Wow, it\’s been a while. Hello.
This post will explain a lot of why it has been so long.
First of all, I had a health issue-which is fully resolved, thankfully. All of July and August were taken up with my first ambulance rides, my first ER visit where I didn\’t walk in myself, an endoscopic procedure, my first-ever hospital stay, and then surgery 6 weeks later. I no longer have a gall bladder! And YES-it was a solvable issue. For that I am grateful. ALSO YES: it was scary, and trauma-triggering, and wore me out.
And then, about 8 weeks ago, my father died.
That is a really strange sentence to write, although it was not a shock. In some ways it was a relief.
When I have the energy, I\’ll tell the story. He was 78. He had been sick a while. I am deeply relieved that he is no longer suffering. And I will miss him every day for the rest of my life.
I had forgotten how afraid people are of grief. How most do not say: how are you doing SINCE YOUR FATHER DIED. If they just say \”how are you doing?\” I honestly don\’t know how to answer. Okay? Not okay? Sad AF? Depends on the day? How do you *think* I\’m doing?
I had forgotten how rare it is for people to reach out with a call, or just a text message. Or they say \”let me know if you need anything\”, but don\’t realize that when we do need something, we are unlikely to even have the energy to ask. that when we need to cry, and don\’t want to be alone, we aren\’t comfortable just calling. Grief is a lonely, broken-hearted road. Much more so when the people in your life give you a wide berth.
I\’m aware that most people don\’t do this to be hurtful, or are even aware of it. I have acquired my capacity to sit with the pain of others via my own losses, and what I do for a living. But knowing that it is not on purpose does not dull the sting of the isolation. Of the feeling not only bereaved, but invisible in it.
I have written about my loss of Amy, my closest friend, my framily, my \”person\” on here, many times. (HERE is one. HERE is another.)Her death was not expected, she was young; to say it was a devastating shock is quite the understatement. Shortly before she died, though, a dear friend lost a child in childbirth. Horrific. I have no children, so I can\’t even begin to imagine losing one-especially AS they are being born. She called me from the hospital. She had two little kids at home, and a long recovery.
I went and bought her a card. I wrote what I hoped were supportive things that conveyed my love and support, from hundreds of miles away. I addressed it, put a stamp on it, and put it on my table.
And then kept forgetting to send it. Each day, I didn\’t send it. Looking back, I think I was, well, scared. I was afraid of her pain, of not feeling like I could help her feel any better. Every day when I came home and saw that card, addressed and stamped, still on my dining room table, I felt more guilty. I felt terrible for what she was going through, freaked out by what she was going through, and impotent to help her feel better.
Finally, I sent it. \”Better late than never,\” I thought.
A few days later she called me. What she said to me was a surprise, and a great lesson.
She said:\”Isn\’t this just like you!\”
me: (huh?)
\”now that it\’s been a while and the hub-bub has quieted down, here I get this lovely card from you. You are so thoughtful, and supportive. How did you know I\’d need this now?\” Well, of course, I didn\’t. I mean, I didn\’t tell her \”no, I\’m not thoughtful and sensitive. I FORGOT. I procrastinated.\”
A few weeks later, Amy died. And I experienced exactly what my friend described. There was a flurry of people and shiva and food and tissues and hugs, and for a while a steady stream of phone calls and invitations for dinner or just to come be with people. And that dwindled, pretty quickly. Suddenly, I felt mostly alone in the (to date) most devastating time in my life. And then, about six weeks after Amy died, I got a card from the mother of a friend, a bonus mom, a soul mama. Full of love and comfort in her big, swirly cursive writing. I wept, for my grief, but also for feeling seen, and not alone.
So now I wait, on purpose. I wait a few weeks so that in the likely event that the support has slowed, they person gets my card, or flowers, or email. I don\’t have any expectation of a response, but I welcome it.
If you know someone who is grieving, reach out. However you are comfortable. If you don\’t feel comfortable calling, text. Or send a card. Or just a note.
Also: it gets much harder before it gets easier. When the loss first happens, there is a shock and often an outpouring of support. That abates quickly. Then there is just raw grief, emptiness, a person that you loved no longer there. It\’s a heavy absence, and a deafening silence. So if it\’s been a few weeks or a few months, still reach out. ESPECIALLY if it\’s been a few weeks, or a few months.
It will mean more than you could ever imagine.
[image: two sets of palm-up open hands, overlapping and facing each other, with the top set of hands holding a red heart]