I want to talk about grief. Not the normal grief of losing a grandparent or a parent in the normal timeline of things. I mean the loss of a child or spouse being ripped out of your life before their time, out of the natural order of things. It goes against everything your brain and heart can comprehend.
I want to effing talk about it. I want to talk about how your face changes and morphs into what I call the “grief mask” when you’re in the throws of unbearable sorrow and you don’t recognize the horrible face in the mirror.
I want to talk about the unbearable loneliness. Where nobody understands the immensity of your loss. And maybe the one person you may know that has lost a spouse or a child doesn’t call or talk to you because they can’t bear to go back to that place of grief that they barely escaped from. And you understand that. So you don’t reach out.
I want to talk about all the times people text you a heart emoji to let you know they’re thinking of you and sending you their love, which you so appreciate, but it’s not nearly enough. You need a hug. You need someone to come sit with you. You need someone to show up with a pizza, chocolate, a box of tissues and a bottle of wine. You need someone who’s willing to stay for awhile and listen to all the horrible thoughts and questions racing through your mind. You need someone to show up with their dog for an hour and let you hug it and feel some unconditional love for a few brief moments. But nobody wants to go there with you. They are busy leading their happy lives. And you understand that because you used to be one of them, and you used to do the same thing – briefly reaching out to someone in need, and letting them know you’re thinking of them, but you have things you need to do.
I want to talk about the fact that you don’t reach out, even though you desperately need a hug, and want to cry on someone’s shoulder, and have someone tell you that it’s going to be okay, and things will get better, and you will survive this, and there is life on the other side of this. Because you already know by experience that nobody really wants to sit and listen to the horrible, scary grief words coming out of your mouth.
The very few people who are still around you trying to help, try to distract you by saying let’s go out, or tell you to watch funny movies and videos, or go do something fun. And you understand that they can’t go into the depths of hell with you, because it’s too scary. But you also know that you can’t pretend for them today. You’re too exhausted and too sad, and today you just can’t play the part of being okay. You just can’t. And you don’t want to worry your friends and family, and you don’t want to scare them away with your real feelings because you need them. They’re all you have. So you stay isolated. Which is half what you need and want, and half what you really don’t need for fear of getting swallowed up and drowning in the darkness.