I’m sure most of you have seen the video of the orca mother mourning the death of her newborn calf. It went viral last month, matriculating its way through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, amassing millions of views along the way.
If by chance you haven’t seen it yet, you can watch it here:
A Mother Whale’s Tour of Grief
When her calf died shortly after birth, she carried its body on her back for 17 days. And when she became too fatigued to continue, her pod (aka family and friends) stepped in to help shoulder the weight.
This story is sensational and immensely moving, for obvious reasons, but mostly because it resonates with our human emotions; in a limited capacity, we understand what the whale is going through.
Many folks hesitate to ascribe human emotions to animals – a process called anthropomorphism – but after watching this video and reading a few articles, I don’t think there’s any doubt: this female orca was a grieving mom, no different than the thousands of human moms who are grieving as I write this.
When placed in that context, I believe there are several important lessons we can learn from this whale’s expression of grief.
1) Her grief is completely unabashed
She doesn’t shy away from her heartbreak or attempt to conceal it. Instead, she expresses it transparently, letting her pod and the whole world know she is hurting. Too often our tendency is to keep our agony a secret; we bury our pain inside, making sure no one sees our weakness and vulnerability.Pain and loss are universal experiences. At the end of the day, you’ve got the same secret as everyone else.
Does that really sound like a secret?
2) Her timeline isn’t rushed.
This orca kept her calf’s body either above water or near the surface for 17 days after its death. It is among the longest mourning periods wildlife biologists have ever witnessed in a whale species. So long, in fact, they began to fear for her life; carrying her baby was a lot of work, and she was barely eating.
In human culture, we have the opposite problem. The average bereavement leave in America is 3 days. THREE. DAYS.
That’s 72 hours, folks. Barely long enough to bury our dead.
We don’t have time for grief; we’re simply too busy. And if someone ever decides they need more than the allotted 72 hours, they’re often ostracized, stigmatized, or even in some cases, fired.
Grief is a journey. It takes time. We would do well to remember that.
3) Her grief is bolstered by community.
When the mother became too weak to carry on, her friends and family stepped into the gap; they were strength when she could no longer swim, air when she could barely breathe.Without her pod, her grief may very well have killed her.
And the same could be said of us.
When my wife died from cancer in 2015, I had three people that refused to let me drown. They came alongside me in my anguish – not trying to “fix” my pain, but merely accompanying me through it.
Without them, I wouldn’t be here. Maybe not dead in a literal sense, but certainly a lesser version of myself. And that might honestly be worse.
On a week where I’ve read about numerous young, healthy people committing suicide, I urge you – please don’t hide your pain. Don’t rush it.
And above all else, don’t be afraid to share it with your pod.
A fellow journeyer,
Bryan
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