Wearing Black

When did the tradition of wearing all black while in mourning end? Why?  While I don't love the idea of wearing nothing but black for an extended period of time, I do think that perhaps it would be helpful to the outside world and the sensitivity of ignorant people.  I think the tradition of wearing black helped other people realize the wearer needed extra care and understanding. Even if that behavior wasn't always offered, the grief was at least recognized and acknowledged, and when in a moment of grief, the wearer overreacted to stress or an insensitive comment at least it was well known the reason behind the outburst.

As a population now we have very little tolerance for such things. We expect people to act a certain way and respond with pleasantries when greeted. In general we do not have time for other people's problem, we have more than enough ourselves!  Empathy? What's that??? We have lost the art and skill of caring for people. We don't even know what that is supposed to look like.  Our ability to put ourselves in someone else's shoes, as a population, has more or less become a thing of the past.  And we ask a lot of stupid questions!!! Someone recently actually asked me, why the holidays were hard.  And followed it up, " I mean was it just because your son died and wasn't there?"  My "wtf" face must have said it all.   

By far one of the stupidest question has got to be, "How are you?"  What reply other than, "oh good, and you?" do people actually expect?  I get it, it's something we say without even thinking about it, but that question puts those of us who are grieving in the very awkward position of either having to be real and make the conversation completely uncomfortable or give the fake response of "oh good and you?" and shove our grief away for your comfort. 

There is nothing comfortable about death or grieving. There are no words that will fix things; no pill to magically make pain leave.  Simply acknowledging that fact is okay. "It is so good to see you! I have no idea what words to say because I know how hard it must be, but it really is good to see you". Saying something like that gives acknowledgment to the grief, then if you have time to listen, you could ask, "how are you doing?" and if you don't, don't. 

One week away from the first anniversary, none of us are okay. We are all back to not sleeping well and being more irritable and sensitive than usual. The huge gaping hole of his absence offers a glaring and terrible reminder that life will never go back. The reality of life having moved on without him hits hard.  And if you think it is hard on me, imagine how hard it must be for my 14, 12 and 11 year old. I try to be okay for them, but sometimes I can't and the sobs come anyway. My strong, protective boys don't know what to do and I can't imagine how hard it must be for them to hear me soak my pillow with tears. 

My friend, Dianna, lost her son suddenly on New Year's Eve.  I do believe that if there was a limit to the amount of grief one person should have to deal with in a lifetime, she has met her quota!! She is in "the fog" right now. I remember that well. Your brain shuts down and damage is done. You literally cannot function normally. Anger flares can happen at any moment and your filter is either completely disabled or severely malfunctioning. You feel completely crushed and broken and it is hard to even imagine how you will keep breathing, let alone survive until the next hour. "The fog" does slowly ebb away and the broken pieces of your life begin to rearrange and life slowly but surely settles into a new routine. The deep aching pain that was once raw and all consuming, sinks just below the surface, always there, but not quite so raw. It becomes a faithful companion, your loved one's permanent place of remembrance. I'm beginning to see that we are likely going to be knocked back to those first foggy days for the anniversary, but I suspect that the healing steps we have taken to this point will carry us through and we will be doing better again after.  

I have come to know and understand that grieving mothers are THE strongest people in the world.  We have to be because otherwise we would die. We want to die and yet we continue to draw breathe.  Also, by and large our journey is one taken completely alone, even when there is support right next to you, you feel completely and totally alone, with no one or no- thing having the ability to give relief from the hurt.   The hurt we endure every day is unthinkable. With the latest storm in my life, I've had to interact with many new people. People who are there to do a job and have very little concern with emotions and little if any sympathy, let alone empathy. Someone one actually told me the other day, "you have to understand, no one is going to put themselves in your shoes." I know she is right, because mostly people just don't give a shit! But as I sit and ponder that I realize it really is more that no one wants to put themselves in my shoes because then they would have to feel the pain I endure. They would, if even for a moment have to feel the weight of a heart broken into a million pieces, desperately trying to stay together and continue beating.  I'm glad they don't know that pain and I wish I didn't, but it would sure be nice if they could at least acknowledge how hard every day must be, because it is. 

Our family is going through the motions of life, from the outside we look like we are doing okay, but by evening we are all exhausted from the work it takes holding it together. Hopefully by mid-February we will all once again be able to operate without quite so much effort again. Perhaps by then sleep will once again come more easily and keeping up a good face won't take so much work. Until then maybe we'll try wearing black...or not, people will just think we've gone goth!