Years ago, after I delivered a presentation entitled, Behind the Scenes; A Grief Deconstructed, at a police-based victim services conference, an interesting thing happened. In this presentation, I discussed in detail the psychological, emotional, physical and spiritual aspects of my experience of coming to terms with the on-duty death of my police officer husband, John.
Afterward, a police officer came up and quietly shared his own experience: his teenage daughter had been struck and killed by a car as she was crossing the street at a pedestrian crosswalk. He told me how a police Chaplain had helped him tremendously in the days and weeks following his daughter’s death.
“I felt like a helpless little chick in the middle of the street,” said the police officer. “I was absolutely terrified and didn’t know what to do. Then the Chaplain came along and through his kindness, it was as if he gently picked me up and took me to safety at the side of the road.”
I don’t know what that Chaplain said—if anything—or did. But whatever it was helped.
This, of course, is also what people who work or volunteer in victim services do: they support strangers during the most horrific moments of their lives. Even though these workers can’t even begin to make anything okay again, they can be there for people when they are in an extremely vulnerable state. And this presence can be an extremely important gift.
It’s also one that comes with a great deal of responsibility.
During the most horrific moments of my life, I didn’t meet anyone in victim services. But I did have a phenomenal support network of family, friends, police officers and police Chaplains surrounding me. I wasn’t just metaphorically moved off the road; I was picked up and put in a safe little nest with dozens of protective mother hens guarding it.
Two of my “chick safe-keepers” stand out. The first was my brother, George. After spending seventeen hours with John in the ICU, the time came for me to say goodbye when an operating room became available for his organ removal surgery. The medical staff had wheeled John’s hospital bed from the ICU into the operating room and I’d followed him through the halls then into the operating room.
After saying my final goodbye, I left the operating room and went back into the hallway, where dozens of people were waiting. I started to thank everyone for staying but George shook his head, took my arm and quietly said, “That’s enough for today, Maryanne.”
He was right.
But when we are in times of crisis, we often don’t KNOW when enough is enough. We’ve lost all perspective because suddenly there is no normal. And it becomes up to the people around us—family, friends, colleagues, professionals or strangers—to have the courage and compassion to remove us from a situation we no longer need to be in.
In the weeks that followed, my brother Doug became the chief safe-keeper of the chick. He was the mother hen of all the other mother hens. Doug fed me, watered me, put me to bed, dragged me out of bed, listened to me, answered my existential, spiritual and personal questions as best he could (Is there life after death? Does God exist? How am I supposed to live without John?), fielded the dozens of phone calls, kept me on track meeting all the lousy new obligations my days held…funeral arrangements, choosing a headstone, meeting with lawyers and so on.
In hindsight, I couldn’t have chosen a better person to care for me during the most vulnerable time of my life. Why? Because Doug didn’t pretend to have all the right answers to my existential, spiritual and personal questions. Or if he did, he didn’t tell me. Rather, he did his best to keep his mouth shut and listen as I started to try and figure things out myself. His job was to help me with practical matters…keep me fed and ensure I didn’t leap off the nearest bridge.
When we are at our most vulnerable—in baby-chick mode—what we need is someone to gently take us out of the path of further harm. We need food, shelter, safety, unconditional love and a listening ear.
What we don’t need is a fox in the chicken-coop i.e. well-meaning people who think they can take away our pain by offering us simple answers to our deep and complex questions. Why? Because when we are hand-fed simple (and usually religious) answers to life’s bigger questions during times of crisis, this information can end up doing more harm than good in the long run. Why? Because there are no simple answers…and sooner or later, we must figure that out for ourselves.
If you have experienced a significant trauma, be very careful who you allow into your close circle of support. If you suspect a fox has entered the building, you have every right to ask them to leave.
If you are supporting someone after a traumatic incident, remember your role as safekeeper of the chick. You probably have no idea how incredibly important your job is. But it is…so shut up and protect that chick to the very best of your ability. If you do your job, the day will likely come when that chick can protect itself again.
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Previously Published on Pink Gazelle
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