Yesterday I had an interesting experience that prompted me to pen the reply
below of what I would say to someone who is grieving, quite different from
what James Van Praagh would say.
20/20 came to my home and office, then followed me to Occidental College to
film me teaching. They did not care what I was lecturing on (this was just
"B roll" footage), but I thought since the show was on James Van
Praagh I would ask the students to respond to the question I always get
about him: "what's the harm in what he does?" Well, they had
plenty to say and had some good ideas, but one woman in the class told her
story about how her Dad had died when she was 10 and that she has never
gotten over it and that one doesn't really get over such a loss, one just
learns to live with it, etc., and that the sort of thing that Van Praagh
does is really deceptive and bad, and that it certainly wouldn't make her
feel any better about her situation having some stranger tell her that he
can talk to her Dad. And she got emotional and had to wipe back her tears;
it was a very touching moment.
So, when I got home I was going to send her an e-mail telling her that I felt
bad for her and how tragic it must be to lose her Dad at such a young age and
all, when I opened an e-mail from my sister, who reminded me that this was the
12th anniversary of our father dying (April 2, 1986). It was such a peculiar
conjuncture of events, that it prompted me to write this student a note about
the difference between what Van Praagh would say to her and what I would say
to her. She had talked about how she felt bad she didn't get to grow up with a
Dad, and that her Dad didn't get to see her play basketball and volleyball or
graduate from High School, e:
"It's okay Melissa, your dad is here now. He's telling me he loves you.
He says he watches over you. He loves watching you play basketball and
volleyball. He saw you graduate. He is with you always. Don't be sad. Don't
cry. You will get to see him again. Everything is fine."
Well, no one knows if this is true, but even if it is, why would your dad
talk with this guy you don't even know? Why would he choose to make his
appearance at some hotel conference room with hundreds of other people
around, or in some television studio? Why doesn't he talk to you instead?
You're the one he loves, not this guy getting $40 a seat in a hall with 400
people, who just made two million bucks selling a book filled with this sort
of blabber, or gets $200 for private readings. Why do you have to pay
someone $200 to talk to your dad? Why? Because it makes you feel better,
right? Wrong. This is why I do what I do.
Here is what I might say to someone who is grieving. In fact, to this
student, to my sisters, and to my own daughter should I die before my
time, I would say this:
"I'm really sorry this happened to you. It really isn't fair. It isn't
fair at all. If I were you I would feel cheated and hurt; I might even be
angry that I didn't get more time with my Dad. You have every right to feel
bad. If you want to cry, you should. It's okay. It's more than okay. It's
human. Very human.
All loving, caring people grieve when those they love are gone. And all
of us, every last one of us, will experience this feeling at some point in
our lives. Sometimes we grieve very deeply and for a very long time.
Sometimes we get over it and sometimes we do not. Mostly we get on with
our lives because there is nothing else we can do. But loving, caring
people continue to think about their loved ones no matter how far they have
gotten on with their lives, because our lost loved ones continue to live.
No one knows if they REALLY continue to live in some other place -- I
suspect not -- but we do know for sure, with as much certainty as any
scientific theory or philosophical argument can muster, that our loved
ones continue to live in our memories and in our lives.
It isn't wrong to feel sad. It is right. Self-evidently right. It means we
love and can be loved. It means our loved ones continue to live because we
continue to miss them. Tears of sadness are really tears of love. Why
shouldn't you cry for your Dad? He's your Dad and you love him. Don't let
anyone try to take that away from you. The freedom to grieve and love is
one of the fundamentals of being human. To try to take that freedom away
on a chimera of feigned hope and promises that cannot be filled, is inhuman.
Celebrate your love for your Dad in every way you can. That is your right,
your freedom, your humanness."
Michael Shermer
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