03_16_2019

Surprise Gifts in Times of Sadness

Last weekend I headed to New York City via Amtrak on my way to attend funeral services for a dear friend’s brother who had died unexpectedly.

My friend called me while she was driving to New Jersey to her brother’s condo to share the news of his death that she had received the night before.  My initial reaction was all about trying to absorb the news.  When death follows an extended period of illness, one has more time to prepare psychologically for the absence of that individual in his or her life.  Sudden deaths challenge the psyche to process what follows from the news.

One of the first things that I thought of was that my friend would no longer experience the several hour phone calls that her brother was famous for.  She frequently shared with me that her brother often called her on Saturday afternoons when she was cleaning her house.  She knew the conversation would be an extended one, so she would just put her cordless phone on speaker so that the conversation could move from room to room.

Knowing of his lengthy phone conversations, I overheard friends of his sharing how they managed his long calls.  Apparently many of them did similar things as my friend: attending to some mindless chores while being engaged in meaningful conversations.

Slowly throughout the day that I received the sad news, my mind continued to zero in on other ways on how my friend was likely to experience her brother’s loss in her life.  Her words to me as she was driving noted that her brother’s death “had left a big hole in her life.  He was my best friend” she said shortly before hanging up.

Once that I had more time to absorb the news, I began making arrangements on my end to head to the New York-New Jersey areas as the unfolding services were made public.  Time in the quiet car on the train allowed me time to think about the next few days.  I knew that sadness would wash over me once I gathered with the family and those that knew her brother well.  Witnessing her extended family that I had come to know over the last 30 plus years grieve their losses cut right through my defenses that try to block out sadness.

Fortunately for me I was hooking up with a mutual friend in New York, who as a resident of Manhattan was skilled in how to use public transportation to move about the City and beyond.  We both knew that in addition to the overarching cloud of sadness we also had some navigational challenges ahead of us. I’ve never been to a funeral mass and trip to the cemetery in such a congested area as travelling from New Jersey to Brooklyn, New York.  As my friend drove a borrowed car, I tried to serve as the navigator watching for the signs that Google Maps provided  as indicators of when to exit or turn.  Trying to follow cars with flashing lights on Interstates, major highways, and through neighborhoods in heavy traffic conditions simply adds more stress to an already heightened awareness of vulnerability.

Once the burial was over, and the family headed to a private gathering, my friend and I headed into Manhattan.  Since I wasn’t heading back to Boston until the next day, we had the afternoon and evening to spend time together. Looking for an activity that allowed space for the state of our feelings with time for shared reflections, we decided to head to the Rubin Museum – a place I was anxious to visit from listening to my friend’s description of it.  The Museum “promotes understanding, and inspires personal connections to the ideas, cultures, and art of Himalayan regions.”

If you are ever in NYC and looking for a quiet, peaceful, and relaxing space amidst the hustle and bustle that is part of a City as large as NYC, head for the Rubin.  There is a lovely, mid-size Café that offers healthy food.  The space allowed my friend and I the opportunity to begin a long. extended conversation that went on throughout dinner later in the evening.

The Museum features rotating exhibits but with a consistent focus on mindfulness and living a life that is more fully aware.  One of the great exhibits that I was fortunate to experience consisted of an interactive exhibit in which you could set your daily intention and share your favorite mantras.  There was a prayer wheel on the first floor in which you could type in your entries, and then you could witness them being projected on a 360 degree cyclorama on the top floor.

I had simply not expected that the next several hours together would unfold into a great gift – a feeling of deep connection and caring for another person.   What allowed for us to go to a deeper level of friendship I’m not certain, but I think a lot had to do with the underlying sadness we had shared together.  I am aware that during times of extended sadness in my life I am far more open and aware of my interactions with others.

In my own friendships, it takes a willingness to move to deeper levels of connection.  Many of my friends and I are alike in that we try to focus on the positive when we are together.  Yes, we can share challenges that we face, but these don’t usually get too near our deepest anxieties or fears.  Entering these kinds of conversations usually involves soft, gentle steps as a way of testing out how the listener responds.  Also, there’s a level of reciprocity of honesty and vulnerability that is required for a sense of mutual sharing to be present.

The gift of this deepening level of friendship feels like it will last.  It opened the door for me to share more of myself, something I find particularly challenging as an introvert.  But once the door has been opened a bit wider, it is easier for me to continue sharing.  One of my takeaways from this experience is to remind myself to remain open to the potential pathways that can unfold in long-term relationships.  I am reminded of one of my most favorite quotes about our inner selves – our souls – by Parker Palmer:  “The soul is like a wild animal—tough, resilient, savvy, self-sufficient and yet exceedingly shy. If we want to see a wild animal, the last thing we should do is to go crashing through the woods, shouting for the creature to come out. But if we are willing to walk quietly into the woods and sit silently for an hour or two at the base of a tree, the creature we are waiting for may well emerge, and out of the corner of an eye we will catch a glimpse of the precious wildness we seek.”

― Parker J. Palmer, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life