It’s true – I went to the movies last night and saw, A SOLITARY MAN,… by myself. Bada bum.
I go every week, it’s something Susan does for me. Yeah, she’s pretty great.
Speaking of Susan, she just posted on our blog with a beautiful discussion/essay on sympathy and time. It was a fascinating read for me. To wonder and think and progress? toward something positive – in my grieving process in relation to my interactions with others… hmm… well — as a topic – it just barely exists for me.
I am more or less conscious of who knows about Will and Tiger in my life – and I make an effort to mention them to those that don’t. Also, when mentioning them is a natural part of conversation, I try not to miss the chance to say their names (or refer to them). For instance, the other day at work, I went out for a team lunch. Simple enough. We made all the necessary small talk with a smidge of work stuff to assuage the guilt for the free lunch and fill the voids in conversation. We’re not really friends — they’re co-workers — if we’re not talking about work, there tends to be a fair amount of silence. Anyway, it came up about how I was running the Brooklyn half-marathon that weekend (I wasn’t bragging trust me- I am very humble, and not at all vain, in many ways I’m sort of a perfect human being, so I never brag). Okay, so, it came up, I don’t know how. and someone turns to me and asks, “why do you run rather than sit on the couch?” (because isn’t sitting on the couch more comfortable) – It was a joke – it was light. My response? The truth, I just said it, “Running helps me deal with trauma.” WHAM! Translation: “hey everyone – don’t forget – I had two sons die! Are you gonna eat those fries? Have you ever seen a dead baby? How dare you make small talk while I’m sitting here suffering! Ketchup, please.”
But here’s the thing, and – I have to qualify this by saying – maybe I haven’t thought about this enough – but — what I was thinking last night in that (really pretty bad) movie with Michael Douglass was. I feel so alone in my grief. For me – it is a solitary place. I don’t invite people there. I feel the need to honor my sons – and to be honest in my interactions with people – but – for the most part – everyone is entitled to a little sneak peek now and then – the rest of the time – forget it. This is my pain, my thing, when I think about Will and Tiger – it’s not that I want to keep it to myself – it’s more that I don’t think of anyone else – no one else exists.
Special, longer looks, are reserved for Susan. (or evidently -members of the Pregnancy Loss Support Group. I’m still shocked by my behavior there).
I don’t know. I don’t even know my point – I feel lonely I guess – I feel like the loss of Will and Tiger – their absence — this pain — my inability to include anyone else in it — has pushed me away from people (as if they weren’t far enough already).
Somehow – in spite of everything I’ve said – when I was at the table with a group of parents that have been through the same thing – and the time was set aside to talk about our children and loss — I don’t know — it opened me up. I felt like I was really with people.
Unfortunately, the Pregnancy Loss Support Group program lasted 6 weeks. Hmm – what to do with the rest of my life?
This post is so unclear and sloppy — there’s a writer’s voice inside me screaming bloody murder right now – oh well – he can get in line.