“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”

“Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional.”  At this two-year anniversary of my cousin’s murder, I attest to this truth. As I wrote last year, I was “magically” relieved of the pain felt from his murder by spending the day with – oh! the irony – about 30 people who themselves had murdered someone. Huh???

Pain is inevitable. Every day, we get hurt. From the person cutting us off on the highway, from falling while hiking, from a family member making a rash judgment, from being misrepresented by a colleague… Most of us have also been subject to incomprehensible actions by others and deep traumas: abuse, murder, rape, shaming, fraud, stealing of life savings, etc. The pain from each of these is real.

With Kari’s murder, I experienced how optional suffering truly can be. As I entered that prison chapel with the 30 men, I was hurt, confused, in disbelief, wondering how this could ever happen. I was in the first stage of grief; they call it “shock.”

After I shared, four – yes, FOUR! – men told me a version of “I created the pain you feel right now for another’s family. I am sorry for your pain. I am sorry for the pain of that family.” They expressed understanding of the murder, sadness for my loss and remorse for their own actions that had created the same pain for another family. One man even shared the details of the murder he committed, including his thoughts and feelings. Suddenly, while I knew nothing more about the details of Kari’s murder, I no longer felt the weight of confusion. Understanding these men’s experiences helped me understand the fears, disconnection, mistaken beliefs, pressure and choices that the people who killed my cousin may have experienced.

Within a couple days, I caught myself holding love and compassion for the people who killed my cousin. This was illogical and unexpected. And yet, it came naturally. I had skipped over disbelief, anger and most other stages of grief to land into “acceptance.” I understood that, to commit these actions, this person/these people must have hurt terribly inside, feeling they had no other choice (despite the fact they clearly did!).

I myself also had a choice: (1) stay locked inside grief and anger, believing this keeps my cousin’s memory alive or (2) celebrate my cousin by releasing the pain, remembering the contributions he’s made to this world and, in the process, relieving myself from the suffering so that I may live more peacefully and joyously.

I chose the second path. Today, I feel peace. I feel gratitude. I feel joy. Yes, even when I think of my cousin. Because I celebrate his life. And I’m grateful for the relationships, gifts and lessons I’ve received from him in his death. I have grown and it’s thanks to him.

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