A person who I want to thank, now, while we are here.
WARNING: Potential for discomfort caused from over-sentimentalism. Somewhat mature audiences only, preferably those in touch with their estrogen-infused DNA.
A piece of non-fiction.
People are different. Our personalities, experiences, motivations, and thinking are all unique so it should not be surprising to discover that one person’s grieving process may differ from that of another. However, many people judge and project their own ideas of how a person should cope with another person’s death, perhaps they do this as part of the grieving process?
The recommendations which turned into unveiled threats of both your and my dead mom’s disappointment did not go unheard. My grief was inconsolable and my crazy crying was not a means for attention. I was situated in the women’s lounge as far away as I could possibly get from..everything. Just let me go…just let me go home. I pleaded this to myself as I cried and cried. Annoying to so many, I know. “You should go and see her…”, “She would have wanted you to…”, “Make her proud.”
Shut up, shut up shut up. Please, just shut up.
Finally, after six hours of my sorrow being forced to show itself in an unfamiliar and unwelcome place, the deeply sighed, “Just go. What good are you here.”
Exactly. What good was I there. The religious ritual was not mine, will never be mine. The grief was suffocating and choking off all my energy and air. I had nothing left to give and not enough strength to share anything with these people in this place. The tsk-tsking, the sad sighs, the questions, the comments were all so unbearable.
I walked outside. It was cold and sunny and the haze of my grief lifted enough so that I was able to notice the person who had just arrived. He was dressed in a suit, as the rules dictate, and approached me easily. He didn’t appear to be taken aback by my startling appearance which I undoubtedly wore as I had sobbed uncontrollably for at least six hours straight. He walked up to me and said nothing, not one word. He simply put his arms around me and hugged me tightly and then mumbled a soft, “I am sorry, Val.” His comforting embrace caused the tears to start streaming anew once again, but it was okay as his kind gesture said more to me than any of the words spoken at me all day. I felt compassion, kindness, empathy and - could it be? - understood.
And so I write this, today, so many years later to say thank you. It meant a lot to me, obviously, as I recall it clearly this many years later.
Oh, and I write it now, because the person I described above is now my FB friend, so maybe he will read this, but not sure if he will remember it. Thank you, MC, for your kindness. I will never forget this simple, yet powerful, gesture.
