No two human beings that have ever existed are exactly alike. Even so-called identical twins. Although we are all made in the image of God, we are unique in ourselves – different from each other. It would be boring (not to mention confusing) if we were all alike. Still, it can be hard to get to know someone who comes from a completely different background than we do. The adage “opposites attract” isn’t always accurate. I admit I feel a little uneasy when I meet someone with whom I don’t share a language, culture, or deep-rooted beliefs. I’m a talker. I like to have long, deep conversations with others, one-on-one or in a small group. I appreciate friendly debate. These kinds of interactions are difficult when we have no common ground.
I like to think I have a diverse group of friends. I have family members, life-long besties, and dear neighbors all who vote differently than I do. We mutter about each other but agree to disagree because our shared histories and love for each other takes up more room in our hearts than our politics. My closest friend since we moved to our little town is African American. We often refer to each other as “my sister” which sometimes gets us quizzical looks, but we truly are very much alike in ways other than skin color.
My husband and I are both readers, writers, and fond of wit and humor, although we often argue vehemently about what’s funny and what’s not. The banter usually ends in our laughing hysterically and agreeing it’s a good thing we found each other because no one else could understand us.
All this is to say, my circle really isn’t especially diverse. I don’t actively seek out people who are very different from me. That’s an uncomfortable thing to admit.
But there is one area of life where I can feel an instant bond with folks who are unlike me in many ways.
Shared trauma frequently brings people together. Strangers sitting in a hospital waiting room, each watching the hour hand move long past the time the nurse said she would call, all have the same cloud of worry and fear hanging over them. When you’re huddled in a storm shelter, everyone afraid they won’t have a house to go home to after the hurricane passes, you don’t tend to wonder if the person sitting on the cot across from you has a fancier house than you.
And when you meet another parent who has lost a child, any perceived differences are swept away by the unwanted knowledge of their pain and sorrow.
In the two Facebook bereaved parents’ groups I belong to, I see every day someone new joining the group. These folks may be different from me in a myriad ways – age, gender, ethnicity, education, work status, hometown …. How their child died might be completely different than my adult daughter’s fatal car accident. None of these differences matter in the face of what we share in common. The awful experience of losing a child.
As much as I hate needing to be in these groups, the compassion and care that group members show to each other is so heartening. People come with hard questions like:
- “Why didn’t God answer my prayers?”
- “How does anyone get through this?”
- “Are these emotions (fear, anger, jealousy, apathy, rage) normal?”
And the grieving parents who are a little further down this path respond with such love and empathy it strengthens my faith in humanity. And in God.
I wish it didn’t sometimes take a shared tragedy or traumatic loss to make folks overlook their differences. And I don’t think God took my daughter to teach me a lesson. But I hope that I have gained some wisdom from this experience anyway.
And I hope with that wisdom I can make a difference.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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