My cousin and I, primary schoolers at the time, were dressed in velveteen clothes—him in a tiny suit, me in a tiny gown. We happily participated in our aunt’s wedding procession. After the ceremony, however, we were bawling, “Aunty is gone.”
Though we were young, we could tell that the change—even though a happy one—meant things would be different. We innately felt that something was lost and needed to be cried over now that aunty was “gone.”
Change of any kind can worry us, for change implies some sort of disturbance in the way things are now. But in addition to the anxiety of change, we may also feel grief, even if no one dies. The grief can be around what we leave behind as we undergo transformation ourselves or from being left behind as things and people around us change.
Grief may enshroud us even before something changes. As the mind makes its “dry runs” in relation to a transition that is ahead, we may be uneasy. Sometimes, we may not be able to label what we are feeling, but we may act out our fears and sadness. When this happens to me, I tend to reduce the discomfort I feel by procrastinating on making decisions that invite change or by avoiding the subject altogether. However, I have learnt that living under the shadow of worry or sadness, and procrastinating or avoiding change can be problematic, especially when the change could be beneficial or when it is inevitable.
Several years after my aunt’s wedding, another aunt was engaged in dialogue with me. The family was looking for a groom for her daughter, my cousin.
“But why should she get married?” I whined in Tamil.
“Why shouldn’t she?” my aunt asked.
“Because then, everything will be different. I feel like I will lose my sister.” I used the term “sister,” not only because in South India, we used the term for all our female cousins, but also because my cousin and I are very close to each other, and she is like my sister.
My aunt reassured me that I would not lose my cousin. “It is good for your sister to get married. Yes, that does mean things will be different from how they are now. But the fact that you are sisters will remain the same.”
In a year’s time, my “sister” got married. As I had anticipated, her identity and routine shifted. But my aunt was right too. My cousin and I found new ways to stay connected. Our relationship evolved and she remains a confidante. Whatever I am going through, whatever major decisions I make, my sister is with me as a source of support.
There are two things that I learnt from this conversation with my aunt that help me make sense of the losses that change brings, and even respond to those changes. The insights are firstly, to acknowledge and mourn the loss that change brings, and secondly, to think about how the changes we encounter may be good.
My aunt acknowledged my worry that with a change in my sister’s marital status, my relationship with my sister would shift too. Her words told me that she knew there was a real risk that we’d drift away. She didn’t dismiss my apprehension as insignificant or deny that change meant things would be different. This helped me prepare.
Nevertheless, when my sister got married and drove away to her in-laws’, I cried. When she returned to her mother’s house the next day and perceived the change in her relationships with everyone, she shut herself in a room and cried too. We both mourned aspects of the change, even though the change itself was a happy one.
If we hadn’t acknowledged the grief, we might have tried not to mourn it and our grief would have been suppressed or as Kenneth Doka calls it “disenfranchised.”1 Unacknowledged or disenfranchised grief, which may not be thought through or mourned, can be detrimental and affect mental health and relationships.
In the light of this, I find Jesus’ words to His disciples comforting. The biography of Jesus written by John records Jesus telling His disciples that a change was coming.2 Jesus explained that He would be going away from them and that they would not see Him for a while. And then he said, “Because I have said these things, you are filled with grief” (chapter 16, verse 6). In saying this, He acknowledges their emotion. Further, He does not tell them not to be upset. Rather He reaffirms their feeling saying, “I tell you the truth you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices” (verse 20). That is an important insight. When we are uneasy about change, it is possible that we anticipate or feel grief. Rather than suppress it, it helps to acknowledge the loss and mourn it.
While acknowledging my feelings, my aunt also explained to me that it is good for my sister to get married. I knew that my sister wanted a spouse, children, a home of her own. By reiterating that this change was good, my aunt explained its purpose. The change was not senseless. Its objective was not to distress anyone. Rather, the change was intended for good. This made it easier for me to move beyond the sense of loss and celebrate when my sister got married.
While in this case the goodness of change was obvious, in other instances it may not be that clear. Yet, looking for ways in which a change—even a difficult one—can be good for us, can alter our outlook on it. This is what was emphasized through a recent experience of mine.
In the middle of January this year, one of my toes turned purple and painful. Given our medical training, my husband and I knew that it meant the blood supply to the toe had ceased temporarily and it needed immediate attention. So, we consulted with physicians who started me on treatment immediately so that the toe might be saved and blood supply restored.
In the weeks that followed we met multiple doctors and did dozens of tests. A month after the initial symptom of the purple toe, I had a diagnosis: I have a slowly progressing autoimmune disease called Sjögren’s disease. It is a condition where the body produces antibodies against itself, especially against the glands that produce substances that help the body function.
I was upset. I knew what living with a chronic condition entailed because I have lived with severe and very debilitating chronic migraine. This new illness, I suspected, wouldn’t be easy either. To control the illness, I need to consume drugs that have significant and long-lasting side effects. And, yes, with the new problem, my life did change.
However, in a few days, I found a new way of looking at the disease. Having a name for it and acknowledging its existence meant I now had more information about how to care for my body. The artificial tears I squeeze into my eyes, the salt water I flush into my nostrils, the medicines I take to prevent other toes and fingers from losing blood supply, and the drugs I consume to suppress my immune system, are all measures that would help keep the machinery of my body functioning for longer.
Strange though it sounds, I am able to see some good in the change, in the purpling of the toe and in knowing that what I’m experiencing is known as Sjögren’s. I continued to have days of sadness and tears as I processed the condition, but I also found that having this approach—that the diagnosis helps me care for my body better—made it easier for me to bounce back.
However, it’s not easy to find any silver lining at all in most dark clouds of change. I needed to have multiple conversations with my husband, cousins, family, and friends, to help me find a way of being hopeful and optimistic. As I thought through this, my aunt’s conversation with me from two decades ago helped a lot. As did the conversation that Jesus had with His disciples.
It is also worth thinking about the incident when Jesus helped His followers see that even His impending departure from them was for their good. He said, “You are filled with grief because I have said these things. But very truly I tell you, it is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you” (chapter 16, verses 6–7). The Advocate, Jesus explained, is His Spirit that He promised would live in them, teach them and guide them after He left. When Jesus departed from them, they waited until they experienced His Spirit.3 When they did, they found that they understood Him properly for the first time—till then, in spite of having accompanied him all day, every day, for some three years, they hadn’t really understood what He was teaching or even what was the purpose of His life.
Seeing positive meaning or good in change is difficult, may seem odd, and may even feel like a betrayal. But it can help us cope with the loss that comes with change. It makes the change feel a little less purposeless and a little more palatable. That purpose can also help drive us forward to continue living our lives.
Change often brings a sense of loss. When we feel the loss, it could help to call it ‘grief’. It helps me when I cry over the loss I feel. But you may mourn the loss you experience when things change in a different way, in your own unique way. If we are also able to find some good in the change we encounter, we will find strength to move forward.
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The loss that change brings is real.
In order to get past it,
it helps to name it,
to mourn it,
and to find what is good about it.
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References
- Kenneth J. Doka, “Disenfranchised grief,” in Disenfranchised grief: Recognizing hidden sorrow (Lexington, Mass: Lexington Books, DC Heath and Com., 1989):3–11.
- The biography of Jesus the Lord, written by His own disciple, John, chapters 14–16 (the biography is included The Bible and is usually titled “The Gospel of John” or some equivalent of that in modern English).
- This incident is recorded in chapters 1–2 of a book that is included in The Bible, called “The Acts of the Apostles”. That book is, for convenience, sometimes referred to simply as “Acts”, and is an account of what happened with the disciples of Jesus after His death and His rising again from the dead.
