I woke up early this morning. My eyes popped open at 4:28am. That’s pretty specific, I know, but the first thing I saw was the glowing face of the clock beside me. I knew in an instant, with absolute certainty, that I wouldn’t be going back to sleep because my mind was already focused and spinning a hundred miles an hour. I could almost hear my brain clapping its hands at me saying, “Chop, chop! Wake up! We’ve got things to think about! Problems to solve! Worries to work on!”
And I was right, I did not go back to sleep. Oh, I tried for about twenty minutes to no avail, so here I sit. 5:40am. My first cup of coffee is down to the last cold sip. I’ve scrolled through my Facebook “newsfeed”. I use that term lightly – most of it was not news, but I like to try to keep up with what’s happening with the people I care about.
I looked at the pictures of our niece’s trip with her husband to the east coast. I wished happy birthday greetings to a former coworker and an old friend from high school. I read an article about nutrition and, yes, I watched a funny cat video. At one point, I scrolled past a post about an upcoming grief support group at the funeral home where I work and my mind turned (not for the first time this morning either) to the people we worked with yesterday: a man who lost his mother, a woman who lost her husband, a daughter who lost her mother, a daughter who lost her father, a young man who lost his mother. There were more, these are just the ones who walked through the door needing help.
While all of this was going on, a woman was working quietly in the background of our office. She is the interior decorator who is putting the final touches on the restoration and renovation work from the flood which ruined the building back in June. She asked how long I have worked at the funeral home. A little more than two years I told her. “I heard you talking to those ladies that just came in,” she said, “ I think it must take a very special kind of person to work here. You must need to be very patient and kind.”
I suppose that may be true, but I know the people we are working with are devastated by loss. Their minds are scattered and it is difficult for them to focus because all they can think of is the gaping hole left by loss. Their emotions are heightened and sharpened by the pain they are feeling which means they sometimes seem impatient and angry. They are sometimes haggard and tired from spending countless days at the bedside of a loved one in palliative care before the end finally came. They are in shock from the inexplicable pain of a sudden loss from a car accident, an overdose, a suicide, a heart attack…
I know all these things about the people who walk into my workplace. I know I need to be kinder, more patient, more understanding because I know they are going through an incredibly difficult time. Every time the phone rings or someone approaches the entry door, I assume they have just experienced a loss. It’s a safe assumption because people avoid funeral homes like the plague until they are forced to do business there.
But those same people take their grief with them when they leave the funeral home. It is their constant companion when they go to the grocery store because they have finally remembered they need to eat something. It is still with them when they go to the bank or the post office or the insurance office. And in all of these places they will likely deal with people who don’t automatically know about the loss they have just experienced. They may not appreciate that even though they have just explained something twice that they will have to explain it once more and maybe even write it down before that person will comprehend. They won’t understand the tears that come so quickly when they bump into someone coming out the door because their head is bowed low with grief. And while my response is patience and kindness and compassion, the reaction from others on the street may be impatience or frustration or even anger.
But if those people had even the slightest clue about what the grieving person is going through, I would be willing to bet that not one of them would respond in a way that would add to that person’s suffering.
We pass people on the street every day, never knowing what is going on in their lives. How can we know? And does it matter if we know? Why does knowing affect the way we respond?
What does it cost us to treat everyone with kindness, patience, and compassion?
Not one single thing.
What could it accomplish? Everything.
Not only do you feel better in yourself when you treat someone else kindly, but you have no idea the effect your smile, your kind words, your little extra measure of patience may mean to the person on the receiving end.
I live and work in a relatively small community (population about 10000). There are two funeral homes in town that combined serve somewhere upwards of 300 families each year. Multiply that number by the potential number of family members and friends a person has. That ought to give you an idea of how many people experience the pain and grief that death brings. This doesn’t even take into consideration all of the people who have loved ones who are sick or struggling with other painful issues. That’s a lot of people in pain, people going through difficult times. But in passing, they look just like you and I. There aren’t always obvious clues that make us pause in our rushing and busyness to offer kindness and understanding.
Keep that in mind today.
