Tag: grief

Naive Hope Springs Eternal

Elizabeth Banak

In years past, when I have reflected on 9/11, it has always felt like the best and worst of what it means to be an American — unimaginable pain, but also extraordinary bravery. We rose to meet the challenge together, bound by grief, yes, but also by hope. We cried for the dead, we honored the heroes like Todd Beamer and those many first responders who gave their lives, and for a moment, we saw each other not as strangers or enemies, but as fellow citizens. We saw one another as humans in need of comfort, action, and love. It’s always given me hope. 

But it today feels different. And I guess it has for a long time now.

Children are being killed in churches, who are then mocked for praying. Innocent people, like Iryna Zarutska, are murdered on trains while people do nothing to help. Charlie Kirk, inarguably one of the most transformative political figures of a generation, wasassassinated in broad daylight, and the news of which in some circles was met with celebration and ridicule. All this happens while the divide between us grows wider, the anger louder, the violence more frequent. Something in our culture, in the very fabric that holds this nation together, is broken. I don’t know whether it’s a lack of shared American values, the influence of social media, the inability to see those we disagree with as anything other than evil, the decline of God in our culture… I guess it’s all those things. But we are not the same Americans who came together after 9/11. And that breaks my heart.

Because I still believe that a better America is in us. I have to believe it, even if it is naïve, because the alternative is…too terrible to imagine. But we’ve buried it under outrage, cynicism, fear, and tribalism. We’ve forgotten how to grieve together, how to disagree with decency, how to love our country and each other, even when we fall short.

There’s no undoing the tragedy of 9/11. There’s no undoing just the last month of tragedies! Nothing can bring back what we lost — not only the lives but the piece of our collective soul that seems to be gone. If we want to be better, we have to do better. We have tohonor the courage we saw — the courage to serve others, even at the cost of one’s life. We must respect and honor the selflessness of people like Todd Beamer, who knew his life would end, but acted anyway to save others. And beyond that, we can agree that anyone should be able to speak freely without fear of an assassin’s bullet. We can agree that everyone should be free to worship in God’s house and not have to justify their prayers at their worst moment. We can agree that action in service of others in need is a noble goal, not a fool’s errand. These all should be the most vaunted of American values. 

I don’t have the same optimism I once did. I feel more sorrow than hope today. But I do still believe that we can be more than what we’ve become — if we’re willing to be honest, to look inward, to speak out, and to choose hope over fear. To disagree without hate.To call out what is wrong and to do what is right and just. To have faith with works. To live lives of virtue and honor. To celebrate the best of us, just as we did after 9/11. And to tell those who laugh, mock, trade in violence, and stoke division to sit down and shut the hell up! 

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

Elizabeth Banak

“Peter, take my hand!” – Gamora, Guardians of the Galaxy

A decade has gone by as if no time at all. Ten years ago today, I lost my mother to cancer, and I sometimes feel like I’ve lived an entire other life since then. And then there are those moments when it feels like it could have just happened yesterday. I lost my best friend, my cheerleader, my rock, and the woman who helped shape me into the person I am today. My children lost a grandmother. My father lost his beloved wife. The world lost an amazing woman. But today is not a day I choose to dwell on the loss or sadness. Those days are over, not because I don’t still feel pain or sadness at losing her, but because it’s been a long while now since I’ve focused on the joy and gratitude at having been lucky enough to have her in the first place. 

Jesus said in the famed Sermon on the Mount, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” I never really understood that growing up, even with my catholic school upbringing. How can those who mourn and have suffered loss ever consider themselves blessed?  

But it takes experiencing loss to sometimes understand just how blessed you are, not for who or what you’ve lost, but for all the things you can seek to gain if you let yourself embrace grief to turn it into something even more poignant…Peace. Pardon the Marvel metaphor here (although I suppose it’s actually a simile if you want to get technical), but grief is a lot like the Power Infinity Stone, too great for one person to bear, but when shared among those we love, a conquerable burden. That’s what Jesus meant. Those who mourn will be comforted because they will not walk alone, not for a single step. That’s the part that will, over time, reveal a lasting peace. 

That peace comes in every text from a friend on this day letting me know they are thinking of me and my mom. It comes in extra hugs from my husband and kids today, hugs that come without words, just the shared knowledge that we all know why. It comes in a rainy trip to the cemetery that ended in sunny beauty. It’s being able to remember all the parts of my mom, even her faults, and realizing it’s never too late to embrace again all the things you thought you may have forgotten. It comes in sharing stories and traditions with the people I love that keep my mom alive in my heart every day.

In short, that peace comes by continuing to live on, not in perpetual mourning, but eventually in a shared and joyful grief with those around us who loved as we did, or helped share our burden, or said something kind, or made us laugh in a time of sadness, or held our hand as we cried, or perhaps just offered a sympathetic smile on a bad day. 

There’s so much hope in grief, but it takes time, patience, and a willingness to allow happiness again before we can see it. Those who mourn are truly blessed, not because we’ve lost, but because we endure. And if we let ourselves share the burden and take someone’s outstretched hand, we can eventually endure with a grateful and happy heart. 

The one about the joy of grief

Elizabeth Banak

What is grief, if not love persevering? – Vision

Nine years ago today, I lost my mother to cancer. It is not an understatement to say that it was probably the worst time in my life. I lost my best friend, my cheerleader, my rock, and the woman who helped shape me into the person I am today.

In just a few short weeks we will all commemorate the 20th anniversary of 9/11 and wonder where the time went as we reflect on that terrible day. We will remember with sadness those people who died, a country that mourned, and a wound that may have healed but that still leaves a scar. 

It’s very easy to look back on both of those times in my life and be sad. There is no question that the loss and pain felt when we experience grief is one of the most distinct and painful feelings in the world. Because it isn’t just mourning the loss, it’s dealing with the anger, the fear, and the loss of hope at time when we need it most. Those are things grief leaves us with or takes from us and it’s easy to hold on to those feelings forever because there is some measure of comfort in those feelings of helplessness. There’s a measure of comfort in channeling anger at God or others. There’s a measure of comfort in the feeling of guilt every time you laugh or smile when you’re supposed to be sad.  

But as life moves on, as it always does, I have found that the grief blessedly shifts, though it never fully goes away. But when I think about my mom today, I don’t feel sad anymore about what I lost, but a distinct joy for what I was given in having her in the first place. That’s a gift that only time and healing can give and it’s not a place that is easy to get to and feel normal. But if I learned anything from 9/11 and losing my mom it’s that life will continue on whether I want it to or not. And only I can choose how I want that life to be in the wake of tragedy and loss. 

We all will eventually walk the same well-worn path of grief in life. It’s a part of the human condition that is universal and one that should be something that brings us together in the recognition that we are all one cancer diagnosis, car accident, illness, or terror attack away from that grief. That doesn’t mean we live in fear or hopelessness, but rather that we take the time to acknowledge what we have in front of us so that one day when we have to suffer through the grief, we can do so with the joy and peace of knowing we didn’t waste a moment. That we didn’t leave anything unsaid. That we loved as we should. Those memories that we will cherish will be the ones that lift us up, put a smile on our faces, and make us look back and say, ‘yes, I suffered a terrible loss, but damn if I am not eternally grateful for the time I had!’ That’s how I can think of my mom today and be at happy. It will never be enough and I will never stop missing her, but I’d rather remember her with joy and thankfulness in my heart than sadness. It’s no less than her legacy deserves. 

Grief is painful and personal. We will all walk our own path and in our own time. And I know not everyone may get to where I am as they mourn. But what I’ve discovered over the last nine years is that grief is love refusing to give up. Grief is love enduring on. And when the time is right, when you’ve moved past the anger, fear, and sadness, that’s a pretty amazing thing to be left with. I have no doubt that the ones we have lost would, in time, want us to embrace the joy of grief and remember them with a smile, rather than tears.