Time for a reminder

Warning:  this is a very honest and long post.  Continue at your own risk and don't think I'm speaking to a specific person.

     I think that's it time for a reminder on the kinds of things to say and to not say. 

      It seems that, as time goes on, friends and acquaintances seem to feel freer to give advise or maybe what they think is "encouragement".  

      I have to say that I love my friends dearly and don't know how I'd have coped this long without them.  Each is different and each helps in their own unique way.  And I'm not just talking about my so-called "inner circle" (I hate that phrase).  When I use the word "friend" I'm  talking about friends who say hi at church, or the grocery store, or tennis courts, etc.  I'm talking about Jim's friends and co-workers and school board members.  I consider all of you to be my friends -- our friends.  And I am not talking about one, or two, or even six people.  It seems to be a common thing and something I've probably even done in the past.  I know that you say and do every single thing out of love and only out of love.  But I'm continuing my attempt to be honest here.  Very, very honest.  You've all encouraged me to do that and I hope that you really mean it.  Because I need it.

But what I need from you is you, not your advice or fear of what I'm facing or not facing.  Not your fear that I'm in or out of counseling.  Not your fear that my relationship with my children is not what it should be.  Not your fear that my children are not talking enough.  Not of how I will feel in the future at certain events or when things happen.

   

     This is because you - have - no - idea.  None.  You are not in my shoes and you cannot give me advise unless I ask for it.  Please.   

I am doing the best I can.  It may not be not be what your best would be, but it's the best I can do.  And frankly, I think I'm doing pretty damn good, all things considered.  And so are my kids.  And so are my kids AND me.

      Another widow sent me this writing and I'm going to post it here (the author is unknown).  Many of the things she writes are things I've already posted here, but some are different.

I hope that you all remember that I love you and, again, there is NO finger pointing here.  I think this happens with most grieving people.  It seems to be quite common.  That's all I'm going to say, other than I need you.  All of you.  Each of you.

And I just thought it was time for a reminder (All emphases are mine). 

HOW YOU CAN HELP ME

Please talk about my loved one, even though he is gone. It is more
comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk
about him, and I need to do it over and over.

Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get
comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know
when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.

Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You
can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid
to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I
most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come
over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You
can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you
to know that."

Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I
feel only if you really have time to find out.

I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel
that you don't see me.

I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm
grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after
my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For
I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was
with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had for watching our
children and grandchildren grow, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.

I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my
loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and
love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be,
and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear.
Both are okay.

I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has
happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just
not acceptable.

When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and
alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't
make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.

Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start
dating again. I'm not ready. And maybe I don't want to. And besides,
what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes after will always be someone different.

I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get
on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on
many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think
it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So
please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and
support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget
and there will always be times that I cry.

I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your
hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need
to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in
my own way, and in my own time.

Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you
because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could
do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you
some ideas:

(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
(b) Send me a card on special holidays, his birthday, and the
anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can't
make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the
opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.
(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I
may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me
because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up
then I really will be alone.
(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples,
to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely.
Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel
deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm
experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't
be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.

Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to
slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.

Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding. Thank
you for praying for me.

And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be with you.