Emotional Triage

Boca Raton.
Florida.
Hurricane central.
I'm sitting in a well equipped, comfortably furnished classroom. The instructor for the psychological first aid course for volunteers is in his 70s, has a gray beard and a pronounced New York accent. He was a college professor back up north before he succumbed to Florida's inevitable gravitational-like pull with the geriatric crowd.

He explains the gist of the class.
I can tell he is good at what he does, both as a clinical psychiatrist and a teacher.
I can tell he is passionate about his line of work even in his semi-retirement.
I can tell that he would take the time to share his knowledge with each of the six students in the room... if only he could get the computer to talk to the projector for his powerpoint slideshow.

Soon he abandons technology and we are talking disaster scenarios, we are visualizing houses simply gone. Gone after a tornado, a hurricane, a fire. Kids with tear streaked faces digging through the remains of the foundation. Adults staring at mailboxes in front of their home when their home is no longer there. We are talking about talking with people, comforting people (Rule: only give a hug if they ask for one. No initiating. (He said to ignore this rule, just ask them first)), getting their basic needs met as soon as possible.
The instructor talks about cultural sensitivity, personal boundaries, word choices (Rule: Do not say "I know how you feel" or "Well, you should just be thankful you got out alive!" or "God only gives folks challenges they can handle").

Then he said, "Never promise anything that you can't deliver." A new house, a filet mignon dinner in the chow tent, that their grandfather who suffered a heart attack in the storm will be alright. Promise them a blanket and then go get one, promise them a hot meal and check to make sure they are at the dining area when donated food supplies are piping hot, promise them that you will see what you can do to make them comfortable, then do it.

And I thought, shouldn't that just be true in every situation in everyday life? I mean, how often do we promise things that we know we can't or won't deliver on? Usually it is with the best intentions- to make whomever we are talking with feel better, keep up hope, feel safe. But when we promise to feel a certain way forever or say that we'll never let another be alone or scared or even that the pot roast will turn out perfectly (charred onions! disintegrated carrots! tasteless meat!), we are doing each other a disservice.

I want to feel safe, feel loved, feel like I will get a good meal, but I would rather be dealt with honestly. I would rather deal with the fact that nothing is certain. That we all feel and try and hope and believe and that no one can predict anything.

OK, so that might be a lie, the part about wanting everyone to be totally honest all the time. Sometimes little lies (wishes) may be good? But where is the point where comforting and hope collide with false promises and a denial of reality? When does it start to harm us instead of let us move forward in a positive way? When does it become a blinder to the inevitability of pain, loss, death? But maybe sometimes it sweetens a situation without misleading us, gets us through tough times.

You, me, hey, we'll figure it out.
I promise.

(OK, OK, I promise that we will look into it more deeply, try to talk more, be more aware, try to live as openly and honestly as possible. OK? OK.)

Now let's get on with living.