Grief is a Messy Thing

Yesterday felt like a day that would never end. My husband woke before me and left to go for a run. He kissed me and told me to sleep in as long as I could. Later, when I looked at my phone, the reality of our broken world slammed into me yet again. Another person killed in a shooting in Minnesota. Another one. Grief swept over me and I cried. Throughout the morning, more information about what happened flooded in. I saw the videos. I saw it all. Probably too much. In my overwhelming need to search for understanding, I found myself becoming obsessed with the need for something to make sense of such senselessness. I checked myself and sent myself to the office to work on collecting tax information for the upcoming tax season. That lasted about an hour.

Then, I found out Alex Pretti, the man killed, was an ICU Nurse at the VA. Pictures of him filled my social media feeds. My grief was activated in another way. Not just for the national crisis the United States in in at this moment, not just for those who love Alex, but a much more intimate and personal grief. My Dad died in the ICU at a VA hospital. The ICU nurses at the VA were incredible, loving, compassionate people who always addressed my Dad as “Sir” anytime they spoke to him… even when he started to become confused, even after he died and they said goodbye. Such regard and such respect for the man I called Daddy… and they called him “Sir.”

My grief was activated and all I could see in my mind’s eye were the faces of the people who cared for my Dad in his last hours. And then, I saw the video of Alex Pretti reading the words before the honor walk of another veteran… and more activation of grief. When my Dad died at the VA, I had no idea there was something called an honor walk. My Dad was respectfully placed in a transfer vessel with the American flag draped over him. His name was announced throughout the hospital and every employee who could, came and lined the halls as his body was transferred from the ICU. Such respect. Such honor. Such dignity in death. My siblings and I walked behind him as he was transferred. I will never forget that moment.

I did not know Alex Pretti. But I mourn his death and what is happening in this country. I weep for his parents, and the families he served. And his death brought to the surface some deep, buried grief that I have always known has been lingering within me. I believe it is time for me to mourn this part of my grief I have tried to leave untouched. Because mourning is one of the bravest things a griever can do… and I have not felt brave enough.

I guess I’m sharing this to point out that we can be quick to judge another person’s reaction to something tragic, or to something that may not seem at all tragic to us. We can just make assumptions, and judge. I know I certainly do this more often than I want to admit. We don’t know their story. We don’t know what has activated their response. Until I felt brave enough to share why my response was so personal, no one knew I was connecting this public tragedy to the death of my Dad. Grief upon grief.

So, rather than judge, I hope I can be the person with compassionate curiosity to give space to hear their story, to come alongside in empathy and openheartedness… not to fix them, but to walk with them. Grief is a messy thing. Let’s be messy together.