All my life people have said you never know who your friends are until something bad happens. The ones who stay are the friends and everyone else … I don’t know … they aren’t?
Honestly, I always thought that was kind of a shitty way to look at it. When bad stuff happens people either know how to respond because they’ve lived through it or they have no idea what to say or do because they haven’t lived through it. It doesn’t make them a better friend or a worse friend … just human.
Since my dad died people have oozed from every niche of my life and offered hugs and condolences and food and help … it’s sad and beautiful all rolled into one. The best advice I’ve gotten hasn’t come in long winded talks or a discourse on death and grief but from snippets here and there. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. To think that my peace and calm and moments where I can find reason and sanity in this insane world come from so many people makes me feel warm and connected and loved in a way I haven’t in a long long long time.
And that’s exactly what I need.
One person told me to just go ahead and cry because I was going to anyway and at the strangest times. Another told me that instead of going insane, the period of time following a loved ones death was probably the most sane anyone ever is because they can’t hide from reality. And another found something for me to read that describes the grieving process in such amazing detail.
Probably the hardest thing for me right now is that I have no room to grieve, no perspective to pull away from, no way to let it happen. I’m caring for my mom now.
But where I might be standing on the edge of an abyss left by my dad, a mountain on the other side that is my mom, it seems the abyss is filled with people, humanity, words, hugs, well-wishes, cards, lunches, and wisdom that I never needed before. Because how do you define this to someone who hasn’t done it?