In my guy mind

I am a guy and a troubleshooter. I spend my days being given problems to solve, devising solutions for them, and then teaching or instructing people on how to implement them. I see these instances like a puzzle. I spend the early part figuring out the big picture, the core work puts the pieces together, and I end up with a completed puzzle at the end.

I enjoy economics for the same reason. It is a giant puzzle; pieces go in, and the end result is the economy. This is how I see this world. There is order and logic. It fascinates me, challenges me, and keeps me entertained.

When problems arise in my personal life I tend to approach them with this same mindset. The idea being that there is a path and that path leads to the answer or solution. This works well enough for me personally and professionally, but it begins to fall apart when I begin to interact personally with others. I see their problems and approach it as I would for myself.

The first problem arises when I try and get the big picture. It simply isn't possible. Many times the "big picture" doesn't exist, nor can it. Sometimes there isn't going to be a picture to work from; it is shaped as life carries on. The second problem follows people. I do not know or understand people well enough to even grasp all the intricacies that are involved in working with them. Lastly, my process is cold, logical, calculating. It removes most of the warmth and personality that is a requirement to working with others.

I say all this because my heart aches for my friends. I want there to be something I can do or say that will help them through this time of grieving. Unfortunately there isn't. People try, but words such as, "you'll see her again in heaven" or "God has a plan" are but platitudes meant to help, but rarely do.

I remember my mother passing away. I remember kissing her on the forehead as she lay motionless in her hospital room. She had already passed. Friends would say, "she was in a better place" or "that her suffering was over now" or even "that she 'fought the good fight.'" I know they meant well, but it did not make any difference to me. My pain was real, it was present. It was happening right before their eyes and there were no words anyone could offer that would help ease my sorrow.

I wanted to rage, scream, hit, fight, claw at anything and anyone who got in my way; anyone who told me it would be alright. It wasn't alright and they had no idea what they were talking about. I got angry, so very angry; and for such a long time. It has only been within the past couple years that I've finally been able to find my heart again.

I'm reminded of the story of Job. I always found it interesting that when his world came crashing down around him and there was nothing more for him to lose he sat down and wept. His friends came to him and rather than talk or offer comfort, advice, or their condolences, they sat, torn their clothes and mourned with him.

I imagine the scene like this. A man who has lost everything is sitting in the middle of a field. It is nearing the hottest part of the day and the discomfort and blistering heat of the sun is somehow justified, even warranted, because it helps he who lived identify with those who have just passed. He has torn his clothes, and sits. There is the occasional muffled cry and sniffing. His friends, having heard about his suffering, approach him. Rather than offer words and break the silence, they tear their clothes and sit near him and begin crying with him. They sat in silence with him for minutes, hours, carrying on into days. It wasn't until he, Job, spoke that they finally said something to him.

That is the story of grieving. That is the support of friends. No words, simply shared sorrow.