When Not to Say Sorry

It happened again. A strange phenomena in our culture that I have witnessed many times and am always perplexed as to why. Someone in a group conversation who begins to tear up and immediately tries to wave the tears away and says, “I’m sorry.”

 

Now if it was a staff meeting discussing the dates of the next field trip, such an apology might make sense. The person might have to tell the story about how the field trip location or the date proposed reminded them of a beautiful romance that turned sour and ask to be excused for a moment. 

 

But this occasion was a Memorial Service for a recently departed friend who all gathered had deep feelings about. If ever there is an occasion for tears, this was it. And yet, what is it in us, in our culture, that makes us feel the need to apologize for tears? What does it stay about the depth of the Puritan ethic of repressed emotion that fills the air we breathe daily? We can “have a nice day” or laugh joyfully because we are drinking Pepsi or chose the right deodorant, but God forbid we publicly display grief. These were good people, many of them who dabbled in poetry and were generally willing to drink from the well of emotion, and yet, still it came, from three different people. That break in the voice, the moisture on the cheek and immediately, “I’m sorry.”

 

For what?! In some cultures, the only thing you should apologize for is not crying. As told by Martin Prechtel in his book The Smell of Rain on Dust,  there is a Mayan group in Guatemala who believes that when we die, we cross the Ocean of Time to arrive at the Beach of Stars where those who have gone before will lovingly welcome us. But the only way the departed Soul can reach the Beach of Stars is through the paddle of tears shed by those left behind. If there is no grief honestly expressed by those who loved that person, they are in a canoe without a paddle, left floating in a kind of Purgatory, unable to reach the other shore. 

 

The people crying in the Memorial Service were doing exactly what the occasion called for and exactly what our departed friend needed. Had they copiously wept instead of holding their tears back, it would have been better. Every tear shed was a needed paddle stroke to the other side. Laughter, too. Music. And good stories. All of which was also present. 

 

Prechtel goes on discuss in his book what happens when people choose not to grieve (which also is deeply connected with praising life and blessing oneself and others) and the next generation inherits the unexpressed grief. And then passes it on down to the next generation. The Mayans say that after five generations, each refusing their responsibility to properly grieve, a family problem become a tribal problem, Three more generations and the tribal problem becomes an inter-tribal problem. And then it becomes— a national habit.

 

In this land with so many people devastated by genocide and slavery without the rituals of proper grief to begin healing, we are all complicit in agreeing to keep the door of grief locked. And so, when it slips open, even at the most appropriate of times, our first impulse is to apologize, as if we’ve broken some sacred social contract. 

 

Things get more serious yet. Those who arrive at the Beach of Stars go through a transformation to become a living Ancestor, whose benevolent presence is felt in this world. Those who cannot reach it, either because those living failed to properly grieve or because the departed lived despicable lives causing harm and hurt to others and no one is sad to see them go, do not get initiated into their new role as a life-affirming Ancestor. Instead, they become hungry ghosts inhabiting the minds and bodies of the living and continuing to cause havoc. While we try to solve everything with drugs and laws and personal therapies, much of the world understands that some of our most pressing issues require conversations between the worlds of the dead and the living. As the Irish say:

 

“That which is wrong in this world can only be healed by those in the other world. That which is wrong in the other world can only be healed by those in this world.”

 

More on that tomorrow. For now, if you feel you haven’t properly wept for someone who has left, particularly in this isolated time of Covid, it’s not too late. And best to do in a group. Yesterday’s memorial was on Zoom and even there, the depth of feeling can come through. 

 

And please. When the tears come forth, do not say “I’m sorry.”