The problem of pain

The problem of pain.  This phrase has been bouncing around in my head.  C.S. Lewis wrote a book that I have yet to read with this title.  But, I am not talking about that right now....

Here is the problem with pain (the way I see it).  

People don't like it.  We know that some pain is for our own good.  We might want what is on the other side of the pain.  A good example of this is a workout.  Sometimes working out can be a little painful.  (If it isn't at least a little painful, you probably aren't working hard enough to do anything.)  There is a purpose, so we might even like that pain a little.  When you get a massage (a good deep tissue massage), it hurts a little (or a lot).  But we like that pain in some ways, because we know it is working out the knots and sore spots in our body. When we deliver a baby, we are in pain.  But, it is a good pain because we know that each contraction is getting us closer to seeing our baby.  I guess the point about it being a "good" pain is debatable, hence the advent of the epidural, but you get the point.  Pain is necessary.  It gets us something we want that we couldn't get if we went through the experience pain free.

When one of my kids gets a fever, I don't usually give them Tylenol or ibuprofen.  I know that the fever it a protective mechanism for the body and letting the fever do it's job of killing the virus, is important for the healing process.  I have given my kids a fever reducer when they are totally miserable, but it they are acting comfortable enough, I let the fever go and am grateful it is actually helping them.  I think this idea goes along well with the idea of pain.  Even though pain is, well painful, sometimes it is necessary, like the fever. 

If it can be helpful, why don't we like pain?  It hurts.  It is unpleasant.  Sometimes we don't think we can endure....

For some reason,  that part seems somewhat simple to me; not pleasant, but simple.

The part that is hard for me is the interactions that take place while I am in pain.  People hate to see someone they love in pain.  They just want to fix it.  They will try anything to alleviate pain because it is so awful to watch.

I think about the first four stages of grief: Denial, bargaining, anger, depression  It seems that there is some kind of pain associated with each.  In denial, you might be in too much pain to even allow what is happening into your mind.  In bargaining, you begin to feel the pain and you are trying to find a way out; trying to make a "deal" so you can get out of the pain.  Anger....that is what happens when the pain is so intense that you don't know how to feel it so it just sort of spews everywhere.  Depression, the pain is so bad you can't move very well. It consumes you.

Do any of these "stages" sound pleasant?  Is it pleasant to watch someone you love be in denial?  How about bargaining?  And how much do we like to be around angry people?  Especially irrationally angry people.  Oh, that's super fun!  Everyone loves that.  And being around someone who is depressed.  Awesome!  Love it!

No.... no one likes any of that.  Most people can't even tolerate it.  And yet, that is what grief is all about.  It is about experiencing all those emotions.  Sometimes intense, sometimes not, usually unpredictable, almost always overwhelming, but definitely unpleasant no matter how organized you make it look. It seems to me that people like to say there are "stages" to grief.  People like to list them in a certain order (being careful to stay politically correct by saying 'there is no order').  We like them to be wrapped up in nice pretty boxes with different colored bows.  We can tolerate the black bow as long as it is tied nicely and symmetrically.  But is anger really tied up in a nice little square box with a pinterest inspired bow?  Think about the last time you were really, really angry.  I'm not talking about the time someone cut you off while driving.  Multiply that into something that is more near and dear to your heart than anything else and then remember that there is no resolution in this life. Does that feel neat and orderly?  Does it fit nicely in a list?

I guess my point is that people accept, and usually like the idea of stages of grief, but how many people can stand by you while you experience intense and wild emotions like this?  People want to cheer you up or explain why you should be grateful or happy.  (I would like to state, for the record, that this is the worse thing you can do).  But, to just sit with someone and not be so scared to watch them be in pain; to not be scared that some of that pain might drip on you and make you hurt a little too; to not think you have to fix it; to let grief take it's course and be constant and caring instead of searching for a loop hole so your friend (or yourself) can get out of this mess.  It is a mess.  It's a flipping mess.  These emotions are messy.  People like order and predictability.  Grief is nothing of the sort, so forget about your bullet points and put on your hazmat suit.

I have to admit that in November-ish time, I was really bothered that no one could make me feel better.  When I was pregnant, my grief wasn't nearly as intense and a good friend and a good talk did wonders for my soul.  I didn't feel ALL the way better, but that always seemed to lighten my load tremendously; to sit and share my burden with another.  After Eli died, I sought relief, but to no avail.  No one could make me feel better and I was angry about it.  I didn't understand why for a long time.  Now I think that the pain was more than could be borne by a friend.  It could only be carried by someone who had descended below all things.  There was only one place for comfort.  I knew He was the only one I needed to go to.  He was the only one that could provide me any sense of relief.  He wouldn't take it away, but God could ease my hurt and strengthen me.  He was the only one that could carry me through this.  I always knew this in an intellectual sense, but not as completely in a practical sense.  I knew I had to trust that He would never lead me anywhere that was too distant or dark to find my way out of.  There were are times that don't feel that way, but I began to trust .  Sometimes I don't trust the way I should.  I start to panic and ask God if He really is going to help me through or if He is just going to leave me here.  Trusting isn't a one time deal. 

You have to trust that it is process; for yourself, for your loved one.  I constantly have to remind myself to trust God.  To trust that He will see me through this.

The culture teaches us that we are in the business of fixing things: fixing anger, fixing depression, whatever it takes. We will fix it!  Oh, you're depressed.... we have an app for that. Oh, you're angry....we have an app for that. (Or maybe I should say a drug for that...)  But, in the midst of some of these emotions, I have to ask myself....is this something that needs to be fixed?  I'm not saying I enjoy how I feel, but isn't this an appropriate response to what has happened?   Did anybody ever stop and think the way I feel is absolutely normal and appropriate given the situation?  When I saw my doctor at my six week check he asked me how I was doing.  I told him I was "doing bad" (love the grammar there....).  He looked kind of startled at my abrupt response, but then nodded knowingly. I asked him if he wouldn't be more concerned if I told him I was doing well. I should be "doing bad" that at this moment and I was. The way I was responding was appropriate for the situation. He agreed with everything. Not that I needed him to, but he did. (Maybe I did need him to at that point). 

I think that the emotions will take care of themselves. The grief will take care of itself. But it's not going to happen today and it's not going to happen the way I think it is. How I truly feel isn't going to be changed if people say the "right" thing to me.  I just have to feel some of it.  But, it might change how I respond to them.  I wish that people would stop trying to fix me and just be with me; that watching the pain wouldn't scare them so bad.  That they would experience some of it with me.  That they would let me revisit and talk about those things that I need to; instead of trying to distract me or cheer me up and move me forward.   THAT is what helps ease the burden.  But I also get that people don't know how to do that. I certainly wouldn't know how to do that with a friend. Maybe I will now.

It makes sense that it is our natural inclination to want to help someone who is in pain.  There is nothing good about watching someone who has just broken their leg writhe around in pain while you sit and watch, apathetic, from a distance.  It seems natural to want to help them.  This is a good thing.  It is pretty obvious that you aren't going to heal the broken leg immediately, or that YOU will heal it at all, but you want to do anything you can to help.  This is where problems can arise with grief.  People think it is a "fixable" problem and sometimes it isn't.  Usually it isn't.

People just can't stand it to see me in pain. That really does mean a lot to me. Honestly. But because the pain isn't going away, some people go away. They just can't stand the lack of resolution. This isn't a fixable problem. Only God can fix this one. I trust that He will. I think it will take longer than I thought it would. I don't care that much. I wish other I didn't feel like other people cared. But, I do think their intents and motives are pure.  

I thought this little poem went well with my thoughts:

Burden Carriers

Sorrow is one of the things that are lent, not given.  

A thing that is lent may be taken away;

a thing that is given is not taken away.

Joy is given;

sorrow is lent.

We are not our own,

we are bought with a price....

(Our sorrow) is lent us for just a little while

that we may use it for eternal purposes.

Then is will be taken away

and everlasting joy will be

our Father's gift to us,

and the Lord God will wipe away

all tears from off all faces.

-Amy Carmichael