Last Friday I rushed out of COBO knowing that within moments I would be unable to choke back tears for any longer.
Two days earlier, I watched friends’ Facebook statuses and profile pictures change to represent Beverly Delk to the best of our knowledge, as she had just unexpectedly died from complications with leukemia.
After knowing three people around my age who died within the past year I cannot say I am used to it or that I am an expert on grief, but I can say I have learned a lot about the power of connection.
As I made a quick right turn out of COBO into the bathroom, tears were already falling.
Dr. Brene Brown, a social work researcher, stated in a speech that the most powerful words we can say are “me too” because empathy is feeling with someone (connection) while the exact opposite in sympathy is feeling for someone (disconnection).
That has resonated with me more in the past year than any other, and I know that one thing is true of grief: we are meant to grieve together.
Brown says in the South we are guilty of using sympathy all the time with the response “bless your heart”… “Because basically what you are saying is, ‘that sucks, but too bad and God is on my side.”
Later on she mentions that it is almost impossible for an empathetic response to begin with “At least …” because it is like trying to put a silver lining on someone’s hard situation.
Exactly one week ago, I was standing in the front of the funeral home on what would have been Beverly’s 20th birthday, listening to “Let it Go” from the film “Frozen.”
As a note to Beverly’s love for art, the family chose a white casket and allowed anyone to decorate it with Sharpies.
On the front was a drawing of Olaf that read, “Do you wanna build a snowman?” and on the side was the open motto of Kappa Delta, “Let us strive for that which is honorable, beautiful and highest.”
More than 100 people in the room hear that motto every week, and although half of them were strangers from Beverly’s chapter at MTSU, knowing that we all had the privilege of calling her a sister made me feel less alone.
From simple moments following Beverly’s death I have seen empathy in many places.
Before we left for the funeral, I stood in the kitchen of the KD house and read notes from Chi Omegas who understand how difficult it is to lose a sister.
The day I was crying in the bathroom, a stranger gave me a hug.
It is hard to sum Beverly up in a few words, but I can tell you this about her: she loved people and she loved God.
Elizabeth Oakes is a senior public relations major and Life Editor.
