SELF PROTECTION

Maybe we all do go through losses like his death alone on some level.  

For me the supportive presence of my neighbors,, my family and my friends allowed me to begin to stitch together a new framework for being that was different because Andrew had died. 

I did not really understand that he was dead and physically gone forever. I do not think I understand that now. In some way he is just away. My sister Kathy died last August and I feel the same about her.

 I was explaining this way of being with death to Marnie and she told me it was the same with her. She added that she felt it was her way of protecting herself from losses that were just too big. It was as if she was describing me exactly. 

NOT ALONE

Friends and family were bringing me things, food, pictures and anecdotes. 

They were writing me notes about Andrew—wonderful notes. 

They were holding my hand and telling me by their presence that I was not alone and not the only one who had lost him. 

What all of those wonderful people did was keep me sane. Could I have gone through Andrew death alone?

MY SAFETY NET

For me, it seemed to me like the sheer presence of people held me in a safety net, prevented me from falling into a dark, empty place. 

They were holding me when I did not have anything to hold onto. They were adding their life to mine to lift me over a dangerous passage that had no bridge or guardrails. 

They were guiding, holding, running interference, and scouting ahead to anticipate rough and dangerous spots. 

BEING THERE FOR OTHERS

Of course there was also ambivalence. In some way, I wanted it all to be over and everyone to go home—but I was also aware that the line would end and it would be over. 

After thinking about folks being there for me I shifted to the thought, “Have I been there for others?”

     “Not enough” is the answer. I had not realized the importance of simply showing up. What was I thinking when I just decided not to go sometimes.
     
It seems shocking now to me that I did not realize that in some very important way each of us counts the absolute same. 
       
     

BEING THERE

Last week, June 10, 2011, I read an article in the New York Times called You Look Great’ and Other Lies, by Bruce Feiler that recants the experience of being with family and friends during his bout with bone cancer. 

The result is a distillation of do’s and don’ts for being with people in distress.

In the author’s list, things not to say included:” What can I do to help?”, My thoughts and prayers are with you”; “Everything will be okay”; “How are we today?”;  “You look great”.

 What to say included: “Don’t write me back;  “ I should be going now or I love you.” 

I wondered when I read it if I was missing something important. I was overwhelmingly grateful that so many people reached out to us when Andrew died. I was afraid no one would come. That his death and our loss would somehow go unnoticed or unmourned. 

As weary and terrified as I was of having Andrew’s wake at our house, I was more concerned that few would come. It felt right that people would not know what to say or how to be me with me. I did not know what to say or how to be with them.  My over whelming feeling was thank God you are here. 

JUST BEING THERE

As I have mentioned before, when Andrew died, family and friends surrounded us. 

We were making many decisions. I was hit full force with a terrible blow every time I had to make another choice, see another picture, read another note. 

My family and friends held me, held us. Their presence was a miracle of caring. 

I now understand what true caring is. I was literally carried along. The energy of others to be there, for whatever reason, be it love, caring, curiosity, pity, voyeurism somehow transferred to me and supported and insulated, distracted, and cared for me.

GETTING SIDETRACKED

     I am getting side tracked again. I was talking about the relief I felt. 

     Reading back over this I realize that what I actually felt was largely numb. 

     The relief was mixed together with a tornado of feeling that was simply too big and all encompassing. I was stunned, horrified, hypersensitive and on autopilot.