Grief and Guatemala: The Power of Love Without Words

This is part 2 of the lessons I learned about grief while traveling. It all started in Indonesia, which I suggest reading first. You can find it here.

I talk about how grief is not a problem you can check off your list. It doesn’t happen one minute, then goes away the next. It is a continuous emotion, like all the rest, that will happen when you least expect it. That being said, the lessons I have learned from grief are also always continuous.

I never learn something then never have that same problem again. Yes, the lesson makes me more aware of how to deal with it in the future. But, in the moment, sometimes I need a reminder. Sometimes, I can’t even think rationally because it is so overpowering.

Reminder on Grief

I needed to say this in the beginning, because I don’t want you to think that I have mastered my grief. I want you to be fully aware that I just am better able to communicate my feelings. Grief is something that I can now reflect on with more clarity instead of constantly being overwhelmed by it, and that is what’s important.

In my Indonesia post, I write about how I learned to face my grief. This is true. But, most of the time, it takes more than one try to actually learn a lesson. Sure, I learned that I couldn’t hide from the grief. But does that mean I stopped trying to hide from it? Absolutely not.

That was only the start of my journey, and I’m still working on it. After so long, I can just see how much that affected me and my grief process. I don’t want you to try to hide your grief either. Even though I still struggle with this, it is important to start to recognize the ways in which you are holding yourself back.

Guatemala

The next lesson I learned was in Guatemala. This trip happened about 9 months or so after my dad had died. I had spent a month in Indonesia in July of 2015, and then I went to Guatemala in March of 2016. And yes, this was another mission trip. I was still in college, and I loved the Indonesia trip so much, I knew I had to go somewhere else.

I signed up for Guatemala really late in the game. Because it is a fundraised trip, I didn’t think it would be possible. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I almost self-funded most of it, because I just knew I wanted to go. One of the leaders in Indonesia, who had become one of my best friends, was also leading this trip. She invited me, so I said yes.

As I usually do, I imagined this trip in its entirety before I went. I imagined it would be just like the trip to Indonesia, and I would be up against similar struggles and learn similar lessons. Well, I was wrong.

This was a totally different trip. It was only one week long, for starters, and it was with an organization that had many different groups. At first, it kind of felt off. It felt a little forced. But, I didn’t want to be that person with that attitude, so I started to try a little harder.

I started to look at each project and activity an open mind. We did a type of construction job, where we hauled supplies up a hill. We worked with older folks who were living there that needed help. But, my favorite part was something I was good at – something I had been doing my whole life.

Love Without Words

We were working with children with severe disabilities who were essentially orphans. They needed around the clock care in their little corner of the organization. We were there to provide some fun and some smiles to brighten their day.

Yes, it did feel a little forced, but I stuck to the mantra that if I could even make one person smile, both at the old folks’ home and in the orphanage, it was worth it.

We were in Guatemala, so naturally everyone we worked with spoke Spanish. It was enough to get by, but it mostly felt like it just wasn’t enough. I wanted to be able to communicate with these people. I wanted to share in conversation and laugh and make jokes. Sometimes, I just felt like it wasn’t enough.

But, then I met Esfin. He was a little boy in the orphanage, and he quickly became my favorite. Sure, I would play with all the little kids, but everyone in my group knew Esfin was my favorite. He was cute as could be.

He couldn’t walk or talk, but boy, he could smile. His smile was infectious, and I would do everything I could to bring it out of him. He was probably 7 or 8 years old, but he was so underdeveloped and malnourished that he really looked like he was only 5.

I would make funny faces, funny noises, and just spin him around – and that was enough. I didn’t need to be able to communicate how I was feeling, and I didn’t need to be able to speak profound words. All I needed was to show love to this little boy, and that was enough for him.

Living with Regrets

I didn’t need words to be able to communicate my love for this little boy. He didn’t understand or even seem to care about that. I was making him smile, and that was enough. All I wanted was for him to feel joy for even just one day – for just one moment.

A lot of times throughout my grief journey, I would wonder if I said enough. I would even rack my brain trying to remember the last conversation I had with my dad before it was too late. It was so frustrating to not remember if I told him I loved him during out last phone call. Before we turned off the machines in the hospital, we told him we loved him, but could he hear us?

It almost felt like I didn’t get closure. Maybe, just maybe, I wondered if he got closure – free to die with the knowledge that he was loved by us, and that we said it to him one last time. I know it feels kind of silly to even question that. When you are grieving, however, it’s so easy to replay every moment.

Did I say the right things? Did I tell them I loved them? What was our last conversation? If it isn’t a vivid memory, it’s almost as if you either make it up or you just lose the memory. It’s a wild thing, grief.

Lesson on Grief

Grief, I discovered, makes you feel as if something simple like last words matter. In Guatemala, I found that words don’t matter. Love without words is so important.

How did you treat that person when they were alive? I’m sure they knew you loved them. Were you laughing and smiling with them throughout their lifetime? I’m sure they knew you loved them. Did you show up when it really mattered? I’m sure they knew you loved them.

They know. Even when it was hard to communicate with Esfin or the children in the orphanage or the older folks that lived in Guatemala, they knew. It didn’t take much to make them happy. It didn’t take much to make them smile.

I loved that we were able to show love through our actions – through our smiles and willing hearts. It actually felt more authentic than trying to convey our love through words. Words can get messy, and words can get jumbled.

In Guatemala, I started to see that love without words was the best form of communication. I realized that I showed my dad love. I showed up for him, and I was there for him when he was alive. Maybe I felt like I needed closure, but he didn’t need that. He knew I loved him.

He was my best friend. I conveyed the love I had for him in every stupid argument and every silly board game we ever played. I loved him with every time I showed up and with every phone call I made to him every day between classes in college. He knew.

Finding Comfort

So often, it’s easy to get caught up in the idea of having a perfect grief story. They were dying, you get to say goodbye, and they pass away with the comfort of knowing everyone loved them. I’m here to tell you that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sure, I guess it happens sometimes. But, almost every person’s story doesn’t happen that way. Sometimes, I even like to feel like mine was the quintessential grief picture. He was sick and dying in the hospital. Then, he was on life support before we got there. We decided to turn off the machines. We held his hands as we said goodbye, and he passed away in front of our eyes.

Yes, we were lucky in some ways to be able to be there for it. But, we didn’t make it there in time. We don’t know if he could hear us those last moments. He had a breathing tube in and was heavily sedated, so he couldn’t communicate with us. It was terrifying. Although it sounds like there might be closure, I still have doubts sometimes.

I still wonder what he heard. I still wonder if he could hear, did I comfort him? Unfortunately, I can’t even remember what I said. In the moment, even if it feels “lucky” to be there, sometimes it is so traumatizing that you can’t remember every moment. Other times, you remember – almost too vividly – them taking their last breath.

All I know is that I was lucky to realize the importance of showing up. I am lucky to realize the importance of showing someone love just by providing a smile, a laugh, or a helping hand. Even if you don’t speak the same language or don’t have the right words, love can be conveyed.

Moving Forward

I have to constantly remind myself that I was enough. I did the best that I could with the knowledge that I had of the future to come. It was comforting to see the power of love without words. It was beautiful to see the simplicity of love.

Love can be portrayed as something complex or something hard to convey. It’s not. Grief can be portrayed as this time that needs closure or an ending. It doesn’t.

We have to start recognizing that we don’t need those perfect final words. We don’t need that perfect ending, wrapped neatly with a bow on top. Instead, I think everyone needs to start living more intentionally.

Personally, I have to remind myself that sometimes a friendly smile can be a way to show love to someone who is feeling unnoticed or unloved. I have to remind myself to show up for the people that I care about. I have to remind myself that it doesn’t matter if I say the right thing, it’s that I tried my best.

Sometimes all I want is to remember those last conversations I had with my dad. I want to remember the last time he told me he loved me. But, I can’t.

I realized, though, that when I think about him, I don’t remember the exact conversations we had. Instead, I remembered the memories we made together. I remember the laughs we shared, and the family vacations. It doesn’t matter exactly what was said, because I remember his smile and his warm presence.

That is enough to comfort me and to remind me of his love. That is enough. Love without words is so powerful. So, don’t ever regret the words that weren’t said or the words you cannot remember. You know, and they knew.

Grief and Guatemala: The Power of Love Without Words