3/26/24

​“Commit!”

A child yelled this sage wisdom from a chair lift to a reticent skier navigating a steep run under the lift. It turns out that the unsolicited advice was apropos to an unrelated moment that also crossed my radar during my family’s recent ski trip.

While in the mountains, I learned about a story in which a glass bottle souvenir belonging to a ten year old child, broke. Apparently, it had been acquired on a family vacation and was beloved by this now very distraught youngster. 

The contents–colored sand, shells, and trinkets–were splayed about on the floor, seemingly lost and floundering because their “home” had shattered after some mishap. 

The child was very upset about this loss, which of course caused the parent on the scene (the mom) to commit to a reaction. 

As a grief educator, I am fascinated by the reaction the mom chose. She opted for the “fix it” option, specifically by asking a community on social media if someone could replace the souvenir should they be traveling to the place where it was originally acquired. 

I truly get the “fix it” inclination. Indeed, it has been a go-to reaction in many personal instances. In this case, however, had the perhaps more difficult “allow emotional pain” reaction been committed to, I believe it would’ve conferred significantly greater long-term value. 

Here’s what the “allow emotional pain” reaction would’ve looked like: 

• The mom would’ve acknowledged for her daughter that the destroyed item was a loss, maybe by saying, “That’s an upsetting thing that happened.” 

• She would’ve helped her daughter name the emotion(s) that she was experiencing, a la Dr. Dan Siegal’s noteworthy quip, “Name it to tame it.”

• The mom would’ve validated those feelings and perhaps offered a comforting hug while clarifying to her daughter that although she was experiencing those difficult feelings now, they wouldn’t be permanent. 
  
  This detail is critical; it prevents an individual from identifying themself with their current feeling state. In practice, it encourages the pained person to say something like, “I’m experiencing sadness right now” instead of, “I am sad.”
  
  It’s analogous to a person being the sky and their feelings being clouds…the “clouds” may linger for a while but they will shift/morph and eventually clear out.

• If the child had an especially hard time coping, the mom could discuss what the souvenir really represented. That is, it was a memento of a special trip where fond memories were created. She could then have the child recall stories from the trip and/or look at photos from it. Doing so might spark ideas for making a whole other keepsake with the contents of the broken bottle.

• The mom could wrap up the incident by saying she’ll save the contents of the bottle and promise to check in with her daughter in a day or so about possibly repurposing them. 

• Finally, she could offer her daughter a final embrace.

(Note: most of these steps still apply if it was an adult experiencing a loss of some kind).

As difficult as it might seem, allowing the daughter to work through emotional pain is arguably the reaction that would’ve best served her. The benefits are numerous and long lasting. 

In particular, she would’ve internalized the lesson that with support, she can work through sad occurrences, which of course are inevitable. Also, armed with evidence that she is emotionally resilient, her inner resources would’ve strengthened from the unfortunate incident. 

Conversely, the “fix it” reaction may suggest that the loss is not a big deal and that a replacement can remedy painful feelings. Leaving the daughter with this imprint could adversely affect how she processes future, heavier losses. 

Although this scenario does not involve a loss that we would typically equate with grief, it does provide insight into aspects of grief literacy, a subject in which our culture is not deeply proficient. 

That reality can improve if we choose to adopt more emotionally challenging reactions in situations involving loss. Perhaps this can become more likely if we imagine that a child is yelling to us, “Commit!”