One of my knee jerk responses when someone is choking is pretty dumb.

"Are you ok??" I ask in my panic. But the person is preoccupied with gasping for air, and has no spare time to reassure me. It is not like the heroes who arrive in an ambulance and ask questions because they can and will act. If I am honest, my nervousness arises from concern tainted with fear. Which is not especially helpful.

"Tell me that you will be fine so that I can calm down."

I am not proud of this, and I am working on it. 

A woman came to speak to the Stephen Ministry team about divorce.  She articulated the ways neighbors responded to her break up, as well as those of her friends. I ached to hear how people pile on their own fears, when someone is already gasping for air. Is it my place to expect someone to reassure me that they tried everything, that they know what they are doing, that they have their children's best interests in mind? 

Not a chance. 

The woman also reminded us that every divorce involves two people, and when family and friends demand details, they are squeezing one person into the awkward place of speaking for two. There is a thirst for someone to blame, and yet that can undermine the possibility of future healing. It has been twenty years since her marriage died, and her unwillingness to bash her children's father has left breathing room for weddings, birthdays, and graduations.  

When we lose a loved one to death, there can be comfort in a strong belief in the afterlife. The person we lost is still alive, healthy, and we will be together again. But in a divorce, there is no such hope. The dream we held on to has suffocated. We failed. She invited us to come from compassion, to resist judgment, to be present without demanding that the bereaved person explain anything. 

I am working on it.