A couple months ago two of my good friends, an acquaintance
and myself made plans for a girls’ night getaway replete with spa treatments,
dinner out, cocktails and a hotel room. The four of us met at my buddy’s house
to discuss details. It was the first time I had seen this acquaintance since A died. She had sent a thoughtful card, but we hadn’t spoken or anything.
As I entered my friend’s house this acquaintance’s face immediately went somber
when she saw me. We hug and before she can say a word, I ask about her life and
new house. Then I quickly move on to greeting the others. I know she wants to
bring up A and the whole ordeal. But I honestly don’t want to discuss it right
then. We’re gathered to plan a fun outing, there are a handful of small
children running around. It just doesn’t feel right to me.
We pick a date and finalize it all. I am the first to leave.
Again I hug the acquaintance and this time she will not be silenced. She tells
me how sorry she is and that this is the first time she’s seen me since. “I
know. Thank you.” I respond. I well up and say how very difficult it is to be
here without A. The other girls tear up too. A minute later I leave.
I do want people
to acknowledge A’s life and death. I want them to recognize the hell I live
each day now. But I don’t always want to get into a conversation about it. Am I
trying to have it both ways? It’s so awkward to see people for the first time
since A died months out. Just another reason to burrow inside the house.
Fast forward to this week. Girls’ night out is approaching.
I have emailed my buddy twice in the past 6 days and she has not responded.
This is very unlike her. Then I get an email from her that opens, “I NEED to
talk to you.” I panic thinking something horrible has happened. I grab my phone
and dial her. She is calm and casual on the phone. “Is everything alright?” I
ask. “Oh yeah. I just really needed to hear your voice. I didn’t respond to your
(Dragon) email not that I didn’t read it hundreds of times, I just don’t
want to say the wrong thing.” Me, “I don’t know how to do this either.” (PS – I’m
the bereaved Mom here; your needs take a back seat. Including your need to hear
my voice. Sheesh!)
Our conversation continues on and we discuss the overnight
outing. She offers, “If you just want to come for the spa and dinner but not
stay the night, that would be okay. I mean you’re pregnant now. Plus I don’t
want you to be uncomfortable or any of us to be uncomfortable.” Ahh yes. There
it is.
I realize that my depression, grief and effed up reality is
difficult to witness and even harder to be around. I am awkward in social
situations now. I know how uncomfortable it is to be so close to me and my
grief – I live it EVERYDAY! But it’s not like I can just take it off for the
evening.
I know that I’m not fun to be around. I also know I’m the
worst friend ever right now. My survival cocoon doesn’t allow me to see, hear
or really care about what is happening in the lives of others. My instincts are
selfishly devoted to buoying myself and there is no energy left over to have
concern for others.
I cannot offer more at this time. You can either choose to
accept me as I am and what I can(‘t) give or not. I don’t have the resources to
put on a front for you or anyone else.
This is all especially disappointing because this particular
friend has often cried with me and always remembers and mentions A. Now what? *sigh*
Oh it's just so hard. I could have written this post myself. We know we are sad, depressed and self-centered. We know we are not fun, we are ackward and it is hard. But if it is hard for them. Think how hard it is to be us... Living it and breathing it every day. It isn't about them. It is our time to be selfish. It's hard to be anything but what we are. Grief has robbed us of the ability to chitchat, small talk and communicate easily
ReplyDeleteI have said this many times in the past year: "when it is the most difficult to be someone's friend is usually when they need friends the most"
I am so sorry you have to deal with the fall out of grief. It is on going and the snowball effect is horrible. Hugs to you.
"But if it is hard for them. Think how hard it is to be us... Living it and breathing it every day." So true Renel. I have one amazing friend who's a bit older (and wiser) than I. Had breakfast with her this past weekend and she didn't even flinch. She loves me unconditionally, even the ugly, nasty, sad bits. She is not put off by my sorrow or discomforted by my depression. She does not understand my grief, but she accepts it and she accepts this ramshackle version of me. No awkwardness for her nor on my part either. Just being together in acceptance. I am grateful to have a friend like that.
DeleteI know its hard, sometimes I even have a hard time posting- my words have left me. Codie and I have always generally been quiet and not very social so we dont have friends we hang with but even with relatives you have to develop a hard sheild to protect yourself from hurtful comments. Love to you.xo
ReplyDeleteI have to remind myself to stick with those instincts to selfishly devote my energy to trying to take care of myself, my husband and our babies. It is all I can manage and that has to be okay. Hearing that you and others feel similarly helps make me feel normal.
ReplyDeleteAll of my good friends live far away, so I have not seen them, but our friendships have changed. They were very supportive in the beginning and I am so thankful for that, but they've pulled back. It is hard, but obviously the loss of my closeness with them doesn't compare to missing Bear and I think the depressed me just doesn't care that much. That sounds so lame and I don't like feeling selfish, but I honestly feel like I am doing the best I can do and I hope someday (it may be a long time) I can give more to others. But it's just where I am right now. Hugs.
I don't think it's lame that the depressed version of you doesn't care all that much about the changes happening in your friendships. How can you? Your "caring well" is all dried up; it's 100% dedicated to survival for you, Puma, Kirk and of course Bear's legacy (as you continue to discover what that is). You don't have any caring capacity left. Let alone energy! I also loathe feeling like this, but it's useless fighting it. Our boys are gone. Our lives are a disaster. We're trying to make sense of the wreckage.
DeleteIt is just where you are right now. And where I am right now. Yes. And we are both closer to being okay with that.
It's so hard to feel like this, isn't it? We are hard people to be around right now, and I am definitely more inclined right now to hide out at home, keep myself away. But then there's the worry that if I stay away too long, there won't be anyone there when I am ready to come back. Sometimes I think this is fine; other times it really scares me. Sometimes I think that these times, several months out, are much, much worse than the first few weeks and months. Then, the pain was suffocating but there was no expectation, from my friends or family or from myself, to be anything but devastated. Trying, now, to figure out how to just keep moving forward in life without my baby - that is so much harder, but I don't think others see how it is, and I just end up feeling so alone.
ReplyDeleteOh god the expectations. For me the expectations I put on myself are the most demanding. I should go to the neighborhood block party and meet more folks on the street. I ought to attend the BBQ with the in-laws. I should get off the couch and clean this filthy house or finish A's baby book, or go to the gym, or weed the garden, or, or, or....
DeleteI'm trying a new perspective. My heart and soul are broken right now. If my hip were broken, I'd be instructed to stay off it and rest. Although no one can prescribe how best to heal my heart and soul, it's easier to give myself permission to sit on the couch, or stay away from outings if I consider how laid up I'd be with a physical ailment.
I could have written this, too. But I must say that I admire your courage to put yourself out there and make the effort to connect with your friends. And you're right - they're on to the dramas of their own lives while you get to stay put in your drama for, well, for a looooong time. You're not the worst friend right now. You're trying. You're putting yourself out there and trying to connect and make plans. It's just a really messed up time, and we don't have the social or cultural container to hold our particular experience of despair. I wonder if your girlfriends would be up to holding some kind of ritual for A during the girls night out- taking just a bit of time to specifically honor or remember her in some way. Is there anything that you could ask your girlfriends to do, even if it's just support you as you take some time to light a candle and read a poem and tell them a little bit about your baby? It might help them feel like they're supporting you. But unfortunately, you might have to take the lead on that one.
ReplyDeleteYeah, I'm a downer right now. Seriously. The grief sucks the air out of the room for sure. It's been a year, and there are still friends I haven't seen since I was pregnant. It's just too painful. I know that some of my friends get that, and honestly, those are the only friends I have room for now.
"The grief sucks the air out of the room for sure." You hit the nail on the head Suzanne. I feel that way even around "supportive" friends, family and colleagues. I don't want to be treated like a leper but I don't want to be patronized either. I guess I'm not entirely sure how I want the interactions to go. Frankly, I don't have the brain power to ponder it.
DeleteI hope your weekend goes alright!
ReplyDeleteI just found this new link and thought of your previous post about dead baby cards so I thought I'd pass it along...
http://www.tinyprints.com/shop/memorial-announcements.htm
Remarkable timing! I just had a gentle push of inspiration right now to start browsing memorial cards for A's birthday (not until October). Before I start searching the internet I decide to quickly check my email and there is your comment! Must be BLM ESP! Thank you so much.
ReplyDelete