Today I am grateful for today. And tomorrow I will be grateful for tomorrow.
Two people close to me lost two people close to them this morning. It was unexpected. Random. Senseless. And awful. I didn’t know the deceased. I had never met them. They were two degrees of separation away, putting me in the position of watching my people go through a loss that they are experiencing and I am not. It’s a strained position because the playbook is thin to non-existent. There isn’t much you can do and even less you can say. I didn’t know the deceased, so I can’t contribute to the “remember when” conversations that help the grieving process their loss. All I can do is offer “I’m so sorry”, and be there for my people if they need anything.
Watching people you love go through hell is one of the hardest parts of life to accept, especially when you are powerless to avert or relieve their suffering. You can’t protect. You can’t fight. This isn’t your battle. All you can do is watch and hope, support from the sidelines, and trust that they will emerge on the other side.
Second-degree loss feels like an emotional version of sleep paralysis: I’m awake. I desperately want to move. But I’m glued in place. There is nothing for me to do.
My purpose in writing this is not to make someone else’s loss about me. It’s to support the people in my life who are experiencing loss right now. And it’s to put words to the feeling of being cast in the supporting role of someone else’s tragedy.
Whatever role you find yourself playing I hope these words will help you.
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To those I love who are grieving:
I want you to know it pains me that you have to experience this burden of grief and the sadness and anger that accompany it.
I want you to know that you aren’t alone.
I desperately wish you didn’t have to feel the emptiness of missing someone who is no longer here.
I would have traded anything to protect you from this suffering.
I’ll see you on Saturday.
I love you.
– Marcel
MW 