Here's a story from my book:
One day I was watching an interview on television with the actress Susan Saint James. Three weeks before the interview, her fourteen-year-old son, Teddy, was killed in a plane crash. Her husband and another son were seriously injured and several of the crewmembers died. In the interview, Saint James talked about how close she was to Teddy because he was her youngest child and the only one still living at home. In addition, due to his work as head of NBC sports, her husband, Dick Ebersol, was gone much of the time. She said that she and Teddy were like roommates and had become best friends. Then, emanating deep calm and acceptance, she said: "His was a life that lasted fourteen years."
I could end this piece right here and feel I've provided enough food for thought for the day. But I want to share how I've turned Susan Saint James' astonishing comment into a practice that has helped me handle loss. I hope her words will encourage you to do the same.
At the outset, I must admit that I have no idea if I'd be able to make a statement such as hers should one of my children or grandchildren die. But I do know that Saint James' words and the serenity with which she spoke them entered my heart that day.
When I find myself
grieving the many losses I've faced due to chronic illness, I recite my own version of her words. If I begin to mourn my lost
career as a law professor, I say to myself, "This was a career that lasted 20 years." If I feel overwhelmed by the loss of my health and its consequences, I say to myself, "This was a body that was illness-free long enough to be active in raising my children and to teach and be of personal support to many law students."
Last week, I was feeling deep sadness about a particular friend who has dropped out of my life (a common, often traumatic experience for people with long-term illness). I felt a familiar gut-wrenching hurt begin to take hold, a painful emotion that is often followed by anger. But instead of allowing the hurt to brew and become more potent, I stopped and said to myself, "This was a friendship that lasted 25 years."
That statement gave me some breathing room in which I could reflect on our relationship. She's always been uncomfortable around people with health problems, yet when I first got sick in 2001, she came to see me once a week for several months. I know she's not intentionally being cruel to me by having dropped out of my life. She wishes me the best and hopes I will recover.
The hurt was gone, replaced by feelings of good will for my absent friend and by fond memories of those 25 years.
I hope you are as inspired by Susan Saint James' courage as I am. Whether you are healthy or sick, can you take her remarkable words and use them to help you through a loss?
© 2011 Toni Bernhard
I'm the author of the 2011 Nautilus Gold Book Award winning How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and their Caregivers. Website: www.howtobesick.com
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