My dear Bucknell Friends:

We have lost a light in our community in Christian Samay ’24.

 These are – and will be – painful and difficult days, (and weeks, and months).  Grief is not simple and it’s not linear.  There are not “stages” we “work” through; and if we could leave behind forever the language of “moving on” we would be a healthier species for it. 

 In my experience, grief comes in waves.  Some days we will awake, and the sun will shine, and we will be ready to smile and laugh and learn.  And some days we will struggle to take that first step out of bed.

 To lose a classmate and student – so young and vibrant and so sudden –  is, quite simply, among the hardest of things this hard world has to offer.  And to do so in the wake of a terrifying campus lockdown and in the midst of all the war and terror in the world is a great burden to bear.  It can feel like too much.

 You have heard – and will no doubt continue to hear – that we need to seek support and help.  Trauma and grief are very ordinary responses to extraordinary circumstances.  You are allowed to take time and take space to process and mourn and muddle through. 

 Breathe.  Eat.  Shower.  Walk.  Show up together.  Text your people.  Lean on the deep resources that you have at your disposal.  Pray.  Meditate.  As the old aphorism goes: the only way out is through. 

 And the best way through – in my not-so-humble opinion – is together.

 In time, as we carry forward together, we find that grief is – paradoxically – a tremendous gift as well.  A painful gift.  And an unwelcome gift.  Not one that makes up for or justifies the pain.  But a gift to be sure.

 “We bereaved are not alone,” wrote the great Helen Keller.  “We belong to the largest company in all the world, the company of those who have known suffering.  When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne, let us think of the great family of the heavy hearted into which our grief has given us entrance, and inevitably, we will feel about us their arms, their sympathy, their understanding.”

 Having lost a beloved member of our community, we are now – as much as we are anything – a great family of the heavy hearted.  Hundreds of us gathered in the Chapel on Tuesday night (and hundreds more in overflow, and overflow of overflow) to share in grief and tears and stories and light.  And we were reminded again and again of the importance of friendship, the need to express love to one another, and the need to ask for support.

 Grief is, in its simplest form, love mixed with loss.  And it can be tremendously clarifying.  It reminds us what matters most and points us to what we can let go.  And, if we allow it to, it can draw us into a deeper sense of community, empathy, friendship and care than we previously thought possible.

 Thank you for the ways you are supporting one another.  Thank you for gathering together this week.  For the hugs and quiet consolation.  We needn’t have the right words.  We can simply hold each other through this moment.  Thank you for reaching out to your faculty, chaplains, counselors, deans, families, staff and friends for the support you need.

 Thank you, thank you, thank you, to all who are doing the work of support.

 Thank you for aspiring toward deeper community.  A community worthy of Christian, and of us all. 

 We are grieving, and grieving together.  And that is, in itself, a gift.  And when we’re ready, listen again to Helen Keller:

 “Believe, when you are most unhappy, that there is something for you to do in the world. So long as you can sweeten another’s pain, life is not in vain.”

 Sending you love. 

Kurt Nelson, Chaplain