I want to take a brief moment to mention that life is sometimes emotional and hard. I'm so thankful for the mamas that I have met since I lost my cowboy. Women who are real with me (they've been there or they act normally when I tell them he is gone) are the best. I can't stand that look of pity that some people get. I know they can't help it and don't know what else to do.
This past weekend, I met a woman who was asking about my kids because my wild thing was there with me. I told her and she looked me straight in the face and said, "Tell me. What happened?" It was beautiful! I told her. It wasn't awkward. It didn't hurt to tell his story to someone who wasn't afraid of it. I'm proud to talk about my cowboy to people who are interested in knowing about him. He was the best kid ever and he brought so much joy to people. Why should I feel awkward that he died? Why should my misfortune and people's discomfort make me lie about how many kids I have?
I was having this conversation today at the radiothon for the local children's hospital where my cowboy was treated. The other woman, a cancer mama, whose daughter also lost her battle, said she has gotten to the point where she hates meeting new people. I'm socially awkward as it is and feelings like this make it so much worse. Normal chit-chat is filled with landmines for people like us.
How many kids do you have?
How old are they?
Do your other children like the new baby?
I can stand there looking at them confused and saying, "Umm." Tell the truth. And getthe pitying look. Or lie. Lying feels like sacrilege. A disservice to the life that he had. Sometimes it's easier and stops the conversation in it's tracks. "No, I don't have any other children."
My point is, sometimes you just need to talk to someone who gets it and can practically finish your sentences because they have felt exactly the same way. Neither of us wants to have learned the things we did, had our hearts broken, or lost the most precious thing in the world to us. It's nice to have someone there with me now.
Several years after my cowboy's death, a friend of mine said, "You're not the only one who's ever lost a child." I didn't say anything at the time. To her, I would say, "No, but I'm the only one who's lost my child. That means no one can say when or how my healing process will happen." Some days, like today, I get to feel normal and a little like I'm not alone in feeling that exact thing.
So glad I get a chance to see mamas each year at the KFRG radiothon. It should be way more often.
Thank you for teaching us how to truly express caring in the case of such a difficult loss, Lindsy. I love how the woman you spoke to gave you exactly what you needed. Sometimes I just don't want to be the one who says the wrong thing...the thing you hear that makes you go home and tell Allen, "I was having a great day until this woman decided to ask me that question." It is the fear of hurting someone with words that keeps me silent at times. I am guilty of saying nothing in the hopes that it will not hurt more, when (as you mention) it ends up doing exactly what I hoped to avoid.
ReplyDeleteYour beautiful, courageous blog will help many of us to figure our own way of being. Thank you for the feedback here that allows for pondering and reflection. We are all better for it. With love...Kathie
Kathie, I completely understnad what you are saying. I am guilty of remaining silent at times when I should be speaking up. I am learning to talk about Jason even if that means questions will be asked. It's is a long difficult road to get to the point where I'm at. For a long time, not talking about it was easier. But the loved ones we lose deserve to be remembered.
ReplyDeleteThank you to you and Ivette for helping me along the road a little bit further. Max is a hige blessing and you all helped me to embrace that. :)