Reflections on the Teche

It’s Never a Bad Idea

Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution. –Kahlil Gibran

We have a philosophy in our house: “It’s never a bad idea to go to the funeral home.”  I realized this truth six years ago when Jeff’s dad died.  Hanging out at the funeral home is uncomfortable. Yet, when someone who cares walks through the door to offer you a hug, it’s an action greater than comfort.  It’s the kindness of support and holding each other up at a time when you would like to crawl under the table and cry. 

Recently, one of my students, Alexis, lost her uncle in a tragic way.  I wanted to go to the funeral home mainly to check on her and let her know she was missed at school.  Alexis greeted me with a happy smile obviously pleased to be dressed in her new outfit. (As much as I try to teach them otherwise, sixth graders care way too much about the way they look.) She wanted me to meet her grandparents.  Awkward!  I didn’t want the first time that I would meet them to be under these circumstances. Also, it meant I had to walk up by the coffin to view the body of her young uncle gone-too-soon.  She left me standing there hugging her grandpa.  He cried and talked to me about his son, Alexis’s father, not the deceased one.  He was so proud of how his granddaughter was doing in school.  Then I turned to the grandmother, another hug, and another sentimental conversation.  I left feeling loved and comforted even though that was not my need or intent. It’s never a bad idea to go to the funeral home.

This week my friend Susan’s mother died. Susan’s daughter, Laura, and my youngest, Martha, grew up together.  They spent weekends either in New Iberia or Abbeville.  Susan was like another mother to Martha.  But life and time has separated us as our daughters went to different colleges.  When I called Martha to tell her the news, she said, “But I haven’t talked to her in a while.  What should I say?”

“Tell her you are sorry.  Tell her how you remember her grandmother.  Just be present.”

Later, Martha called me back to thank me for telling her to call.  It’s never a bad idea.

When someone dies, we are comforted by the small things: the phone call, the hug, the gentle tear of empathy.  It’s about being there.  It’s about being present in grief.  We have to lose a little bit of ourselves to be present for others.  We have to stop worrying about the what-to-say and the what-if-she-cries business.  Reaching out always feels better.  Being present always leads to a full heart.

This poem speaks of empathy, that special ability to join with someone in their grief or pain.

Empathy

Your hug touches me,
            the meaning of skin on skin
                                comforts like the soft cyan sky.

Treeless sugarcane fields
             hug the road while
                                the red-tailed hawk patrols.

He sweeps the air
             in a mysterious circle,
                      and I wander the horizon –searching.

The sacred call limited not by sky-
                its scraping scream echoes in the hollow
                       of my heart. 

You recognize
              this pain
                      and join me.