Clarity is a Kindness
Clarity
When Carmen died, I was a mess. She was my best friend since my toddler days. Our mothers are best friends, too. We’ve grown up together. She was the best older sister/friend a girl could have growing up: she gave me her cool hand-me-down Jordache jeans with hot pink seams, let me tag along to Chino High School parties when I was 14, and was incredibly protective of me. I adored her.
She died as a result of a heart attack, brought about by the disease of alcoholism. Her death was a shock.
As I flew from Maryland to California to be with her two teen sons and lead her funeral service, I was overwhelmed with waves of emotion. Profound sadness, shame, helplessness, anger, embarrassment, disappointment, frustration, and vulnerability washed over me. (Dr. Joan Rosenberg calls these the 8 unpleasant feelings.) Then, the emotion would settle down, I’d sip my ginger ale and gaze out the airplane window, take a deep breath, pray for God to give me the grace and wisdom needed to move through this time.
Breathing and praying and looking out across the clouds brought clarity: My roles when I reached California were threefold:
#1: love & comfort her sons;
#2: work with them & her mom & brother to plan a lovely funeral service; and
#3: see to the details of her will as her executor.
In that order. My emotional needs would take a back seat to my role as godmother, as funeral officiant, as executor. I would bring my emotional stuff somewhere else, later. To my therapist, to my circle of supportive friends, to my church community, to my mom and husband.
Someone recently told me,
“Clarity is a kindness.”
So true.
When I arrived to the house in California with Carmen’s sons, mother, brother, niece, and other friends and family members, I drew a circle. I put the boys’ names in the middle of the circle, and announced to everyone around the table: “The boys are at the center of this loss. They are the ones we gather around.” I went on the explain that the next ring of the circle included Carmen’s mom, brother, boyfriend, niece. And the next ring included me, and other friends. I’ve used this with grieving families before, thanks to Heidi Moawad sharing it with me during her cancer treatment. She found it in the Los Angeles Times and it’s pure gold as far as clarity is concerned.
The circle helps to clarify that I do not rely on the boys to comfort me. They dump to me, I comfort them.
When you face a difficult family situation, or a work decision, hit “pause.” Take some time to get clear if the situation is not an emergency. Often things are less urgent than we believe them to be- especially when waves of emotion are washing over us. Feel the emotions, notice them, and let them pass. Take a breath, look at the clouds or something else that is beautiful and expansive and lifts your spirits, sip your ginger ale, pray, and allow the clarity to arrive.
And then, once you are clear, determine how to be clear with others. Clear does not mean cold. It means clear, understandable, intelligible.
Clarity allows us to strategize. More about that soon.
Showing up at the house in California after Carmen died was one of the hardest moments of my life. I love her sons so very much, and her mother and brother and niece. They deserved the very best, clearest presence I could offer to them.
Those days in California did not go perfectly. I made mistakes. I would do a few things differently if I could wind back the clock. What I know about those days is that by getting clear about what I was there to do, and how to do it, I could be more loving in the moment. I could observe the boys and comfort them, setting aside my emotional needs and focusing on them.
Clarity is a kindness. For others, and for ourself.
Clarity, strategy and practice take time, and we honor ourselves and others by devoting that time for kindness to ourselves and others.
