I have spent the past six months studying grief and bereavement. I have read articles, books, gone to workshops, interviewed people, and the only thing I can say with assurance is that there are no answers.
I almost cringed as I wrote that last catch phrase, because it seemed so condescendingly trite, so ridiculously unhelpful. But in the face of dealing with two murders, it may be wise to return to the most basic of conclusions. It must be hard, in a community devoted to the pursuit of answers through knowledge, to accept the fact that we all have to work our way through this blindly. There is an almost implicit understanding in intellectual communities, that the more we learn about something, the closer we get to "solving" it.
While studying death and grief has certainly been interesting, it has also been one of the most frustrating experiences of my Dartmouth career. As I learn about grief on a large scale, I feel less able to deal with grief that affects me or people around me. As I become more intellectually proficient in the subject, I feel that I also become more detached on a personal level. Sure, I know the mechanics of grief. I know about its effects on all aspects of a person's life. I know facts and statistics and theories. But I didn't know what to say to any one of the professors who was at President Wright's house on yesterday afternoon.
I stood among a group of people from whom I so regularly seek answers, and I had no idea how to even begin to say anything to them. What good are my facts?
As I read Jon Schroeder's column in yesterday's D, I was almost willing to bet that any member of the Dartmouth Community could counter with an equally compelling argument against any one of his points. And each of those points would be equally as valid as any one of Schroeder's points.
For every person who resents the presence of the media, there is most likely a person who welcomes the sight of the media. For every person who does not wish to be pacified with phone numbers of hotlines and services, there is a person who will benefit from turning to those services.
Schroeder wrote of lines being drawn in a community, of supposed distinctions between those people who are deeply involved and those who are outsiders, who are there to lend support. I understand his frustration. Such "line drawing," while understandable, is hard to deal with because it sends out a message that perhaps the grief of some is to be taken with more severity than the grief of others.
If these two deaths strike a chord in you, listen to that chord, regardless of where you think you fit in. Please, please do not get the message that your reactions are less valid because you are on the "outside" of the situation. Give credence to how you feel and what you do with your feelings, and show the same tolerance towards the ways in which other people need to act.
America is not simple; its citizens cannot be placed neatly into one category or group. The same can be said of Dartmouth. With that in mind, how can we expect to simplify the grief of its community members?
