Sometimes when I sound peeved or critical, I'm really just in pain. I suppose, like most people, I subconsciously think that if I fall back onto anger or argumentativeness I'll be heard. The problem is, these never bring me the response I want, or really need.
Since Deni's death I've felt all alone in my grief. Lynette was in France when I received the call. What I needed was a friend to ask me, "How are you doing? Do you need me to come over? Do you need to talk?" Instead, I went through it all alone and, while my writing demands I have a lot of alone time, I really don't do very well alone in emotional situations. Although I act like I'm okay, I'm not handling this very well at all. Losing Deni is right up there with losing my dad and Frank. I didn't feel heard by my doctor yesterday, either, and that added to the weight that I feel crushing me from the inside. Finally, I just quit trying to be heard. I smile, I nod, I listen, I clam up. I buck up, chide myself, shake it off. It all passes and I forget.
Implosion.
In time, the dust will settle.
In the waiting room yesterday, a sick little boy shrieked and cried in a vain attempt to get his mother's attention. But no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to move her hands and arms, to move her face to his--to make eye contact with her--she remained glued to her cell phone. This went on for a good 10 minutes until the nurse called them in to see the doctor. Then she was cranky and dispassionate, angry that her sick toddler would need her attention and that taking him to see the doctor interfered with her texting and online time. I'm ashamed to say, I understood just how he felt.
This post is not an attempt to get attention. I'm already dealing with things in my own way, and anything anyone might do now, after the fact, would just come off as contrived anyway. I just needed to get my feelings out. To be heard.
And then, of course, the other voice in me speaks up: "Oh, grow up. Nobody feels heard. Get over it. People are going to take offense to your pathetic cry, so f***in' shut up. Whiny baby."
The real problem is that I'm a strong person and have weathered storms that would drown most people. A lot of people think that I simply don't have my weak moments. I might appear completely capable and maybe they think I'd be insulted, or embarrassed, if they offered emotional support. I never ask for help, you know, so...
Anyway, I just needed to say these things. During Deni's illness (hell, for the past 20 years) I couldn't say what I really felt, and now it's all crashing down around me.
Explosion.
In time, the dust will settle.
3 comments:
When someone is grieving as you are, most people feel inadequate to express their sympathy/support because quite frankly, their sympathy IS inadequate. So they do the best they can to show their support and caring. Most of your closest friends, unfortunately, are either far away or were going through their own grief for the various losses in their lives. You were with Deni when she received the news of Nikki's death, and you, yourself have said numerous times over that even your presence with her as she traveled back to her home was inadequate to support her in the grief she felt. In fact, your friendship was inadequate to support her in her grief for the entire rest of her life because she closed down so much that no one could get in.
I was in France, but I called twice when I learned of Deni's death. Inadequate as that was, there was nothing else I could do. But quite frankly, there would have been nothing I could have done if I were here, either. I didn't know Deni as you did, so I'm not feeling the pain and the loss that you're feeling. The pain and the loss that I'M feeling is the pain that I experience over the pain that you're going through, and my inability to comfort you or ease your pain.
Vent away! Explode! Implode! We blog people are "here" in a sense--hopefully that's helpful.
Very powerful post, and it resonated with me. I wonder, with the increasing dependence that some folks have on technology like cell phones, if we are not losing the ability to "be heard" in person. I have seen scenes like the one you related with the little boy...only with adults taking a call as another adult was trying to talk with them. It seems very sad.
A wise man I knew once said, "Your presence is a present" meaning that being "present" in the moment - actually LISTENING to the other person, rather than being distracted or thinking of what you would say next or thinking of what you'd do later that day was a rare and precious thing.
I try to remember that in my daily dealings with people. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes I forget, especially when I don't feel "heard" myself.
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