A few weeks ago a friend said someone (who knows what I'm going through) commented to her that I "seem sad." My first thought was, "No shit--how else am I supposed to seem right now?" My answer though, "Oh, I'm doing fine!"
I've kind of rolled that comment around in my brain ever since, just kind of marveling at the sheer stupidity of it. I seem sad. Hmmm.
Yes, I'm sad. I'm grieving. I'm mourning. And I'm not grieving a distant cousin, I'm grieving my sister and my best friend. I'm also living with a lot of regrets. I'm LIVING. I'm still alive; my sister and my best friend are not. These are not women who lived to 'ripe old ages'; they died decades before what most consider lives well lived. I have regrets associated with these losses. I'm the one who has to live with these regrets. They won't go away overnight. Nor will my grief. I am living with a physical pain from this grief I would never wish on my worst enemy. Grief is not a cold. Grief is not a paper cut, or a broken bone. There is a mental fog that literally prevents me from thinking clear thoughts and putting sentences together. Some days, just shuffling--and it's shuffling, it's not picking one foot up and putting it down so the other one can then do the same--one foot in front of the other is more of a chore than I ever imagined. Grief is not merely emotional. It moves in, camps out, and takes over your life. And yes, I'm angry and a little bitter--with myself. I feel like I'm banging my head against the wall trying to explain all of this to people, but here I am, yet again--another day, another blog.
Grief is one step forward, a few steps backward. Another step or two forward, another few steps back. And on, until eventually you've moved to a point at which you're able to make peace. Death is not something you get over, or move on from or ever gain closure from. The loss is always there. You have good days and bad days, even decades later. And that, dear friends, is the hard, honest truth.
I feel as though many Christians have this--misconception?--about grief; I should be rejoicing, dancing in the streets, I don't know--and it feels as though I'm expected to just get over these deaths. Your loved ones are now in heaven! Yay! God will comfort you! It's okay to not be okay--but don't be not okay for too long, okay? You seem sad and we can't figure out why! Hurry up and get back to normal! We don't know what to do with this side of you! This is why people hide what they are going through; months and years later, their friends say, "I didn't know..." and "If only I had known..." People just don't want to deal with the ugly side of life. You're a drag, man. Get over it! Stop being sad! I haven't quite mastered it myself yet, but at some point, you get good at faking it. Life is great! Life is good! I'm fine, everything's fine! You do this to please those who are uncomfortable with your situation. You find yourself comforting those who are supposed to be comforting you.
Many people have suggestions for you--have you tried therapy? What about Vitamin D? Are you on anti-depressants ("Ummmm.... Maybe you should increase the dose...")? What about therapy? Are you taking care of yourself? What about a manicure or a massage or shopping? Maybe you've taken on too much and you should put your kids back in public school--you seem overwhelmed. What about therapy? Have you talked to your doctor? Ohhhhhh, have you heard about this vitamin infused water that worked for my great uncle's fish's cat's aunt when she lost her husband.... Oh, and have you tried therapy???? You should really try therapy!!!!
I'm so tired of people telling me they're sorry. Everyone is sorry. That's great. You want to know something? I'm sorry, too.
I'm going to throat punch the next person to suggest therapy and/or tell me how sorry s/he is.
The other thing about grief is this: it's cumulative. You may have 'dealt' with past grief, you may have come to a place in which you were at peace, but damn, let me tell you--with a new death, it will come right up and bite you on the ass all over again. For example: I had a really difficult day last week. I managed to keep it sort of together (by my current standards), but that night, after the kids went to bed, I opened our pantry and it smelled like my Nan's kitchen. The scent of coffee was overwhelming, and I just stood there in my pantry like an idiot, just crying, and inhaling the coffee scent over and over, missing my grandmother because I could really use her comfort and words of wisdom right now. That is cumulative grief.
I went to church last week for the first time since before my sister died, and realized it was still too soon. Just getting through the doors was a monumental feat. While some friends understood my body language and kept their respectful distance, I still felt inundated and overwhelmed and could not answer "how are you"; I waved friends off when they asked, I escaped, and choked back the tears, unsuccessfully. In all honesty, I felt like it set me back a bit in my 'recovery' process. I did not go this week. Unless there is a way for me to deflect attention from myself, I'm really not up for it.
I saw a social media post the other day about a woman who had to have her 19 year old cat put down. Nineteen years old. For nineteen years, they'd been together, through thick and thin. When she needed comfort, she turned to her cat. And on this day, perhaps when she needed comfort the most, her best friend wasn't there. And I guess that's another point to this post, and the misconceptions about grief--when you need comfort the most, on that day when the person you've always turned to isn't there, what are we supposed to do then? When we think of that funny joke, or we've had that bad day, or the good day we want to celebrate--that person isn't going to be there on the other end of the phone. Like my Nan. Or Shawn's mom. We need their comfort, their words of wisdom, whatever it is they can offer during these times especially--or we needed to apologize--but it's just a dial tone.
There's still so much about grief I don't understand and I continue to learn as I go. I suppose I will continue to try to teach as I learn as well, because, well, someone has to--right (hey, let's normalize grief!)? Admittedly, your grief journey may not look the same as mine, and you may read this, wondering what on earth I'm talking about. I welcome an open discussion. If your journey has been easier than my own, good for you. If I have offended you in the past with my response to your loss, please know I am sincerely, horribly apologetic (yep, I just said "I'm sorry,"--feel free to throat punch me), and my reactions in the future will be vastly different. I'm horrified with the things I've said to people suffering from grief, the things that now seem so trite, so rote, so--wrong. And while I meant them to be heartfelt--they were still so wrong to those I said them to. Friend, I love you, and I have no proper words.
