Lessons Learned

I can't put a word to what I'm feeling. I feel too much, too often. And not enough. So without the real ability to name what and how, I feel weird.

Sadness, at times, threatens to engulf me. And somehow, sometimes, I can push it away.

Example #1. Last Saturday. I went over to a friend's house to pick up a tank top I had left there. (Let's not be thinking this is scandalous, okay? I had another tank top underneath.) I walked up to the backyard where he and two of his friends were, and he- almost immediately- asked if I was I had just gotten bad news. Sadness is in the way I walk, in the way I talk, and it shows in my eyes. That day, I knew not to hug anyone for too long, for fear of my eyes turning into faucets. Fast forward to a few hours later. I return to said house for a party. Well, rewind a sec. I knew about said party, and made sure that some of my girl friends were going- whenever I go some place, I must have my "safe" people to go with. People that know, that are kind and comforting, and people that know what it means to ask or not ask. Okay, fast forward again. This time, I put on my party face. I forgot about everything I was thinking, and just spent the time hanging out. Just like "before". Sometimes, I feel like it's a glimpse of normal. Like maybe my wound isn't gaping open, and instead is a scar. Back to reality after I leave the party. But for those couple of hours, I can be a real person again... one that isn't hurting or worrying or sad or totally uncomfortable with the idea that someone might start asking too many questions.

I echo what Adam wrote today on Meghan's blog... it's hard to know when it's okay to smile. Or when it's okay to cry. Or what is appropriate.

I get angry a lot these days. Mostly at people and their reactions to what is happening. I get mad that they don't know, and mad if they do know and have dumb responses. So here is some advice to those that are unfamiliar with what to do for a person going through the grieving process.

Lesson #1. Never ever ever ever tell someone who is grieving what you think would be good for them. It's not for you to decide. ie- what you should be doing in order to "get over" it and/ or "move on." Little else makes me want to punch said person in the face.

Lesson #2. Their grieving process has nothing to do with you. It's not about you. This person is doing all they can to make it through the day, much less having to deal with you and your suggestions and/or emotions. Don't even attempt to put your emotions onto them.

Lesson #3. It's a nice sentiment to tell the person that you're there for them, if they ever want to talk. Chances are, they'll talk to you when they're ready... so don't pressure them into talking immediately.

Lesson #4. As soon as the person informs you of the situation, it is generally not advisable to ask the person what happened. As in... how did they die? Not good. You'll get details eventually, and your morbid curiosity is not helpful.

Lesson #5. Short and sweet is usually the best option when responding to the news. Good example: "Man, I am so sad for you. I'm praying for you." Bad example: "I am sooooo sorry. He/She was such a good person. You look just like him/her. I bet you're really sad. Are you sad? I mean... he/she was so young. You must be heartbroken." Grieving persons don't need you to give them words to express themselves. Your seeming empathetic words are not helping at this specific moment in time.

Lesson #6. Give the person time. Give them space. But also don't stop inviting them. You could say... "Hey, I'm not sure if you'll be up to it, but tonight, I'm going to be watching a movie and drinking copious amounts of wine. If you're interested, you've got a spot on my couch."

Lesson #7. Sometimes, the person just wants to have "regular" conversations. It's okay to just talk about things you used to talk about.

I wish I knew how and what to feel. Or think. Or that I was even able to differentiate between emotions and could source them. But it seems as if- at least right now- I just have general emotion toward general everything.

One day, one step at a time, it will get less painful. It might turn into a dull ache, rather than a sharp pain... but until then, one foot in front of the other.



*k