A Thousand Little Griefs

Until recently, we had two cats.

Both were in their late teens.

One was always a wanderer. However, having not seen her for a few months now, we are pretty sure this time its for good.

The other was a homebody, and we watched her become more and more frail in the last weeks. Sometimes we had to check twice to see if she was still breathing. Her bodily functions were becoming unreliable and to pick her up felt like she would break. And then one day she went out and didn't come back.

It took me a couple weeks to be ready to clean up their food bowls. Well, I have moved them to the laundry, anyway.

Last week, I had a further loss. We finally made the hard decision to end our English classes for refugees and asylum seekers. I had been involved there for the past two years, but due to dwindling numbers of students and teachers, it was time to bite the bullet.

Travelling home, as I reflected on my feelings about this change, I realised that there had actually been many little griefs along that journey.

Working with people who are somewhat itinerant, we would sometimes have them in class for months and then they would simply not turn up. Sometimes they would come back for a while, and then other times, nothing. Sometimes other students would say, oh, yes, they have gone to Adelaide, or Sydney and so on. Other times we just didn't know. They may even have been sent back to their country of origin to face further persecution, or even death.

When previous students did drop by, our joy was great. As much as we hoped to have added into their lives, they certainly enriched our lives, with their care and acceptance of us, despite their own pains. For people who had been through so much, they always asked after us and our families, even though they were often separated from their own. They are mostly generous, caring people, the sort you would love to share your life with.

Reflecting on these little changes, I wonder how we should deal with the small griefs that drop in from time to time.

There was a point where the cat was really struggling with her continence, and as I perceived her imminent demise, I was really upset. However, since both have disappeared, I have not felt that same level of grief or loss. There is perhaps a belief that they might still come back, a denial that they are gone. So it is easier not to think about it, to just keep going.

How many of these little griefs do we all experience day in day out? Our ability to minimise and deny them means that we can continue to function. However,

is there a point we hit a critical mass, where all those little griefs add up to equal one big one that comes back to bite us?

There is a level at which the pressing needs of day to day living do not allow time to grieve these losses. And part of me is still far too rational - what is the point? Will crying and being upset change the outcome? So I move on, carrying a little more baggage than I probably need to, hoping the weight won't overwhelm me.

Yet.

Don't fence me in!

"I'm eighteen! I can do what I like!"

As a parent, I know I am not alone in being confronted with this statement. And I do acknowledge that the push toward 'freedom' from parental boundaries is a natural part of maturing. However, it is far from clear which boundaries should be relaxed and when this is appropriate, not to mention the fact that there are parents who feel powerless to stop their eighteen year old doing what they like.

The push to break free of society’s inhibitions and expectations has grown since the 60's and 70's. However, rather than finding freedom from a few constraints, the pendulum has swung to the other extreme, where anything goes. The rights of the individual are paramount and 'it is my right to do what I feel like' is voiced more and more stridently.

In all the fight for the freedom to be who I want to be, to do what I want to do, though, I can't help but wonder if we haven't lost something vital. I start to question what the true cost of our 'freedom' may be.

An example of this issue was raised recently on a program titled "Australia on Drugs". The topic of the legalisation of drugs was front and centre again. While such a plan may indeed remove some of the criminal elements, does one person's 'right' to be free to use whatever substances they choose not come with the total responsibility of the cost this may incur to society? 

However, this is only one aspect of the issue as I see it. We live in a society generally satiated with every 'good' thing. Lack is mostly a perception rather than a reality, and I believe that this also brings its own problems. 

You don't have to read or watch much news to get the impression that our society seems less and less safe, either physically or emotionally. When I read about some of the sexual activity that is being promoted as normal, including the pervasive use of pornography, when I hear the responses of hate toward any who would try to curb or rein in certain behaviours, it seems that the boundaries have not only been broken through, but are in the process of being dismantled and destroyed as permanently as possible.

On the flip side, though, the rate of suicide, self-harm, depression and anxiety are increasing at alarming rates among our young. If what is on offer in terms of 'freedom' is so liberating and wonderful, and they have every 'good thing' at their fingertips, why are they so unhappy?

An insight presented by Walter Brueggemann in The Prophetic Imagination suggests that 

a society that is satiated with all that is good actually becomes numb.

I read this as the lack of struggles and difficulties resulting in an inability to actually feel the enjoyment of all that is good. When we are no longer grateful for the good in our lives, and we simply take it as our entitlement, that good ceases to provide any positive impact. We then live from a place where everything is simply “meh”.

This makes sense to me in terms of depression and self-harm. Being depressed is often associated with feeling numb, and those involved in self-harm perhaps just want to feel something, anything.

With no boundaries and no direction because anything (and subsequently, nothing) will do, many of our children are left with too many options. They lack the maturity, self-awareness, self-discipline and foresight to make decisions, so end up making none. From this point, they can easily be led by either the dominant voices around them, or their need for acceptance and belonging. 

For me, an illustration of our dogs is helpful. Although I love to see them running free, where they can revel in the freedom to roam and smell and explore, it is only within the boundaries created with them (like staying near me, or responding to my call) that they are secure in that space. 

However, there is also a great difference between how they respond to me and how they respond to my daughter.

Because she plays with them, rolls around on the floor with them, and allows them to do things not generally tolerated, they are far less responsive to her discipline. Part of this is because they are confused about what is acceptable and what is not.

They don’t know what the boundaries are because the boundaries keep changing.

The confusion of our dogs is replicated in much of our society. Because there are less and less generally accepted boundaries, there is confusion and loss of direction. There is also an absence of any clear reference point.  While we continue to embrace this “freedom” as a society, we will continue to reap more of the same results for our kids.

Fences are important to stop us getting lost!