Good Grief

A Moment I’ll Never Forget

A quiet moment on a starry night when emotions flowed freely and healing began in the arms of a stranger.

A Walk, a Group, and a Gathering

A bunch of college buddies and I walked over to the all-girls college just up the hill from our school to meet up with a group of women and hang out and possibly go bowling and eat pizza. (Although pizza was really an extravagant expense for colleges students back in the day. More likely, it would be chips and pop.)

The night sky was inky black and packed with stars; the air was cool and fresh, with the slight scent of pine that always seemed present at our Northern Minnesota university.

We had met some of these newer friends at a Christian fellowship we all attended, and they were bringing more people, too. It ended up being a large group.

The Moment

One of the gals I was standing near had recently been told that a close friend of hers was killed while serving in the military. As she shared, I could see the torrent of pain in her eyes as she struggled to hold back the tears.

Then, out of nowhere, my twenty-something-year-old brain blurted out, “Just let it out.”

It’s not something I had ever said to someone—much less a near stranger. I opened my arms and held her, and I could feel that she was still trying to be “strong.” Again, without really thinking, I gently said it again:

“Just let the tears out.”

And she did. She wept freely and uncontrollably in my arms. I held her even closer as she shook while releasing all that grief.

I don’t remember how long she cried. I do remember that she stepped back, a bit embarrassed, once she finished. Thankfully, someone had Kleenex.

I was so in the moment I had no self-consciousness about it, even in the group of my twenty-something peers. Not really in character for me, as I was—as most college students are—hugely insecure and still figuring out who I was and what I wanted to do with my life.

Funny thing is, I don’t think I ever saw her again. Although a lovely young woman, she wasn’t someone I wanted to date. That thought strangely never even crossed my mind. Again, an anomaly, as among my friends we were always joking about all the girls we wanted to make out with.

Afterwords

The night continued. We went to the bowling alley and ended up hanging out, eating snacks, and drinking cheap pop.

That happened over forty years ago, and I still cherish the memory: the honor and privilege of holding another human being while they wept. It was beautiful.

What If?

What if we could be there for our friends and family?
What if we allowed ourselves and others to let go of all that grief without the shame and embarrassment?

It’s just tears. It’s just part of life.

And in my experience, the tears are part of a deep healing that happens—almost an awakening—after you move through the hardest parts of grief.

Is our mental health crisis in the USA simply the result of not having a safe space to grieve?