, I know I can reciprocate by listening to the experiences of the black community, leaning in to their reality, and responding to their suffering.
In the telling of our stories, not only did we learn from one another, but we grieved together and grew together.
I have been leaning in and listening for several years now since joining a Be the Bridge group - an initiative started by fellow Austinite Latasha Morrison to encourage racial reconciliation and unity. We met as a group of racially and ethnically diverse women for several months with the intent to break down the racial barriers we saw even in our own church. As a white South African, I brought a perspective that was uniquely mine and not representative of my whole country or all of its people. In the same way, each of us could only bring our own story to share. Whilst we couldn’t speak for all white people or black people, Hispanic, Latino, Asian or mixed race people, what we could do was create a safe place to listen to each other’s experiences regarding race. In the telling of our stories, not only did we learn from one another, but we grieved together and grew together.
So when events unfurled and protests erupted nationwide, meeting with these same friends seemed like the obvious thing to do. We sat in the backyard, six feet apart, but connected on a level that made it possible to pick up from where we’d left off almost three years ago. We discussed events, listened to one another’s experiences, asked questions, and sat in silence. We rejoiced with those who rejoiced and wept with those who wept. It was then that my grief recognized their grief, because grief is a common experience to all human beings. Grief does not discriminate.
Grief does not discriminate.
Recognizing grief and displaying empathy is a start, but I know my actions need to follow. I am not a citizen of this country so I cannot vote for change, but I can advocate for it. I don’t know the history of my city or this country well enough to appreciate the full extent of systemic racism, but I can educate myself. I also have my own story to tell having witnessed both Apartheid and the changes Nelson Mandela and the ANC fought for and are still working towards in my own country. I might not be in a position of power to influence large groups of people, but I am in a position to encourage others to take an open-minded journey of their own, knowing how this has changed and is still changing me.
Empathize. Educate. Empower.
As I considered my own response this week and asked my children how they thought we could engage, my eldest daughter came up with three words that I think can help us all. Empathize, educate (ourselves), and empower. We can no longer deny the cries of a people raw with grief, we need to anticipate and be ready for change. If you are looking for a place to start your own journey, consider the resource page on the Be The Bridge website. If you are wondering how to respond to those around you affected by racial discrimination, you might find this conversation on Race and Restoration by Dr. Anita Phillips helpful. As a mental health expert she encourages a trauma informed approach that resonates with my own experience in supporting those who grieve. Here are the highlights:
Approach the wounded with an awareness of their wound. I can see you are hurting. I am sorry for your pain. Can you tell me about your experience?
Trust, listen to, and empower the voice of the wounded. Don’t ask for proof or statistics - this is their story. Listen empathetically without judgement or offense.
Create a safe space and relationship. Allow the wounded to talk freely about what has happened to them.
Practice cultural humility. Be aware of your cultural perspective, how it may differ, and how it could influence your ability to listen well and support someone who is grieving.
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”
C.S. Lewis