Pat Andrus, MS
A Comforting Voice
Like Dorothy in The Wizard
of Oz, you are taking steps along your own "yellow brick road" of
grief and bereavement.
Unsuspecting and unaware, Dorothy found herself dumped into a
strange situation, surrounded by the unknown, lost and ignorant
of the road back home. She could have just quit right then, never
taking a step forward again. But that just was not her nature it
seems.
Over time she gathered new friends who, although lost and needy
themselves, helped her along her own path. She struggled to overcome
obstacles and to communicate in this foreign land, wishing and hoping
for something that seemed elusive and just out of reach.
Along the way Dorothy found good and evil inherited the improbable
yet magical gift of the ruby slippers (which she did not recognized
as a significant gift until later!), experienced contrasting emotions
of confusion, fear, disbelief, sorrow, despair, and joy and, ultimately,
found her own truth within herself.
Her story ends with her awakening in her own bed with a mature
wisdom acquired in a strangely dreamlike way. As mourners, we are
seeking our own truths. We are hunting our own way through the nightmarish
pain of grief.
And, like Dorothy, we may not recognize the power of some of our
experiences. We may choose to not push our feet into our own version
of the ruby slippers. We often think we will never reach Oz or that
the Wizard will turn out to be simply a man with a little or no
magic at all. We convince ourselves and others that we will forever
be lost in the journey.
Most important of all, we cannot believe we are capable of finding
our own answers or that they were inside ourselves all the time.
And, it seems impossible that, in sharing our journey through loss
and pain, we just might be of help and support to others suffering
in their own ways, like the Scarecrow, Lion, and Tin Man were. We
think we are alone, shying away from risks and opportunities for
growth, and not recognizing the love and guidance others may offer.
We fear the stretching that grief is forcing us to accomplish.
We shut others out, fear ourselves incapable of feeling anything
more, and thus prevent ourselves from experiencing the beauty of
wounded people achieving great steps in their development like Dorothy's
friends did. We may even not recognize where we receive unconditional
love, like Dorothy gets from her dog Toto and her three unusual
companions.
Surely Dorothy grew up wondering how that dream journey would
affect her life in yours to come. Later life may have found her
treasuring the memories of her experience while wishing there was
some little piece of proof that she was not just dreaming but had
really been lost, traveled to Oz, clicked her heels, and returned
to those who cared about her.
Maybe she later weathered the skepticism of those who did not
believe her story. Perhaps she found it exasperating to relate to
others who had not been there at the time and were judging her behavior.
She probably longed for the friends she left behind in Oz, polished
her memories, chose to forget some of the more painful parts of
her journey and to remember the better times.
It does seem clear, though, that what ever happened in the future,
Dorothy had gleaned important truths for her life. She acquired
a greater appreciation for what she had and the wisdom of digging
deep inside herself for her answers.
