…I really do mean well, and I hope that counts for something.
I encountered two women today who recently lost their mothers. Being me I couldn’t just be quiet and tried to say something meaningful and sincere. And probably flubbed it both times.
When I encounter grief my mind goes so quickly to my own loss that I’m afraid I minimize the present reality of the one I would wish to speak comfort to.
All I can look forward to is the day when I will finally be old enough to put my arms around anyone and weep with them. Having lived closely with an older woman I know there is an age after which you really can do whatever you want.
~ ~ ~
One of them sort-of agreed to be a round-two test reader (though I don’t know yet how she’ll be– she’s a feast-or-famine reader), and as I left I remembered (and worried) about my grief/comfort scene.
It seems excruciatingly insensitive now, and I wonder if it even should be there. I mean, I think I can get away with it because of the extremity of the situation, but at this moment I’m wondering if I still want to.