A Reflection on Grief

A Reflection on Grief by BMCC Counselor Melissa Raines, LMHCA

“Grief expressed out loud…for someone we have lost, or a country or home we have lost, is in itself the greatest praise we could ever give them. Grief is praise, because it is the natural way love honors what it misses.” - Martin Prechtel (2015, p. 31)

In the wake of Helene, it is difficult to consider using the word “praise”, as if it is a clever way to reimagine the collective experience of grief and trauma felt in Western North Carolina. However, upon deeper inspection, we begin to understand the invitation of grief to not only honor that which we love, but to harken us into deeper wholehearted connection and communion.

We may notice that our current internal landscape feels painfully familiar to that of past personal losses. We find ourselves scattered, unfocused, and attempting to wrap our brains around the fact that the world in which we exist cannot ever go back to the way it was before Helene. As we navigate the loss of loved ones, cherished places, and dreams that existed “before”, we feel a sense of yearning for these beloved entities and all of the possibilities associated with them. 

This yearning is the hallmark of grief and happens in the liminal space between what was “before” and the action that comes “after”. Within this holy space is an opportunity to understand and experience the depth and capacity of our love, as it is the very force that carved the well for our sorrow. Here we weep, sing, shake, fall to our knees, and learn that this is how we honor and offer praise to our beloved.  Here we are undone by grief so that we can be remade in a more compassionate and expansive way. The liminal space is raw, untamed, beautiful, and, at times, uncomfortable. It was also never meant to be held or experienced alone.  

Countless cultures before us knew that grief needed to be held in community and expressed “out loud.” According to grief psychotherapist and author Francis Weller, “Grief is not a problem to be solved, it’s a presence awaiting witnessing.” We now live in a culture that teaches us to manage our grief in private, out of fear of public expression and vulnerability. We live in a culture that teaches us to avoid pain and to soothe the deep ache of yearning at all costs. This avoidance often leads us to bypass the invitation of grief and ultimately leads us to isolation.  

We have observed beauty and connection spring from our community amidst the devastation. We have an opportunity here, in Western North Carolina, to continue to do something different. We cannot change or fix what has happened, but we can learn to sit with one another in the liminal space between “before” and “after”. We can learn to “witness” without trying to “fix”. We can learn to hold sorrow and to sing praise for our beloved, each knowing that we will take turns holding and being held. We can know in our bones that ALL of us are welcome at the table and that WE ARE NOT ALONE. We can extend this wisdom beyond therapy rooms and into our day-to-day lives because we are experiencing our grief collectively. This is the hope in grief’s invitation.

Prechtel, M. (2015). The smell of rain on dust: grief and praise. North Atlantic Books.

Weller, F. (2015). The wild edge of sorrow: rituals of renewal and the sacred work of grief. North Atlantic Books.