Like most people I shudder whenever I receive news of a plane crash. Knowing that you are going to die shortly and violently and there is nothing you can do is cruel beyond bearing. It is a possibility we all dread. Likewise, and like others, I tremble upon hearing of a school shooting, when death comes to a place where young people go to learn, where they sit with one eye on the clock and the other on the rest of their lives. Suddenly, their interest or boredom is shattered as they run, hide, or barricade to save their lives.

There are many events that shock and sadden us. These are but two of too many ways that anguish beats its way into our consciousness.

Almost as quickly as the news of tragedy reaches us, it is followed by the announcement that grief counselors have been rushed to the scene. One pursues the other as surely as firemen chase the flames. The difference is that firemen perform a risky and life saving service. Like so many create- it- yourself jobs, I have yet to figure out what grief counselors do – except get in the way.

It’s hard to say exactly when grief counselors came into being, maybe Columbine, but now no catastrophe is complete with proclamation of their arrival. They have made themselves standard equipment. It would be considered irresponsible, even reckless, and certainly litigious if they weren’t summoned; which seems to me to be the real reason for their presence.

Like the war on drugs, tobacco companies, and religion, grief counseling is an industry. Industries need to justify their existence and the grief industry is as adept as any at playing on emotion and feigning outrage. It’s about the kids, the survivors. Other than the great George Carlin, who famously said. “Fuck the children”, who wants to take on such motherhood issues. 

Well, it ain’t about the kids or the survivors. As it is with the other aforementioned economic enterprises, it’s about the money. No matter how much smoke is thrown to screen our view, no matter how many serious and thoughtful sounding people intone their motives, it’s about the money. My apologies to those who don’t take the cash; well-intentioned and misguided though they may be, but the fact is that grief counseling is big business.

To quote from a recent article in Der Spiegel. “Most bereaved people do not need, and will not benefit from clinical intervention,” say psychologists George Bonanno and Scott Lilienfeld. “The scientists even went as far as to say that researchers’ notion that grief counseling might be as effective as conventional forms of therapy is “dangerous” and amounts to ’unwarranted optimism.’”

In an article from the Globe and Mail, Dr. Lynne Beal, former chief psychologist for the Toronto Canada school board says that the standard approach used by grief counseling, one that attempts to work with all survivors in a formulaic and compulsory manner, has been completely discredited. “That approach has been replaced with psychological first aid. First aid doesn’t put bandages on everybody. You look for those who are seeking assistance.” The same article went on to say that for those who do seek help, any derived value depends on who’s doing the counseling. Some experts graduate from a weekend course.

The media has culpability in this charade. It is easier to report that grief counselors have been called, than to question their need, especially if it requires that reporters actually do some research. Like the legal profession, many of these pseudo-industries develop their own language that makes them difficult to decipher and is meant to intimidate the lay person. No proud reporter would want to appear unknowledgeable about the subject on which he or she writes. It’s easier to uncritically pass on received wisdom.

Because the media gravitates to the small percentage of those who have trouble dealing with trauma or loss, we are left with the impression that it is prevalent. Less then 10% of people who experience shock and bereavement, deteriorate to the point where they need talk therapy. If we are to believe the news, it would seem that almost every Vietnam vet is a walking time bomb, yet over 80% of those vets have come home and gone on with their lives. They are healthy emotionally, personally, and at a business level.

Like many of his generation, my father is a war vet. He lost friends and saw things that most of us will never experience. When the war was over, he took on his next assignment, finding a new job and raising a family. Like most war veterans, he did it by himself, without being told how he should act, what he should do, how he should grieve. Like most vets, he rarely talks about the war. It’s best left behind. He doesn’t need to share his feelings, to re-live what he’s gone through.

Dr, Viktor Frankl was a concentration camp survivor and a leading psychiatrist to those who endured Nazi death camps. Towards the end of his life, after decades of counseling survivors, he came to the conclusion that his work had been counter-productive. He saw that he was eroding the equanimity his patients had achieved by burying the horror deep in the recesses of the brain. Dr. Frankl felt that by stirring these memories anew he had harmed, not helped his patients.

Forgetting is an indispensible attribute of nature. We consign the tragedy without leaving behind the person. We get beyond dwelling. It is this capacity to move on that allows us to overcome the profound sadness that comes to all. We deal with heartache in our own way, mostly alone. There is no formula, no steps to follow, and no god that cares.

The one constant is time. The great literary critic, Harold Bloom, insists that Shakespeare is superior to Freud, the father of so many deluded progeny, when it comes to understanding the human mind. In Othello, the conniving, complex Iago said, “How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees.”

Space is one of the most important things we can offer to someone who has suffered loss. But space is what grief counselors take away. Why? There is never any right thing to say. Taking a course for years, or for a weekend, does not mean you have a blueprint. It is cold to be paid for something that family and friends do better and do for love. If you’re not Father Time, stay home.

If you’re a friend, be available. Let your bereaving friend reach out to you, or not, on his or her timetable. If he or she doesn’t want to talk about feelings, or what happened, don’t bring it up. Doing less is doing more. It’s hard to know how to react in times of sorrow. Maybe the best chance for what Linus called “good grief,” is being there and being quiet.

Copyright © 2009 Paul Heno