My daughter spent a semester in London this past Spring.  It was a wonderful experience for her and educational on so many levels.  Prior to going, the business program prepared the group by offering insights about subtle and not so subtle differences in how the British relate.  In visiting her and talking about her internship experience, she shared with me how being mindful of these differences was key in developing good relations with her coworkers.

Tea is, in fact, a big deal in London.  If someone offers to make it for you, it’s important to reciprocate the effort.  When you are riding the Tube (the train system), British people don’t talk. If you do talk, expect that everyone will know you are American and will listen.  When eating, you use the back of your fork, not the front, and going out for a “swift pint” is a common invitation after work. But more relationally, small talk is very important in London, but it tends to be about the weather, transportation, or even politics as opposed to personal information.  It is considered impolite to ask about family or share about your children until you know someone well. Politics, on the other hand, is much less sensitive. Compared to the eggshells people walk on around political opinions here in the US, it is considered part of small talk. In fact, some of the first things people asked her about was Trump, while no one ever asked about her family or if she had a boyfriend until near the end of her time in their office.  

It would be easy to misinterpret these differences, especially regarding small talk.  You might act rudely without knowing it, or think that no one cared because they never asked more personal information about you.  It got me thinking about how many layers of cultural interpretation we live with every day. In the melting pot of our country, we have become more aware of the need for understanding cultural differences, and most people try to educate themselves.  But what about our more hidden or less obvious cultural differences? I’m thinking that we are all raised in unique households that develop their own cultures by the blending of people and personalities. In deconstructing my own family culture growing up, it was a mix of Depression era habits (we put catsup on spaghetti!), New York Brooklynisms (Mets, not Yankees, Giants, not Jets and we drink Cawfee, not coffee) and Eastern Eurpean Jewishness (some trauma related paranoia, Yiddish insults, and of course, cake after your brisket).  Combine that with my husband’s Irish Catholic historical influence (he notes for example you would never hire anyone to fix what you can do yourself and suffering is a virtue) and this creates a whole new culture for our children in how our own family histories are blended.

We go through our days assuming others think and act in the same understandings as we do.  Especially if we think of ourselves as similar to someone, we make assumptions that may not be accurate, especially regarding motivations or intentions.  Travel is a great way of stepping back from your own experience and recognizing that most things we assume to be the way things are done or assume to be true, aren’t necessarily the way things are or have to be!  Her stories invite me to think about the cultures we are raised in on many levels (family, extended family, neighborhood, town, State, Country) and how this might influence the way we experience the world. It can affirm our commitment to traditions, but also free us up to make changes.

Discovering that most people eat pasta sauce on spaghetti at my best friend’s house was life changing.  But I must admit with some embarrassment, when I’m home alone on a rainy day and I’m feeling blue, a good bowl of noodles with a squirt of Heinz and a sprinkle of Kraft Parmesan is somehow oddly comforting!  Just goes to prove that taste and perspective is all in what you were raised with!

I just returned from a few days of camping.  Right before I left a member of my community very suddenly and tragically lost her 26 year old son to a unexpected illness.  Right after I got back I learned that another member of my community’s husband had a fatal health crisis. These unexpected deaths shatter people’s lives.  For the loved ones, there is no chance for preparation and their sense of trust in the world gets completely lost. I think of the Humpty Dumpty rhyme as people scramble to be of help and support, with nothing to be done to take away the pain and the reality or put things back together again.  I can only tell myself and other people who ask for my advice about how to be of help, that this will be a forever thing. Yes, be there now, but the marathon of grieving is a long and lonely run. Being there for someone in six months, a year, and even 25 years is what we can and need to do.

I recently read a book I found very helpful, called “The Orphaned Adult:  Coping with Grief and Change” (by Alexander Levy).” What I found really resonated with me in my own experience of grief and with so many of the people I know or work with, is the idea of change.  In grief there is a great contrast. The loss of someone is so permanent and final, it is hard to think about change and yet, as life goes on for the living, both the nature of our grief and our very lives themselves are constantly changing.  There are so many layers that unfold over time. For example, in the beginning, after my sister died, I was in such a state of shock. It took me a long time to feel I could use my full brain again. Then, in time, I began to miss having someone to recall our childhood events or compare perspectives to.  And now, 25 years later, I still feel the loss in ever shifting ways. I mourn the children she never had a chance to have, the Aunt she could never be to my children, and getting old together. For my mother, I first mourned the loss of the mother she was when she lived with us, disabled and vulnerable. But over time, I am mourning the mother she was when I was growing up.  I imagine this, too, will change, especially as I get older and closer to the age she was when she got ill.

It is hard sometimes for people to talk about their losses after an average of about six months.  A grief group leader I spoke with verified this as her experience. She notices people join her group at about that stage in their grief process, sharing that they no longer felt they had anyone to talk to.  Other people move on, other losses take precedence, and people feel that either they shouldn’t or it isn’t received well when they bring up their grief. At the same time, for many people, the true nature of their grieving is kicking in; they are coming out of a phase of shock and the reality of their loss is becoming clear.  They are beginning to accept not only what happened and how sad it is, but the changes that will forever be a part of their lives. The plans they had, the future they had predicted, and the ripples of change that loss brings about are being felt.  

So if you are wondering how to be of help to someone, don’t worry, you have time.  It is such a gift to people who have lost loved ones to ask about the person who died or about themselves and talk about the grief, even years later.  It feels good to be reassured that you can keep grieving and that the changes you are continuing to go through can be witnessed and understood by those around you.  I once heard someone describe grief over the long term: the hole inside never goes away, but you grow around it. Being a safe person for someone to talk to, at any point along the journey is precious.  Don’t feel the need to have answers and don’t be afraid that they are still really hurting. Grief is a long slow evolving process – it ages along with the rest of us.