In a six-month period between the spring of my junior year in high school and the fall of my senior year, I experienced three unexpected losses. One of my classmates, my aunt and my homeroom adviser of three years died at the ages of 17, 42 and 56, respectively.
While my entire school mourned the losses of my classmate and teacher, only a small number of my friends and my teachers were aware that my aunt had died, too. As contained as I kept my mourning in high school, I find it even harder to express my grief at Stanford.
Last Thursday, I attended a Student Grief and Bereavement Workshop at the Vaden Health Center. The event, which is co-sponsored by the Office for Religious Life, Counseling and Psychological Services and the Residence Deans twice a quarter, allowed undergraduate and graduate students from all of Stanford’s schools to share their stories of loss in a supportive environment.
As one of seven attendees, the workshop provided a much-needed respite for me. Though the “Stanford Bubble” generally refers to our self-sufficiency and seclusion from the outside world, I think it also applies to how the campus, and college students in general, deals with death and mourning.
During the workshop, I learned that roughly a quarter of any college campus is dealing with loss at any given time. Whatever the percentage is at Stanford, it surprised me that so few students attended the workshop on Thursday and that I was the only male student present.
Maybe the event wasn’t publicized well enough, but I think that even if flyers were posted in every bathroom stall on campus, attendance still wouldn’t have been very high.
On a campus where students always seem happy and laid back and the weather is usually 75 and sunny, it doesn’t seem appropriate to grieve or feel depressed. And particularly as a freshman, I do not yet feel comfortable saying to my friends or dormmates, “Actually, I’m not having a good day—I miss my aunt a lot today,” rather than smiling and saying, “I’m fine.” I have also found very little time to grieve—there is always a friend to hang out with, a meeting or event to attend, homework to finish and something new about Stanford to discover and marvel at.
Death is also a taboo topic in our society as a whole. We are raised to believe that all people live long, healthy lives and only die when they are old. We are made to feel as though there is an appropriate amount of time for grieving, and after that period we should have gotten ourselves together. These notions make dealing with loss particularly difficult.
And in a society that labels men who express their emotions as weak, grieving becomes an even more internalized process that is in constant conflict with our external representations. I think this judgment is a reason I was the only male to attend the workshop.
If death became a mainstream topic in our cultural dialogue, loss and grief would be much easier to handle. I had many opportunities to discuss death and mourning with my homeroom teacher before he died. Hearing his experiences with losing loved ones and his views on death not only helped me cope with the losses of my classmate and aunt, but it ultimately made his death less traumatic and more a fact of life. Instead of becoming depressed over his death, I dedicated my senior year to celebrating his legacy and my homeroom bonded to become arguably the best and happiest one in the school.
But since such a drastic cultural shift does not seem likely, a few questions remain: How, if at all, can we as a campus encourage more open dialogue on death and grieving? What is the best way to publicize events like the Student Grief and Bereavement Workshop? Through flyers? Through Facebook? By word of mouth? And for those of us who have not experienced loss, how can we be supportive of our peers that are grieving?
One of the topics we discussed during the workshop was the dilemma created when one says, “You can always talk to me if you’re feeling down.” While the sentiments behind this statement are valid, it puts the onus of starting the conversation on the griever, something that can be particularly hard when one already feels buried in emotion.
So, while I do not have any concrete answers for my first two questions, as someone who has experienced loss, I think being sensitive and supportive would suffice to answer the last question and address the issue of who starts the conversation about one’s grief and when. We should pay attention to each other’s moods and check on our friends when they seem unhappy. And though we usually won’t feel the loss as deeply as our friends, I think simply spending time with them shows that we care and want to help them cope as best as we can.
Kristian Bailey ‘14
Ed. Note: There will be another workshop on Thursday, Dec. 2 at 5:30 p.m. at Vaden.