…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.
Our own personal grief is still so close to the surface, that when we “run into” someone who is grieving–it’s hard to not let it bubble over.
I personally am re-thinking the “nasty” comments said to me in my times of grief, knowing that maybe the speaker was speaking from their own grief.
I’m horrible on trying to help people who are grieving, but for the opposite problem. I have not had any personal loss to deal with. Someone once told me that the things they most treasured were letters or cards with memories of the person lost written on. So, since I have nothing else to offer, this is what I do.
Can’t help you here at all in hopes that people will forgive me as well.
That last sentence made no sense. Sorry.
I can’t help you, and I hope people forgive me.