I came across a post on a personal blog this morning that referenced the poster’s friend’s death and was particularly stricken not so much by her loss today, (this woman has suffered much worse loss than this recent one. She in fact, lost both of her sons only 9 months apart, which she refers to as her “reverse pregnancy”.), as by the following tidbit, which echoed my own experience while grieving the death of my husband, Jerry.
sage diva (follow the link at her sc forum page to her pesonal blog) wrote that people often offered her seemingly supportive statements such as:
“you can handle this ~your strong”
She then remarked:
( I believe said more for the speakers reassurance than mine)
Wow! Did that resonate with me!! I’m feeling not so much lazy this morning as afire to post on a couple of different topics for this somehow myriad aspected “Humpday”, so forgive me as I take the original comment I left for Sage, and edit it to further express my feelings on this subject. I’m not going to bother much with formatting, so if you care to see the original comment, you’ll have to head over to the SC Forums where I met this awesome woman.
from Thorne
Condolences for your loss, dear woman.
You said a mouthful there, babes. I know I can’t possibly identify with the loss of your sons, (IMO, one of the only things one can say in the face of such a loss, unless you have experienced the loss of a child, yourself) but I have some experience with grief.(.. usually pretty okay. Even though in my experience we all feel devastatingly alone and unique in our personal loss, offering the grieving person some basis for connection can be an implied offer of empathy and support) I lost my “soulmale”- husband, partner, friend and love in Jan. ’98.
Nothing made me crazier than those types of sentiments when i wanted to scream
“Strong?! Do you have any idea how bad it sux to be strong?? If I weren’t strong I wouldn’t have to feel this; I could just die or kill myself. “
“Sometimes it seems like being strong is a curse!”,
This is so true for me. In the months after my husband’s death… over a year, actually- a year and 4 months before I had my “breakdown” (a polite euphemism for PTSD causing me to come about a cunt hair from turning the wheel of my lil toyota truck into an oncoming semi at 90 MPH, almost without thought.. but that’s a story for another post) I often came face to face with the fear of losing my child. My first thought was that I couldn’t live through that. My second thought was more horrifying than the first… that I would live through it. That is the horror that this woman, sagediva, is living through/with.
Prolly the only thing worse than being told how “strong” I was, was when someone would offer me some other meaningless platitude that I felt said more about their discomfort with my pain, than with any true desire to be of support or assistance.
“He’s in a better place”.
Yeah?? Fuck you and your better place!!! LOL.
One night a couple months after Jerry died, when I couldn’t swallow the outpouring of my grief for another second, and yet was unwilling to subject my also suffering daughter to another extreme outburst, I headed for one of my usual sources of support. A meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Now, I’m a reasonably self aware person, and was then. So knowing and understanding human nature, and myself and my own desires pretty well that night, I had a plan. I would slide into the meeting only minutes after it had begun, sit in the back, and raise my hand to share only in the last minutes of the meeting. Then, after the closing circle (or prayer), I’d slip out as quietly as I’d come in. This way, I hoped, I’d be able to vent my grief and loss and rage at my powerlessness and still avoid having someone try to “fix” me. I was in the “anger” stage (which really isn’t a stage, but comes and goes in waves along with the rest of the so-called “stages of grief”), and I really didn’t want to go off on some poor, well meaning schmuck.
I was at the door; almost free when it happened. There she was, blocking my path with her knitting needles and yarn hastily bundled to her chest rather than stowed neatly in her bag, a look of concerned compassion crinkling her brow. Fuck!! I glanced left and peered right, desperate for a secure route, but to no avail! She had me! Enveloped in a White Shoulders scented hug (and poked in the ribs with a knitting needle), she squeezed. My thoughts raced. A hug, okay… I can still make it. I hug her back and attempt to disengage, but her hands on my arms disallow this without use of force. As I see the look in her eyes I realize I’m doomed. I briefly consider grabbing one of those wicked needles and jamming it into her eye and through her brain, but too late… her words are out, the condescending superiority of her tone echoed in her words:
“Remember, dear… He’s in a better place”.
I thought I did pretty well under the circumstances.
“Don’t you get that this isn’t about him? This is about me. My pain. My grief is about me, and the fact that he’s not here with me. Do you think it makes me feel better to think that wherever he is his heart isn’t breaking like mine is?? How can you possibly imagine that would comfort me? It’s my loss, my grief. I’m sorry that my pain makes you feel so powerless that you need to try to “fix” me.”
Did I mention it was a bad day?
So, yeah. I know that most people are so uncomfortable with death and with their own mortality as well as with the expression of deep pain by others. What I knew even before I experienced losses of my own was that everyone’s experience is unique. I may think I can imagine your loss, but that’s the best I can do… imagine it. If I can offer any true sentiment it is this: “My condolences for your loss”. or this: “I’m sorry for your loss”. because if I care about the person, or even if I simply care to be polite, those are the only words I have!!!
I’m sorry for what you’re going through!!! I wish I could help, but I have no idea what would be helpful to you!!! I can offer my services, my assistance with “stuff”. I can cook you food, I can clean your house, walk your dogs, take your kids to school, make phone calls, take phone calls, (so you don’t have to… so you can grieve without worrying about it), or I can sit quietly while you do these things because it’s your way of coping. I can listen while you cry, rage, tell stories. I can offer stories of my own if I have them. I can hold you if you wish; or not, if you don’t.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, if a person has suffered a loss, it’s their grief. Another person can’t “fix” it for them, no matter their discomfiture. No matter how uncomfortable, or fearful, or powerless it makes that person feel.
So for this first of a couple of Humpday posts, I’m wishing that people who are uncomfortable with death, grief and loss in themselves “Get Over It”! It’s NOT about you! Stop offering platitudes and bullshit to people who are suffering. It doesn’t help.
