Collective Grief

Collective grief is a term given to the sorrow we experience as a human race when we experience a shared loss.

This term is used in psychology and sociology (fields of study where we try to find words for our shared human experiences.) Collective grief has evolved out of the work of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and Judith Herman in the 90’s modernizing Sigmund Freud’s 1917 work “Mourning and Melancholia” and Kai Erikson coining the term collective trauma in 1976. When we pull their work together (and many others along the way), we have a term today called collective grief. 

We don’t have to understand the psychology of collective grief to know we feel it. We all know it well. Especially after the tragic loss of life in Texas this weekend. 

Disasters affect us. 

Natural disasters especially. 

We are all vulnerable to natural disasters. And when another disaster occurs, no matter the distance away, it reminds us how quickly nature can escalate into destruction. 

In 1972, the flood of Buffalo Creek in West Virginia devastated several communities and while interviewing survivors, Kai Erikson noticed the traumatized were not just those who had lost loved ones or their homes, but also those who were safe, but deeply touched by the suffering of others. He wrote, “by collective trauma, I mean a blow to the basic tissues of social life that damages the bonds attaching people together and impairs the prevailing sense of community.” Erikson led us toward viewing catastrophic events as social trauma and his work has been applied to the impact upon humanity from wars, systemic racial violence, pandemics, refugee mistreatment, terrorism, hate crimes, and natural disasters. 

So what you are feeling right now for many things happening around our globe is collective grief. 

And it’s deep. And layered. And complicated. 

We feel collective grief when we imagine the pain of others. We imagine those excited little girls packing for camp and picking out which stuffed animals to take with them. We imagine moms and dads taking one more photo before they drive away and leave part of their heart behind. We imagine grandparents who check their mailboxes for letters filled with camp tales and elementary artwork. We imagine the counselors having fun caring for little ones and then trying to protect them against the force of the water. We imagine the guttural cries of parents who can’t find their child in the ruins of a flood.

We imagine what it would be like to experience the unimaginable. 

We imagine these things because we are all deeply interconnected. We hurt for others. We ache with someone suffering. We fear it happening to us. We can’t imagine how we would survive their loss. We are in awe of those who do. 

This is our shared human experience. 

There isn’t a way around the sadness we feel in collective grief. We have to sit in it.

We honor the hurting when we honor the pain. 

A practice that helped me this weekend is the Loving Kindness prayer and meditation. This is an ancient practice of sending and receiving love that offers us something to do when we feel helpless and feel our compassion needing somewhere to go, but we are far away. These are my words, but please use words that capture your heart and your own sending of love.

Bring to mind the people who lost a beloved member of their family and pray, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

Bring to mind the rescue workers and volunteers and pray, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

Bring to mind the people who lost beloved animals and homes, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

Bring to mind the people who attended these sacred camps on the banks of the Guadalupe River and now feel a deep loss, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

Bring to mind children, teens, and adults who are away from their families and fear not seeing them again, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

Bring to mind the people who, with a new awareness of vulnerability, are sending their children to camp, college, or an assignment far away, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

Bring to mind all people who feel sad, vulnerable, or are struggling to find hope, “May they feel wrapped in love. May they find strength to continue. May they feel a moment of comfort.” 

And in closing, place your hand on your own heavy heart and pray, “May I feel wrapped in love. May I find strength to continue. May I feel a moment of comfort.” 

Amen.

With love,