To Mourn With Those That Mourn

One of the most moving parts (to me) of any movie is the end of the What Dreams May Come.

The protagonist, Chris, is dead and has been on a journey through Hell to find his wife Annie, who committed suicide. After an arduous search, Chris finds Annie in a dilapidated version of their old home. Her mind is broken and she is unable to recall their life together. Chris frantically but unsuccessfully attempts to bring back some of Annie's memories. His mentor tells Chris that he has to leave or he will be trapped in Hell. Finally, Chris "gives up," but instead of returning to Heaven, he ignores his mentor's warnings and decides to join Annie in Hell.

Suddenly we see a flashback to a time after the death of Chris and Annie's two children. Annie is in an institution, unable to cope with the loss of her children. Chris has been desperately trying to help Annie move on and to pull her to where he is emotionally. Finally, when Chris stops pulling and joins Annie in her sorrow, she is able to heal.

It is the act of joining Annie that allows Chris to bring her back each time. That simple act of choosing to be one in heart with her, instead of trying to pull her somewhere she is not, saves her. 

It's been eight years since I watched that movie, and it has stuck with me. I thought it was beautiful and something about it resonated with me, though it wasn't until recently that I really understood it.

A few months ago I struggled with a difficult decision that left me confused and at times distraught. I felt isolated. I was the only one who could make this decision, and as sympathetic as people were, there was really nothing they could do to make it easier. 

I was talking with my sister one day about my decision and crying from the stress of it all. Trying to help, she listed off several reasons why I shouldn't worry and why everything would be ok. Other people had been doing the same thing over the past few weeks, and for some reason I didn't like it. Instead of comforting me, it just made me more upset, though I couldn't explain why. But finally, in that moment, it made sense.

My sister was just doing what most of us do when someone is upset--we give the person reasons not to feel bad so she'll hopefully cheer up. It's instinctive. But I realized that day that that was exactly the opposite of what I wanted and needed.

I already felt alone in making my decision. Having people tell me not to feel the way I was feeling only made me feel more isolated. It widened the gap between how they felt and how I felt because I was essentially being told to change my feelings instead of having them acknowledged and validated. 

I knew that everything was going to be alright. I was stressed and confused by my situation, but somewhere inside I knew that I would eventually be able to make a decision and that it would be ok. I just needed someone to see how hard it was for me and to join me in my struggle so that it didn't feel so burdensome--or at least so solitary--for a little while. 

As I slowly realized why I was feeling frustrated with everyone's well-meaning words of comfort, I explained my thoughts to my sister. She listened, and then she did the best thing she could have done. She just hugged me. She didn't tell me it was going to be ok. She didn't tell me to not worry. She just held me and let me be sad.

A while later I was sitting in church. The topic of discussion was mourning with those that mourn. It's a common enough phrase, and I thought I knew what that meant. But as I reflected on my recent experiences, I realized that I hadn't really understood.

To mourn with those that mourn isn't just to express sympathy for another person's situation. It means joining them. It means sometimes not saying that things will be ok or that someone should stop worrying. It means mourning also--being sad simply because another is sad.

The friend who introduced me to What Dreams May Come lost his father a few years ago. When he told me about that experience, I desperately wanted to express the acute sadness I felt at hearing that he had lost someone so dear to him. But the words wouldn't come. No phrase seemed adequate. So I finally asked him: What should a person say to someone who has lost a loved one?

"Nothing," he said. "There's nothing you can say. But the best thing is probably just to say, 'I'm sorry.'"

Just, "I'm sorry." Not, "It will be ok" or "You will get through this." Just a sincere expression of sadness because the other person is sad.

Christ did this perfectly when Mary told Him of Lazarus's death.

John 11

³² Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.

³³ When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled,

³⁴ And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see.

³⁵ Jesus wept.

³⁶ Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him!

Yes, Jesus loved Lazarus. But He also loved Mary and Martha. When He saw how troubled they and their friends were, His spirit groaned and He was troubled too. He was sad because they were sad. Even though He had already told Martha that Lazarus would rise again, He mourned because they mourned.

When we genuinely mourn with those who mourn, we emulate the Savior. By joining them, we join Him in service.

I suppose I first learned something about this principle from a movie. But the moment I really understood it was when my sister put her arms around me and I felt my fears, worries, and sadness melting away. In her emulation of the Savior, she taught me an important lesson. Sometimes, instead of trying to pull someone away from their concerns and fears, we should just join them.