Remember the patience and kindness

Published 11:32 am Thursday, October 10, 2024

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It’s taken me years—decades, really—to begin to understand the phrases my late English mother used throughout her life. We’ve all heard Britons described as having ‘a stiff upper lip’ and seemingly incapable of expressing themselves in times of trouble by dismissing their own concerns as, ‘Oh, well, mustn’t grumble.’

I used to joke about it: “How repressed can they be? They can lose a leg, their dog gets run over, then they clear their throat and say, ‘Well, well, mustn’t grumble.’” What’s wrong with you people? For Pete’s sake, grumble!! Cry!! Your cortisol must be through the roof!

I’d dismissed an entire generation of people as detached, unfeeling, cold as a fish.

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When Helene slashed her way through the Southeast and we witnessed the devastation, I finally got it. I have never in my life seen Paul clap his hand across his mouth in horror as we watched videos of Chimney Rock Village being wiped off the map. I watched the heartrending footage of people—the family and infant on the roof—I won’t go on, you know the one—until my heart felt as though it would burst.

And then, when asked if we suffered damage to our own home, both Paul and I felt stymied to reply. Because when you are keenly aware that hundreds, maybe thousands, are missing, that people disappeared along with their homes as the wall of water engulfed and swept away everything in its path, then it is impossible to say, ‘Well, we had trees down and one took off our back deck…’

Mustn’t grumble.

For everyone, as with my mother, who endured the Blitz in London, running down the darkened streets regardless of weather for the safety of the Underground during the wailing of an air raid siren, who witnessed houses and people in their own neighborhood blown to smithereens, and who tried to feed a family of four on ration cards that allowed a household three eggs for the week and two cups of flour…to somehow survive while trying not to collapse into sobs because you simply have to keep going, well, you need ‘a stiff upper lip.’ Because you know as soon as you start crying, you won’t be able to stop.

We are witnessing unprecedented destruction, horror and grief. And as inspiring as the outpouring of support has been from countless volunteers, we will also need to remember that for many, this has created lifelong trauma—even if homes are rebuilt, even if there are reunions with loved ones, they will be indelibly marked for life.

May we all remember the patience and kindness upon which love relies long after the visible destruction is repaired. So much healing lies before us.