“Jesus wept.” (John 11:35)
My coaching buddy and friend, Joe Miller, passed away about a week and a half ago. I wrote about it in my last blog post.
Briefly summarizing, he collapsed at the end of the kids’ basketball camp session we were doing at the high school, and he could not be revived. We did CPR, got the paddles of the AED device ready, but he was gone.
Our high school girls’ basketball players were there helping with the camp for young kids. For most of them, before they were quickly ushered out of the gym, the last scene they unfortunately had to take with them of their coach was him laying on the gym floor. It’s a memory that will be difficult to heal from.
So, the last few days have had me coaching them, not in basketball, but in dealing with their grief. Grief coaching is similar to basketball coaching in that the person never reaches a point where you don’t have to work on it. Like practicing your jump shot, it’s a constant journey, an ongoing part of the game of basketball that must be worked on.
Grief is like that. It is a continuing journey that will never reach a point of finality. There will always be moments of reflecting, struggles with keeping emotions under control, and battles of isolation and inappropriate behavior. It’s a journey, a hard journey, peppered from time to time with laughter and storytelling.
Sometimes in coaching, the coach has to let the team, or an individual, work through it. He figures out when to get involved and when to sit outside the goings-on. My grief coaching mirrors that. Sometimes I need to explain, and sometimes the grievers must be allowed to go through the fires. Since grief is different for each person, as a coach, my sensitivity to the situation dictates my response. I look for the one who pulls to the side because the moment is too painful, and I look for the one who dominates conversations instead of being part of them.
Honestly, my soul is weary, and I recognize my need to grieve as part of them, but also by myself… quiet moments in the steps of long walks.
But, like with my players, it’s a journey.