This blog is being written to commemorate the memory of Tony, Grandma Lois, Nonna Cecilia, and Antoine.
The death of someone you love or care about is an everlasting loss that one must learn to cope and live with the remainder of life. Grief is complex, varying, and ever-lasting. We grieve those we have lost in different ways for different reasons. Grief is not something that fits into a simple model or manifests itself in simple linear stages as some have attempted to suggest, such as Kubler-Ross and her five stages of grief. We as human beings simply do not grieve in a generalist or simplistic manner. Love, caring, and loss are deep entities that reside within each of us. To elaborate on this point, I will discuss wonderful human beings that I have lost and grieve. Tony, for example, was a life lost too soon that left a black hole of emptiness for all of us that knew him well. Tony was the epitome of a free and happy spirit. He was my older sister’s best friend and come to think of it, he was a best friend to all of us. His smile would force you to reflect a smile back. It was toothy and ever-stretching, pulling you in to smile and laugh with him. He also had this knack of making everyone around him feel good and own who they are. Tony was the only person that could convince me when I was an overweight and profusely ugly child that I was actually pretty and worth his time, not by the words he said, but in how he treated me. It was absolutely normal to him for us to leave my sister’s group of older friends at a Steve Miller Band concert so that he could teach me to dance and be free, like him. He cared so deeply about making people smile, it was like his destiny was to encompass smiles. He did, he made us all smile. The last time I saw him, he had fallen asleep on my legs, of course smiling, on our way home from a concert. He was always smiling. Tony died when I was 15, a victim of his own free spirit. He would spend each summer break from college in Yellowstone, unleashing his liberty. One tragic day in Yellowstone, his friend crashed the Jimmy he was driving, and Tony flew to his death. Although we as a collective group still love him intensely, we refrain from talking much about him, the wounds are still too open and painful. The loss of such sunshine still darkens our skies. The day he died, I was spending the summer in Calabria with my mother, the only one of our group not to partake in the closing of his life. Gypsies had travelled into my mom’s small town and helped me grieve, flying me through the air with their miniature version of “The Swinger”, an amusement ride that safely flies people. I made a promise to the wind, as the gypsies swung me that I would write about him. It was as if they were teaching me that it is okay to fly even into death. I’m not sure if these will be the last lines I write about him or if this blog adequately fulfills my promise to the wind. I can say that his grief is felt immensely to this day at certain times throughout the year. However, I see his spirit living in his niece and nephew each time I interact with them. In this way Tony again reflects himself back to me, reminding me to smile. Tony is also omnipresent in my chosen profession, he had graduated with a bachelor’s degree in social work shortly before his death. I was unaware of this until after I had become a social worker, but this knowledge has validated social work as my profession and also brought me comfort. His mother also worked at my university when I was an undergraduate student. I’m not sure she is fully aware of how much she helped me get through a rough time in my life. It was as if he signaled to her, “Jess needs you” because I would always bump into her on the worst days outside of the Cathedral of Learning. A chat with his mom would remind me that I am capable to move through and remove obstacles. I grieve Tony uniquely from all others I have lost to death. Each one of them has impacted me differently and molded me in a variety of ways. For example, Grandma Lois’ death was also especially difficult. She decided to adopt my sister, two cousins, and myself as her surrogate grandchildren as our grandparents lived in a different country. She also took care of my mother and aunt- helping them both learn English, teaching them how to be American before we born, and simply being their friend after they had left their family and friends in Italy. Each birthday, she would make each of us (my parents, my sister, my cousins, etc.) a special cake. I have the recipe of her frosting memorized and have replicated this tradition for friends, clients, and colleagues in the past. Her cakes and desire to treat me as a grandchild despite the lack of blood relation has always taught me that family is more than something we are born into. We can create our own families and adopt those in need. She continues giving to my family through her residence. My sister, her children, and her husband/my brother (who is more my brother than an in-law since they started dating when I was 9) now reside in her home. Grandma Lois shared with us her heart and blesses my sister, our family, and her home daily. Grandma Lois died of lung cancer, concealing herself the sicker she became. The grief of her was acute shortly after her death, but the profound depth of her caring has eased the pain. Now, cakes are made to remember her and her ability to love those that needed love. Nonna Cecilia, my paternal grandma, is another loss I grieve. She was a woman with an ever-watchful eye. Although, my time spent with her was minimal due to distance, I feel her presence daily. Every time I look at a picture of her sitting on my computer desk, hugging Grandma Lois, I feel her telling me “I’m watching you and you better make your father proud because he left me and worked hard for you.” Sometimes I swear she even winks at me, which is customary in my father’s comical family, but that is surely attributable to long hours of writing and missing my dad, than reality. Some called her a witch, but I always viewed her differently. To me, she was as a woman that people should be weary of crossing. Not because she was bad or mean, but because of her high expectations of righteousness. She died naturally and late in life. Although her death saddened me, the loss was less painful due to the limited time I spent with her. However, her life and death are a constant reminder of the sacrifices my parents made for me. She holds me accountable to my purpose and making my father proud of me. Antoine is the last and most recent experience of grief I will share. Antoine was one of my first of many African American friends who inadvertently showed me the benefit of integration. I never felt uncomfortable around people outside of my race because Antoine was one of my first friends. He grew up in my neighborhood and was always, without question, roaming our safe streets with his sidekick Nick. Both he and Nick taught me how to hit a baseball and shoot a three-pointer. I recently realized that he changed the name of 21 or maybe Nick did, a basketball game, to 31 so that it took me longer to lose. Antoine was jovial and although he was one of the many that picked on me, he and Nick always invited me to play. His jokes were never intended to hurt, but to teach me how to laugh at myself. Antoine was a fierce family advocate. One of his brothers has a disability, and we all learned from cool Antoine, not to be ashamed of disabilities. That in the grand scheme of things, disabilities are just another aspect of human existence. What matters in life is family, respect, and acceptance. Antoine, like Tony, died in a tragic car accident. Tragic because of his age and how much he had gifted all of us through laughter. Sadness was pervasive in his funeral, as we all remembered his laughter that was removed from us forever. So why share these stories of grief? In order to encourage people, and social workers encountering grief associated with death to rethink the nature of grief. All of us experience this form of sadness and hurt in our lives. Death is an inevitable part of life. However, the manifestation of grief correlates with the person we are grieving. I know for me, hearing that the death of people I care about was simply God’s plan, hurt me immensely. Or when people would say “they’re better off in heaven” made me feel angry, like why is heaven so much better than life with me. It minimized the lived being I cared about and what they meant to me. Also, as a grad student that took grief counseling, hearing about the linear stages of grief confounded me. My experience with grief has never been linear or simplistic. Grief for me varied, its depth and impact, dependent upon who I was grieving. Even learning about generalized interventions associated with complicated grief astounded me. I never could understand the generalization of grief or its associated interventions. How should we interact with those that are grieving? I think that we should listen fiercely to their stories of love and loss. Instead of offering words of wisdom, our comfort should be in the realm of listening. We must also honor their grief as a transient essence of existence. We cannot fit grief into stages or generalized interventions. We must simply listen and be with those that are grieving. There is a place in Pittsburgh, called The Caring Place, which offers support to families shadowed by grief. I love this place and it provides a model for how we should treat those that are grieving. There is a room filled with punching bags so that families can hit, yell, and aggressively attack their grief-motivated anger. There are also rooms designated by age, for those that are grieving. The youngest get to build and play through their grief. The teenagers lead activities, such as the creation of a grief chain, to identify and share their emotions. Adults have their own room too, where others experiencing grief simply talk about their loss. Each family makes a quilt commemorating those that have moved on. All of these modes of interactions are driven by individuals and their families. That is how I think we should interact with those that are grieving. We should consider their age, who they are grieving, and intervene in an individualistic way that credits their grieving. Mostly, we should just listen to their stories and allow the grief to be externalized to mitigate any internal damage. We listen, care, and be with those that are grieving. Never should we impose our views on loss or generalize their experiences. In closing, I send my light and love to Tony, Grandma Lois, Nonna Cecilia, and Antoine. I also thank them for living courageously, inspiring me, and accepting me as I am. I also want all of those who have experienced grief and are reading this blog to sit still, send a promise in the wind, and grieve in a way that feels right to you. Grief is complex and transforms us. It's okay to grieve.
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In social work, we say frequently that we are working with vulnerable populations due to the variety of risk factors encountered by the people we are honored to serve. We label these people as vulnerable because of a multitude of hardships, such as poverty, racism, discrimination, trauma, illness, etc. However, I believe that we are wrong in labeling these clients, or any person encountering adversity as vulnerable. In fact, these people are often the least vulnerable, as life has forced them to harden and create impermeable shells in order to hide their precious pearls that reside within. Thus, people who either encounter harsh circumstances daily or those that have been severely hurt by life are insusceptible and closed, not vulnerable.
So what does this mean for social work practice? What does this mean for people in general interacting with people labeled as ‘vulnerable’? It means that we need to rethink how we approach these people. It requires us to recognize their strength and their ability to meet adversity with armor. We must acknowledge that these people have built layers upon layers of stone walls fortified by cement. These walls are thick, complex, and hard to break down. If we think of them as vulnerable then we fail to recognize the true essence of their nature, which hinders our ability to help shatter their fortifications. Instead, we must work diligently to help those that have suffered to soften, let go, and embrace life. To do this we must acknowledge the walls people have created because of hurt. We must also realize that these people are not vulnerable, but hardened and in need of assistance abandoning their shells. We do this by first acknowledging and working to remedy our own parts in the construction of these walls, whether they be on an individual or macro level. We then stop replicating past hurts by treating others with dignity and respect. On a macro level, we stop creating and implementing socially unjust legislature that disadvantages hurt people. We must also ensure that we do no more damage to ‘vulnerable’ people. We cannot cause them any further harm, while also diligently working to alleviate whatever suffering they feel. We do this by creating safe spaces, and trustful relationships to show that pearls should not be hidden. That pearls, in fact, beautify the world. We help pry apart their shells by making them feel comfortable with the uncomfortable associated with their hurt through support. We help them face that pain and own that pain. We then allow them to grieve and let go. We show them that not every aspect of life hurts and that it’s okay to allow in some sunshine. We give people sledge hammers to break their own walls. We give them the knives to cleave open their shells and unleash the pearls. Admittedly, I am one of those hardened people who carefully hides and protects her pearl. Vulnerable, I am not, and I take great aims to fortify my walls. Recently I realized this form of interaction with life is unhealthy. I realized I must stop suppressing the hurt, unleash it, feel it, mourn it, and let it go. Recently I decided to open my shell. This current life transformation inspired the writing of this blog. In saying this, helpers can only do so much to dismantle the armor unsusceptible people wear daily. Those invulnerable people must also makes efforts to break down their own walls and grab onto what is beautiful. Today my favorite and also ironic yoga posture helped me navigate through some of this transformation today. I have always loved the pose known as balancing half moon. I am not sure why I love this posture so much, it might be its name and my fascination with the moon or maybe there’s a deeper reason that resonates within. During this posture, I am fully vulnerable- only one leg stands firmly on the ground as my fingertips slightly graze a block or just hang in the air. The other side of me is fully open, stretching, expanding, and inviting in life. This includes my heart. If I do not ground myself or practice full awareness of my body, including the physical emotions that arise, I would fall out of this pose instantly. For some reason, I am always almost always able to sustain this vulnerable and open position in a joyous way. Hardened and closed me, is fully exposed and I feel embraced by the world. While practicing today, I realized that like the moon our life is cyclical. We have phases of opening and closing. Some of us are better at being full moons, and others, like myself, tend towards the slimmest of crescent moons. However, like the moon, we must open and close. Both are necessary to live life fully. I decided today to manifest my favorite posture as a daily intention to be more open and vulnerable. Almost everyday I wear a crescent moon charm, which was first given to me by my Zio Antonio when I was 15 and then also replaced by him with a better one. I will use my necklace as a reminder to embrace all phases of me, including my crescent side. However, the daily goal will be to move towards opening into a half and then a full moon so that I can share more of my light with the rest of the world. This movement towards brightness will also allow me to receive and be replenished by the light that others share. To sum up, I reiterate that we stop viewing people as ‘vulnerable’, which hinders our ability to help them. Instead we recognize that these people are pearls protected by almost impermeable shells created by the harshness of life. We own and remedy our part in the creation of these fortifications. We work diligently to do no more harm. We advocate for social justice, while thoughtfully approaching these people living in the midst of suffering. We sit with them, give them a hand, and help them lead their healing. We give them tools to tear down their walls. Those of us hardened by life, we have work to do too. We must honor the hurt, grieve it, and then let it go. We must allow life to heal us, because like us, life is also a precious pearl. We must open again to a life that has hurt us. We cannot enjoy the pearl of life with a closed shell. |
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