Thursday, June 7, 2012

Suffering Without Value

A couple of days ago on one of my favorite blogs, the discussion centered on the value of suffering: on how much of value we learn from it, on how it changes us for the better.  An excellent discussion, complete with the oft-quoted Leonard Cohen line about how it's the cracks through which the light breaks in.

I wanted to run screaming from the room.  

So, what I did instead was, I didn't enter.  

I didn't want to interrupt the glorious conversation about the gift of suffering.  There were people there whom I admire tremendously, with whom I am friends, and they said some true and eloquent things. I didn't want to interject my own story, from another little universe, and  I didn't want to feel that condescending glance, that raised eyebrow, that "Oh, she's just not there yet; someday she'll know."

When someone whom you love from the inside out dies of suicide, you learn that there is a degree of suffering that goes beyond value; that is pointless, useless, and evil in its depth and capacity for alienation and despair.

And when that someone is your child, whatever gifts of insight, wisdom, and availability to others that might be ascribed to your own suffering are but minute drops in the vast ocean of sadness to which you have been exiled.

And then this morning, going through past blog posts, I found one in which I had reflected upon words reportedly said by parents whose children had died to other parents who had already embarked upon that walk:

"I realize now that I had no idea what you were talking about."

11 comments:

  1. There is suffering and there is suffering. A broken heart from a broken relationship is not the same. . . .

    Hugs.

    Maggie J

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  2. I agree with Maggie. The suffering that I have undergone is very different from the suffering of losing a child to suicide as you know that your dear child suffered so much before making that decision which alters your life forever.

    I hope it is ok that I comment on your blog although I haven't walked your journey. I learn so much from reading your blog and the comments of others and I am grateful that you will all share from your deep pain.

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    1. Of course, Lynda; I am so happy that you are here.

      I learn from writing it and reading the comments, too. I was surprised by the vehemence of my reaction to the PFO discussion. I realize that of course I have learned things, and received great gifts in the aftermath of Josh's death -- but I don't care, and I would like to give them all back.

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  3. A friend living with cancer helped me to begin to begin to understand this. She said she didn't need that kind of lesson to learn to appreciate life; she didn't need that kind of suffering to grow her character. She was "good enough" before the so-called gifts of cancer came her way.

    FWIW, she also didn't want anyone to speak of her as someone who "battled" cancer or "lost the fight" and I appreciated her confronting the conventional (un)wisdom about that language.

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    1. I read a blog in which the writer on occasion denounces the idea of cancer as a gift -- Really? People say that? I mean, there are consequences that are gifts, but cancer itself? -- and I, too, despite the battle metaphor.

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  4. I was thinking of you with every keystroke, in fact...

    I think I would simply hold that suffering changes us period. Not that we need it to grow, nor are those who suffer thereby charged to "make lemonade from lemons" (yes, someone said that to me!), that it is incumbent on them to see and use suffering as a gift. Suffering sucks, not to put too fine a point on it, no matter what its fruits.

    Sharon, A friend, living with metastatic breast cancer, long ago expressed her dislike for the battle language...and I still wince every time I hear someone use it in conversation with her.

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    1. Make lemonade? From the death of a young husband?

      I think that one wins out over cancer as a gift.

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  5. Yes, there is "suffering" and then there is suffering....

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  6. Robin,

    I simply don't know what to say.

    Paul

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    1. I suppose that's part of the reason why Michelle and I are always exploring the practice and meaning of silence; there are times when silence is the only adequate response. Including from God.

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  7. Agree completely. Death is the ultimate marker of how truly broken and tragic this world really is. It shouldn't be this way, but it is, and there is nothing we can do about it but live with it. Deep sadness over that fact. Silence is the only response.
    Hugs, dear friend.

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