Grief, Sorrow and Joy.

One of the things that stunned me about Africa was how open the people were about everything. There were no 'taboo' topics when it came to family, or friends.

When we entered a family's home, it was tradition to have chai with the women before any chatter could really commence. At this time we were immediately presented with photo albums. Albums we assumed to be filled with smiling children, laughing parents, happy grandparents. Of weddings, birthdays and happy joy filled times. We assumed that when opened, these albums would give us a glimpse of this families most cherished moments. We assumed that the pictures held within would be similar to the ones you would find in in photo albums in own homes.

This was not the case. The photo albums held grim pictures horrific scenes. Pictures of a casket, often holding an infant or small child. Of mourners gathered, of family members and friends holding the dead child, of devastated mothers. Of tears, and heartache and loss and misery.

I was confused and even a tad disgusted. Why would they show us this? Our visit was meant to be one of joy and friendship, a light hearted blessing, a communion among friends, and this is how we are greeted?! With a situation we could do nothing about and do not know how to proceed or how to act, what to say?! They just made this whole thing incredibly awkward.

As I watched the women eagerly pointed out various people, and held a hand clutched to their hearts, I realized what this truly was. There was no malice or ill intent in their actions. Quite the opposite in fact. It was an acceptance, an invitation, a blessing.

They were not looking for sympathy, or empty sentiments of regret. They were simply sharing their lives with us, allowing us to come closer to them. It came down to the fact that they were as willing to share their grief and sorrow, as they were to share their joy.

In our society, its common to hide that which makes us seem weak, or vulnerable. To shy away from sharing feelings that are not of happiness and light. When we ask each other 'how are you?' what we are really looking to hear is 'good, how are you?'. Ninety percent of the time, we don't ACTUALLY want to hear how the other person is actually doing. If they answer with 'I've been better', we kind of die a little on the inside knowing that this is going to be a much longer conversation than you had anticipated and you were really hoping you were going to be able to get a coffee before picking the kids up!

Grief is something meant to be shared, and felt as a community. Something to be lived, and experienced. It's how grief turns into memories and hope. Whenever anyone would ask how I was doing after my mom's passing, I would smile, say we were doing well, and invariably turn the topic to Eli. What a saving grace having him in our lives was. Again, the truth is is that people have enough sadness and anger and hurt in their own lives, I didn't need to be adding to it. I heard time and time again. 'You are so strong!' However this was a lie. I wasn't strong, I'm just a good actress.

Why do we hide our emotions? Why are we so afraid to show our pain and fear and scars? Why do we wait until the second trimester to share our joy in a pregnancy? Because we may feel embarrassed, or inadequate or don't want to share the pain if something happens and we miscarry? Why do we try to explain away our pain?

Why can we not share our joy immediately, and allow others to share our grief and bad times as equally as we invite them to share in our happy and cherished times? When we make the decision to share everything, the good and the bad, we extend the possibility of relationship with those around us. We open doors. We invite others in.  We lean on one another, and celebrate one another. We have a deeper understanding of what the other people are going through, and what makes them who we are today.

If,  as a society, we were more open with those around us. Less quick to judge. If we taught the value of letting others in, maybe it could change a few lives. Teenagers who feel forgotten and unloved and hurting may find solace in others, rather than ending their lives too soon. Mothers who've lost unborn children could be surrounded in love from their grieving friends, mourning their loved one's infinite loss. Maybe the world would be a bit of a better place.

Next time you ask somebody how they are doing, and they say 'fine' or 'good' or some other cookie cutter response, try looking them in the eye, touching their arm, and asking again. Maybe you'll make a difference.