03-15-2008, 07:31 PM
Some of us who read this may want to take note of the following story:
One of my graduate students, a woman named Marielle, came to our class one night, eyes filled with tears. The rest of the group showed great concern. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?" they asked.
She told them that her younger brother, Robbie, had been killed. He was an innocent bystander in a gun duel in a bar. We were all shocked and very sympathetic.
Marrielle cried and cried. "He's been a sort of ne'er-do-well and, as his older sister, I felt it was my duty to correct him. He resisted what my folks told him so I added my two cents a lot. All I ever said to him in these last three years has been criticism! she said.
Her sobbing continued. Members of the group reached out to her. Two of them sat close by hear and handed her tissues as she struggled with her story.
"That's all he heard from me: criticism, nagging. I meant it well," she wept. "I meant to save him. Sure it wasn't his fault that he was shot, but he shouldn't have been in such a place! Oh! There I go again, criticizing him, even in death! I hever got to tell him how much I loved him."
Her weeping reached a new and higher level. She seemed inconsolable. The group listened to her for quite a while, but all were feeling helpless. What could be done? She was feeling such remorse about not having expressed her loving feeling to her brother, only her criticism.
Suddenly, one of the other students smiled gently. "Marielle, what did you love most about him?"
Marrielle began to tell us of his great potential and his sense of humor; about his artistic talent and his winning charm; how she had always admired him; and of her faith that he would have been the shining star of her family had he lived. Most of all, she spoke of how she loved him.
Again she cried. But her fellow student interrupted with a suggestion. "The funeral is Wednesday. What do you think about writing a letter to Robbie with all you've just told us and more. Pour out your heart to him and at the funeral, put the letter in the casket!"
There was stunned silence. Marrielle stopped crying. She thought silently for a time. Then she smiled and said, "Yes, yest, that is the way. At least I can let him know what was in my heart!:
And that is just what she did. Years later, Marrielle told me how that one suggestion had brought her solace in the darkest hour of her grief. But she offered the world this advice: "Say it now. Say the loving things now, before the funeral! We're all too quick with the criticism and twoo slow with the loving remarks."
From Acts of Kindness by Meladee and Hanoch McCarty
One of my graduate students, a woman named Marielle, came to our class one night, eyes filled with tears. The rest of the group showed great concern. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?" they asked.
She told them that her younger brother, Robbie, had been killed. He was an innocent bystander in a gun duel in a bar. We were all shocked and very sympathetic.
Marrielle cried and cried. "He's been a sort of ne'er-do-well and, as his older sister, I felt it was my duty to correct him. He resisted what my folks told him so I added my two cents a lot. All I ever said to him in these last three years has been criticism! she said.
Her sobbing continued. Members of the group reached out to her. Two of them sat close by hear and handed her tissues as she struggled with her story.
"That's all he heard from me: criticism, nagging. I meant it well," she wept. "I meant to save him. Sure it wasn't his fault that he was shot, but he shouldn't have been in such a place! Oh! There I go again, criticizing him, even in death! I hever got to tell him how much I loved him."
Her weeping reached a new and higher level. She seemed inconsolable. The group listened to her for quite a while, but all were feeling helpless. What could be done? She was feeling such remorse about not having expressed her loving feeling to her brother, only her criticism.
Suddenly, one of the other students smiled gently. "Marielle, what did you love most about him?"
Marrielle began to tell us of his great potential and his sense of humor; about his artistic talent and his winning charm; how she had always admired him; and of her faith that he would have been the shining star of her family had he lived. Most of all, she spoke of how she loved him.
Again she cried. But her fellow student interrupted with a suggestion. "The funeral is Wednesday. What do you think about writing a letter to Robbie with all you've just told us and more. Pour out your heart to him and at the funeral, put the letter in the casket!"
There was stunned silence. Marrielle stopped crying. She thought silently for a time. Then she smiled and said, "Yes, yest, that is the way. At least I can let him know what was in my heart!:
And that is just what she did. Years later, Marrielle told me how that one suggestion had brought her solace in the darkest hour of her grief. But she offered the world this advice: "Say it now. Say the loving things now, before the funeral! We're all too quick with the criticism and twoo slow with the loving remarks."
From Acts of Kindness by Meladee and Hanoch McCarty
