Those Things That Hurt, Instruct

This past Friday night, I went to my Great-Aunt’s house for a memorial dinner to honor the life of her son who passed away a few short weeks ago. As my family and I approached the house, I felt uneasy and unsure of how to act or what to say to my grieving Aunt because just imagining what she was going through broke my heart. Much to my surprise, as I opened the door to the house and went inside, I was surrounded by the sound of people talking and laughing and the smell of roast beef sandwiches. I found my Aunt in the kitchen, talking to other relatives without a tear in her eyes. I soon discovered that my Aunt was grieving the loss of her son by celebrating his life, rather than mourning his death, and for this I greatly admire her. Everybody deals with loss in their own way, whether that may be crying until you feel like you’ve run out of tears, laughing the pain away, or an infinite number of other options.

As I have mentioned in my previous blog posts The Limitation of Language and Monkey See, Monkey Do, I am currently reading The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver in my twelfth grade English class. The characters in the novel are faced with death a number of times as the native Congolese children often die of malaria or the sleeping sickness. The Congolese mothers are obviously upset by the loss of their children, but these deadly diseases are so common in Africa that they have learned to cope with loss through rituals. However, the Price family from Georgia is not accustomed to the loss of children, so when their youngest family member, Ruth May, is killed by the venom of a poisonous snake, their family takes a hard hit and each family member copes with her death differently. Her father, Nathan, uses religion as an escape from any emotional reaction to her death and begins to baptize the native children. Her mother, Orleanna, immediately begins preparing Ruth May for burial and packing up all of her family’s belongings, staying busy to avoid her emotions. She says, “As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water” (381). Even years after Ruth May’s death, her sister Leah continues to grieve by mourning her on the anniversary of her death. Leah’s Congolese husband Anatole does not sympathize with Leah’s pain because he doesn’t see Ruth May’s death any differently than the deaths of the other children in the village and deals with loss inwardly. Anatole says to Leah, “Why do you think your sadness is so special? Children died every day in Kilanga. They are dying here and now” (430). This causes Lean to become upset with Anatole because he seems to be dismissing Ruth May’s importance, but in reality he cared very much for Ruth May and just deals with loss in a different way than Leah.

The way that people deal with loss says a lot about their identity. Those who are more sensitive and open with their emotions tend to cry and talk about how they are feeling, while those who are more comfortable keeping their emotions to themselves will hold their pain inside and deal with it by keeping busy or isolating themselves from the world around them. However you deal with your grief, it is important to do so in a healthy manner that doesn’t involve hurting yourself or others. Grief can be a large limitation to your identity that is very difficult to overcome, but there are ways to use your grief to make you a stronger person. The title of this post is a quote by Benjamin Franklin, “Those things that hurt, instruct.” The message conveyed by this quotation is powerful because it suggests that you try to overcome the pain of a situation and see what you can learn from it. I’m not saying that this is by any means an easy thing to do, but it is a skill that we all should strive for.