[tri-wings] Re: I will get into your bucket!

 
Darcy,
 
That was perfect, thank you for sharing that. 
Bess
 
In a message dated 11/18/2006 12:16:04 A.M. Eastern Standard Time,  
darcyndon@xxxxxxxxxxx writes:

Who Gets  in Your Bucket?--by Doug Manning



The best way I know to picture  how we receive help from others in grief is 
to imagine you are holding a  bucket. The size and color doesn't matter. The 
bucket represents the feelings  bottled up inside of you when you are in pain. 
If you have suffered a loss,  hold the bucket and think through how you feel 
right now. If you are reading  this to learn more about helping others, then 
imagine what would be in your  bucket if a loved one had died very recently. 
What 
is in your  bucket?

Fear. Will I survive? What will happen to me now? Who will care  for me? Who 
will be with me when I need someone near? Most likely your bucket  is almost 
full just from the fear. But there is also:

Pain. It is  amazing how much physical pain there is in grief. Your chest 
hurts, and you  can't breathe. Sometimes the pain is so intense your body 
refuses 
to even  move. There is enough pain to fill the bucket all by itself.

Sorrow.  There is devastating sadness; overwhelming sorrow. A gaping hole has 
been  bitten out of your heart and it bleeds inside your very soul. You cry 
buckets  of tears and then cry some more.

Loneliness. There is no lonely like  that felt when you are in a room full of 
people and totally alone at the same  time. Loneliness alone can fill any 
bucket ever made.

I could go on,  but that's enough to get the idea across, and hopefully get 
you started  thinking through your own list. What is in your bucket?

Now picture  someone like me approaching you and your bucket. I also have a 
bucket. My  bucket is full of explanations. I am armed and ready to explain why 
your loved  one had to die, how they are now better off and how you should 
feel.

I  am also well equipped with new ways to look at your loss. In politics they 
 call that "spin doctoring," but most human beings seem to know this skill by 
 instinct.

I have almost a bucketful of comforting words and encouraging  sayings. I can 
also quote vast amounts of scriptures. I seem to favor the ones  that tell 
you not to grieve.

So we face each other armed with full  buckets. The problem is, I don't want 
to get into your bucket. Yours is scary.  If I get in there, you might start 
crying and I may not be able to make you  stop. You might ask me something I 
could not answer. There is too much  intimacy in your bucket. I want to stand 
at 
a safe distance and pour what is  in my bucket into yours. I want the things 
in my bucket to wash over your pain  like some magic salve to take away your 
pain and dry your tears. I have this  vision of my words being like cool water 
to a dry tongue, soothing and curing  as it flows.

But your bucket is full. There is no room for anything  that is in my bucket. 
Your needs are calling so loudly there is no way you  could hear anything I 
say. Your pain is far too intense to be cooled by any  verbal salve, no matter 
how profound.

The only way I can help you is to  get into your bucket, to try to feel your 
pain, to accept your feelings as  they are and make every effort to 
understand. I cannot really know how you  feel. I cannot actually understand 
your pain 
or how your mind is working under  the stress, but I can stand with you through 
the journey. I can allow you to  feel what you feel and learn to be 
comfortable doing so. That is called,  "Getting into your bucket."

I was speaking on "Guilt and Anger in Grief  " to a conference of grieving 
parents. I asked the group what they felt guilty  about. I will never forget 
one 
mother who said, "All the way to the hospital,  my son begged me to turn 
back. He did not want the transplant. He was afraid.  I would not turn back, 
and 
he died."

I asked her how many times someone  had told her that her son would have died 
anyway. She said, "Hundreds." When I  asked her if that had helped her in any 
way she said, "No."

I asked her  how many times she had been told that she was acting out of love 
and doing the  right thing. She gave the same two responses. "Many times" and 
"No, it did not  help."

I asked her how many times she had been told that God had taken  her son for 
some reason, and she gave the same responses--"Many" and "No  help."

I asked how many times someone had told her that it had been  four years 
since her son's death and it was time to "Put that behind you and  get on with 
your life." This time she responded with great anger that she had  heard that 
from many well-meaning people, including family members, and that  it not only 
did not help, it added to her pain and made her angry.

What  I was really asking her is, "How many people have tried to pour their 
buckets  into yours?"

I then said, "Would it help if I hugged you and said 'that  must really 
hurt'?"

She said, "That would help a great deal. That would  really help."

Why would that help? Because I was offering to get into  her bucket with her 
and to be in her pain, instead of trying to salve over her  pain with words 
and explanations.

If you are in pain, find someone who  will get into your bucket. Most of the 
time these folks are found in grief  groups or among friends who have been 
there. It is not normal procedure. It is  hard to swallow our fears and climb 
into your bucket.

If you are  reading this to find ways to help others in grief, then lay aside 
your  explanations and your words of comfort. Forget all of the instructions 
and  directions you think will help, and learn to say, "That must really 
hurt." I  think that is the most healing combination of words in the English 
language.  They really mean, "May I feel along with you as you walk through 
your 
pain?"  "May I get into your bucket?"






                  Building ___ooOOoo__ Rainbows
                       www.trisomyonline.org
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