Stretch my borders...

If we look at last week’s stories from around the world, they will either numb us or challenge us. The stampede in Prayagraj left 30 dead, though the numbers are questionable. Reports from ground zero say the numbers might be far higher. The flight accident in the USA, where a helicopter and an AA jet collided, resulted in 75+ deaths. Many of us might not have even heard about the ongoing crisis in the DRC (Goma), which has left 700 dead.   These are the events that caught media attention—Prayagraj because it is the largest religious festival in the world, the USA because it’s the USA, and the DRC in some circles because of the tantalum interest for developed nations. 

Around the same time, there have been more deaths in Ukraine and many other parts of the world that did not catch media attention—either because the numbers did not matter, the interest had waned, or they were deemed not worth talking about. (It is "they" and "out there!") Numbers numb because life and death have become just statistics to be reported. And even if reported, within a few days, this will no longer be news.  

I was spending time with a close friend who had lost a loved one more than a month ago. We were having a conversation about grief. He told me that grief is like a bipolar illness—thanking God for the life of the loved one one minute, tears the next. And we agreed that, unlike the common statement “time will heal,” time will not heal the pain of grief. It will remain lifelong.  

 

As I was speaking to this friend, I was convicted in my heart that these numbers are not just numbers. Behind each count, there is a person, a family, loved ones, and grief that will probably never fully heal. 

 

Grief is like a wound or a surgical incision. If you have a deep cut or wound or have undergone surgery, the wound will heal over time, but scars will remain. Today, there are ways to remove scars, making it appear as if everything is fine. But surgeons know better. If a surgeon must reopen or reexplore the site of a healed wound or abdomen, most will think twice before agreeing to it. Because though everything might look fine externally, the moment you go deeper, you will find absolute mess and chaos! Internal healing is not smooth or orderly. Inner tissues heal, leaving behind chaos, scars, and adhesions that are very challenging to navigate.  

 

We saw this during COVID-19, too. If we could gather all the tears that fell and measure the cumulative grief during the pandemic, I suppose it would flood the world, and no number of containers would be enough to hold it. But then, as humanity, we have already forgotten and are living as if everything is back to business as usual. However, the people who lost their loved ones have yet to heal, and we see the impact today—mental illness has quadrupled over the last two years.  

https://www.statista.com/statistics/1498279/views-on-mental-health-as-the-top-health-issue-worldwide/ 

But on a regular day, I do not have time to think about all this. I have me, mine, and my own grief and loss to grapple with. And when I am struggling with my struggles, I prefer to detach from everything happening beyond my life.  

 

The question I am struggling with is this: should I shift my eyes and heart from "me, mine, and my own" challenges and expand the borders to include my brothers and sisters out there? But to do that, I need to read and hear the news not just with my brain but with my heart, too. Yet, is it worth allowing my heart such pain? I will lose sleep. I find it easier to turn the other way and have a good night’s sleep—I have many "me, mine, and my own" to attend to tomorrow.  

 

But then, a friend recently reminded me of a few truths: 

“It is the wounded soul that can soothe the pain of others.”  

“A ruptured soul needs an anchor in a community.”  

“Healing occurs not in the solitude of my soul but within the caring chaos of my community.”  

 

My borders need a bit of stretching because I follow a wounded healer.