lessons on grief or why the sympathy card industry sucks a big one

When I was 7, I found out that my dad was pretty sick, sick enough to be in the hospital for a long time. At 7, I didn't understand that he wouldn't eventually come home. He did come home, but with Hospice and died 4 months after I turned 8. I wasn't allowed in the hospital room because hospital rules were different in the late 80s and many people thought kids should stay in the waiting room. As soon as he died, we were inundated with people and food. As an only child, I watched as my mom navigated something no book or advice can prepare you for in life. People told my mom and me that things would get better and time heals all wounds. I remember understanding at 8 that what these people were saying was stupid and couldn't be true even for a soon-to-be 3rd grader.
I started 3rd grade as the kid whose dad died over the summer and had classmates engage me at arms length afraid of what to say. In fact, their hyper-sensitivity to not making any comments about death, dads, or anything sad was a relief for me. It was the adults who were the problem. They meant well, but the comments I received from some people before, during, and after the funeral were dismissive not only of the possibility that an 8 year old can and should grieve, but didn't consider that grief does not go away and shouldn't be considered a hump to get over so that your life will go back to normal. I eventually learned to steer clear of any talk about my dad with people I barely knew in hopes of avoiding these trite comments and developed a thick skin that allowed me to pretend to listen when people did try to make themselves feel better by telling me it was all going to be okay. Inside, I wanted to yell and scream and say, "how do you know? has your dad died so you know how it feels?" Fortunately, I did have people close to me who showed their support with their presence, accompanied by a hug and "I love you" or "I'm here for you." They knew better. My close friends talked to me and invited me over to their house to play just like before so I didn't have to feel different like I often did at school. As I got older, I had fewer and fewer memories of my dad, but the sadness and grief of missing him did not go away. I still hate going to funerals because it brings up a lot of other emotions for me and though I have lived 22 years of my life without my dad, I still have the urge to yell and scream when I hear someone say time heals all wounds or you will eventually move on even if it's not directed at me. The sympathy card industry is the worst. My mom and I have had many conversations about how we should start a sympathy card company that replaces the ridiculous beach/water/birds flying scene accompanied by insert-your-own disingenuous, theologically messed up statement. Instead our cards would say things like "This sucks. I'm sorry. I can bring alcohol anytime. I'm here for you but I promise not to say anything. I promise to punch anyone who says anything dismissive of your grief and pain. I love you and this blows" and be accompanied by pictures completely unrelated such as puppies and baby sloths and seals. Unless the card is for someone who lost their beloved pet and then you get a card with a hot air balloon or flowers. To this day, I rarely ever buy a sympathy card because I hate them so much and always get upset because I can't stop myself from reading them all just to see how horrible they are. I usually just pick a blank card with a pretty scene on the outside and write my own message.
Though I really hate sympathy cards and the companies who make them, what they put on their cards is only a symptom of a larger problem in our society. Our culture does not allow people to grieve properly and as long as necessary, which is forever. We've moved away from accepting that we don't have the answers about loss and that grief is not something you can put in a box with easily defined edges to giving what we think are answers and shoving grief in a box whose edges tell people how they should be grieving with a clearly delineated timeline and when they're not doing it right. Humans have an innate need to understand and to define, but loss doesn't work like this and when faced with one's own loss or a close friend's loss, we don't know what to do, so we do what we've learned from society around us and tell ourselves and those friends that it will get better and it eventually won't hurt anymore even though deep down there is no way we truly believe that. But it's what we've been taught and there are sadly few examples of how to do this differently, to be genuine about our loss and pain. It has to start somewhere though.
Recently, my husband, Billy, had to do a lot of funerals at our church. One of those funerals was for a 7 year old boy who died of no apparent reason. When an older person who has lived a full life or a person who has struggled with a long illness dies, people are often able to justify that these deaths were for the best. When a child dies, it's something totally different and completely raw. Billy isn't usually asked questions about death and how God could allow this, but with the death of this child, people asked the questions that they have probably lived with their whole lives. How could God allow this to happen? Why? There are religious leaders in our culture who think that telling parents that their child has gone to be an angel with God, that this was part of God's plan, and we can't question it is theologically sound and helpful. This couldn't be further from the truth. This kind of hurtful theology mirrors our society's need to understand and to make everything okay. I am proud to say that Billy took the time with this child's family to address their questions and shared that he truly did not know why this had happened, but that he was certain that God had not been responsible for their child's death. God did not plan their child's death, just like God did not plan the illness that killed my dad or the Alzheimer's that took my grandmother 5 years ago. How could people believe in and worship a god that did do this? Instead, Billy told the parents that God was with them in their grief and grieved with them, that God's role is the comforter, not the planner of loss. We can't understand the mystery that is God and when we attempt to put God in a box just like the box we have put grief in, we minimize God and minimize the people we love who we've lost. For thousands of years, religious people have asked questions about theodicy, a fancy word for the attempt to understand why bad things happen and the role God has within a world where terrible things happen every day. Thousands of years later, we still don't have an answer because there is none. For once, we humans should realize that not having the answer is okay and stop providing trite, dismissive, and disrespectful comments to people who are grieving. Instead just realize that there is nothing you can say that will make it better, so just keep your mouth shut and offer to bring food and take them to a funny movie. No offense to Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, but your 5 stages of grief can suck it.