Okay. Show of hands. How many of you have heard of Three Stooges Syndrome?
If you’re an avid fan of “The Simpsons” (which I’m not), then you may have seen the episode entitled “The Mansion Family” (which I didn’t—I did, however, see a clip and then googled the rest). In this particular episode, Mr. Burns, Homer Simpson’s employer, travels to Mayo Clinic after being named the oldest man in Springfield, a title he inherited by default after the original recipient died of a heart attack while receiving the award and being kissed by Britney Spears. In an effort to ensure he will retain this title for a very long time, he goes to the clinic for a thorough physical examination. Unfortunately, although Mr. Burns believes himself to be incredibly healthy, the doctors determine he actually has every disease known to man . . . and a few they’ve never heard of. But because there are so many different illnesses trying to attack him, they all basically cancel each other out. In other words, he is indestructible. Or so he thinks. By way of an explanation for his condition, the doctor references the Three Stooges, telling Mr. Burns all the diseases are trying to enter his body simultaneously and, in doing so, have gotten stuck . . . like the Three Stooges all trying to get through a door at the same time. Hence the name Three Stooges Syndrome.
Since that episode, the term has become synonymous with physical, mental, and emotional events which have simply piled one on top of the other, to the point we are no longer able to cope or function. With none of the situations having been resolved, the pile just keeps growing.
Next question, but you don’t have to raise your hand this time. How many of you have ever heard of compounded grief?
Compounded grief is basically the Three Stooges Syndrome applied to loss. It can be the loss of a friendship, a job, material possessions, a pet, your health, the death of someone you love . . . anything that affects you on a physical, mental, or emotional level . . . anything that brings about grief.
We’ve seen a great deal of compounded grief lately, especially during the peak years of COVID. Jobs were lost when businesses closed. Mental and emotional well-being suffered during the isolation of quarantine. And often families lost several members over a very short span of time. Even today, without the prevalence of a pandemic, we are still seeing multiple losses within a family or circle of friends. And the more these losses pile up, the harder it is to grieve them individually . . . because doors work both ways. They allow things to enter, but they also allow things to exit. Grieving is a process which, like it or not, has to be experienced in order to be resolved. That resolution doesn’t bring about complete healing, but adjustment to a different life. When there are too many losses for us to handle, the door allowing us to express our grief becomes blocked. The grief can’t get out, so the adjustment can’t begin.
Now, some of you may think this is a good thing. If we can’t deal with the loss, then we don’t have to deal with the pain—which works great in theory but not so much in real life. One of these days, a particular loss will force its way through that door and the flood gates will open. You won’t have a choice but to deal with it all and, unlike Mr. Burns who believed he was indestructible, you are not. That’s why it’s so important to face the losses as they come, rather than trying to push them aside. Thankfully, we never know how closely devastating circumstances will fall, but that also means it’s better to address the grief they bring with them instead of waiting until an avalanche of loss buries us.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
