Grief has made me into an inconsiderate person.
Yesterday at the grocery I ran into someone I had not seen in several months. He made the mistake of asking me how I was—I immediately went into the litany of parental death, shoulder/knee issues, and other things. After we parted, I did half of my shopping before I realized that I failed to ask that person how he was. Fortunately I saw him coming down the aisle, so I stopped him, apologized, and heard some really interesting stuff.
Surely I learned my lesson. Not so. I emailed one of the people who attended Dad’s graveside service last month to thank her for her kindness to my family. Her spouse of fifty-five years died only six months before Dad. Did I ask her how she was doing? Of course not. When I awakened this morning, I re-read the sent email and cringed. So I wrote another email to apologize and check on her.
Inadvertent thoughtlessness is something I am guilty of from time to time, as most of us are. But presently for me, it seems the norm rather than the exception. I feel too self absorbed for my own good. Yes, I know I just suffered a double bereavement and that I need some time to heal, etc, etc. That is no excuse to ignore the needs of my friends, even if the need is just to be acknowledged.
Unfortunately, my friends have many needs right now. I am not the only person experiencing grief. This morning I saw on a high school friend’s Spacebook page this status update: The doctor has pulled the plug on (my husband’s) chemo because his body just can't take any more! The doctor says he may only live a few more weeks to a few more months! My heart is breaking but Jesus is cradling us in the palm of His hand! Wow. Then I read that the husband of a fellow blogger collapsed and died unexpectedly yesterday. What a shock.
No, I’m not the only person grieving today. Lord, let me not act as though I am. Remind me to continue to pray something like this excerpt from a Compline prayer: Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Catching up, Part II
Only one post in a month and a half.
This grieving stuff is not for sissies, that is for sure. So much has gone through my mind, so many thoughts and feelings and realizations, that it seems too much to post. Perhaps it is too personal. I feel extraordinarily vulnerable. After all, if Mom could die, I can too, or Taciturn or Only Son or my grandchildren. I read an article in the NY Times yesterday about allowing children to walk alone anywhere. That put me into a crying panic thinking about my blond, lovely 7 year old granddaughter who strolls around her neighborhood at will and what would happen to her and to us if someone snatched her off the street? Normally I don't react like that to newspaper articles.
Besides being vulnerable, I feel at times blank and empty. The emptiness cries to be filled, so I'm eating with gusto. My frame remained trim for a long time after the sojourn at WW. But in just under six weeks, I've put on ten pounds! It was embarrassing to go to lunch with a friend and to be so busy stuffing my face that I could not talk with her. I was mortified but still I kept shoveling it in as if my very life depended on it. I apologized profusely for the sin of gluttony. She was great about it. Unfortunately, that scene has been repeated many time in private.
Lots of stuff. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy; after all, almost everyone my age has lost a parent and they all can still function! I remind myself I only see what is presented to the public. When I confess in conversation what has happened, I find that those who have lost a parent are wonderful. At coffee hour today, for example, a woman burst into tears when I mentioned Mom had died; we were just talking about how we spent our summers. She told me later in the conversation that she was a wreck for a full year after her mother died, so I should be gentler with myself. After all, this is a fresh, new wound.
I appreciated that. And I appreciate that no one is telling me to have more faith in God, pray more, etc. One of my friends gave me a booklet called Good Grief that was written for Christians who are struggling with loss. On of the problems the writer discusses is the idea that Christians are to rejoice always, so it is tempting to feel guilt over feeling grief. He points out that even Jesus grieved.
Dad and I chat on the phone once a week, especially now that everyone has gone back to school/work/daycare and he is alone most of the day. He seems to be doing as well as can be expected.
Although I'm not blogging, I am doing my morning pages almost every day. Since no one sees them but me, I can pour out what needs to be. It helps. I'm also on Facebook, but I find I'm wasting lots of time there. If I've learned nothing else from Mom's death, it is that time is finite. Giving up Facebook actually occurred to me. I'm not prepared to do that, but to be there less would be good.
Recalling that it does get a bit better each day, I look forward to tomorrow.
This grieving stuff is not for sissies, that is for sure. So much has gone through my mind, so many thoughts and feelings and realizations, that it seems too much to post. Perhaps it is too personal. I feel extraordinarily vulnerable. After all, if Mom could die, I can too, or Taciturn or Only Son or my grandchildren. I read an article in the NY Times yesterday about allowing children to walk alone anywhere. That put me into a crying panic thinking about my blond, lovely 7 year old granddaughter who strolls around her neighborhood at will and what would happen to her and to us if someone snatched her off the street? Normally I don't react like that to newspaper articles.
Besides being vulnerable, I feel at times blank and empty. The emptiness cries to be filled, so I'm eating with gusto. My frame remained trim for a long time after the sojourn at WW. But in just under six weeks, I've put on ten pounds! It was embarrassing to go to lunch with a friend and to be so busy stuffing my face that I could not talk with her. I was mortified but still I kept shoveling it in as if my very life depended on it. I apologized profusely for the sin of gluttony. She was great about it. Unfortunately, that scene has been repeated many time in private.
Lots of stuff. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy; after all, almost everyone my age has lost a parent and they all can still function! I remind myself I only see what is presented to the public. When I confess in conversation what has happened, I find that those who have lost a parent are wonderful. At coffee hour today, for example, a woman burst into tears when I mentioned Mom had died; we were just talking about how we spent our summers. She told me later in the conversation that she was a wreck for a full year after her mother died, so I should be gentler with myself. After all, this is a fresh, new wound.
I appreciated that. And I appreciate that no one is telling me to have more faith in God, pray more, etc. One of my friends gave me a booklet called Good Grief that was written for Christians who are struggling with loss. On of the problems the writer discusses is the idea that Christians are to rejoice always, so it is tempting to feel guilt over feeling grief. He points out that even Jesus grieved.
Dad and I chat on the phone once a week, especially now that everyone has gone back to school/work/daycare and he is alone most of the day. He seems to be doing as well as can be expected.
Although I'm not blogging, I am doing my morning pages almost every day. Since no one sees them but me, I can pour out what needs to be. It helps. I'm also on Facebook, but I find I'm wasting lots of time there. If I've learned nothing else from Mom's death, it is that time is finite. Giving up Facebook actually occurred to me. I'm not prepared to do that, but to be there less would be good.
Recalling that it does get a bit better each day, I look forward to tomorrow.
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