When Others See What You Don’t

Trusted companions sharpen our awareness

One of grief’s benefits is also its greatest challenge: dimmed self-awareness. When you lose your closest companion in life, you also lose a large part of yourself. In the early weeks following life-altering loss, this is a benefit, because in those days the griever, immersed in breath-taking trauma, does well simply to get up each morning. Eventually, as initial trauma fades and a new chapter of life begins to emerge, we grievers begin to take back what remains of our lives in order to stretch forward.

In this second stage of grief we recognize both what we retain of ourselves, as well as what we have lost of ourselves. With Claudia’s death, I have many losses, one of the deepest losses being self-awareness. This is especially troubling for an introvert, for whom self-awareness is a cornerstone of life.

It’s not as thought I no longer know who I am. It’s that I don’t quite know who I am apart from my spouse of three decades. One of the values of contented marriage is regularly checking in with your life companion. For Claudia and me, it meant that every Sunday afternoon we engaged in a “rate today’s sermon” repartee. I would ask, “So what did you hear me saying this morning?” She would summarize what she heard, which was often what I intended to say. I would ask her to evaluate whether my words had made sense to those who listened. If my train of thought or my main points were hard to follow, she would offer her input.

On the other hand, I would hear on a daily basis her latest work-related successes and frustrations. I know who was performing well, who was struggling, the ways in which she felt her leadership style needed to change to accomplish the mission. Through our conversations about what really matters in life, our relationship was strengthened over our time together, and our mutual self-awareness was enhanced.

There are many things I miss about Claudia, but especially I miss the moments of shared disclosure, analysis and insight. She sharpened my self-awareness considerably and made me a better person and a more effective pastor.

I’m learning that others in my life can provide a similar, helpful role. Often — and this is usually the best way — these are people who have no idea they are contributing to my health. My task is to orient myself to be aware of those moments when they come.

Yesterday, for example, I was reading a text from a dear friend in my previous congregation. She and her husband were the first to invite Claudia and me into their home for lunch following worship a little more than a year ago. They have interesting life stories and remain very active in their retirement years, always enjoyable conversation partners and always encouraging.

I called yesterday’s Substack, “My World Is About to Turn,” in which I considered Claudia’s second and final celebration of life service. The weight of that finality is pressing upon me, and I continue to feel it as we get closer to the day. A faithful Substack follower, my friend texted me, in part:

I noted that you said your upcoming service will be a turning event. I would like to suggest that it is a “returning event.” It is taking you back to a painful experience, and as you said, a necessary one for your Minnesota friends and family. Once that is over, it will take some time to return to the recovery that you have made thus far.

As I read her words, I realized, “Yep, that’s exactly what I meant to say. My world is about ‘to return.’” I have had the opportunity in the past two months to experience the best things about a cross-country move. A new home, new neighbors, a new church, a new community. I am having all kinds of new opportunities, and it’s lifted my heart and redirected my life in very positive ways. I’ve experienced some joy, had a lot of fun, and enjoy this part of my new adventure.

But my grief is not yet over, and I will return to it more fully in these next weeks. I have to wonder what it will look like, feel like this time. My role is different now: I am now the father and grandfather whose children have lost their mom and grandma. I am the pastor who my people have only ever known as single. I am the family member of a wider circle and the surviving friend of many who knew us as a couple for many years.

These insights owe their origin to the thoughtful text of a caring friend, hundreds of miles away, but dear to my heart. She saw something I didn’t, and her words have helped me sharpen my own awareness, and this deeper awareness helps build my resilience for the journey before me.

Grieving friends, receive the kind intentions of those around you, especially when their words empower your bereavement journey. Friends of grievers, thank you for sharing yourselves with us; your kindness gives us strength.