A thosand barbs

I've been really blessed in the friends department right now. Bug, the Doctor, Willis, S. and a host of other people continue to be great support systems. They are thoughtful and encourage me in healthier directions than I would go on my own.

During GriefShare five we learned about how friendships will change. It's true. 

Some notes I jotted down are: Let friends know what you need and talk about boundaries.
"I will never be the same" and "I will become a new person."

I am a new person. One with 10 times the anxiety, who is not functioning at a 100 percent. One that is really cultivating a complex about drinking and suicide.

By suicide I mean, I fear who might be next. (They have not ruled on my mom's death.) I look for signs in other people I know to be struggling and than sometimes I run in the other direction. Other times I say something like, "I know what it is like to get that news. You hear your loved one is dead and you're all 'Oh no, my _ is dead.' When the words they 'killed themselves' is added to the mix you go on a different grief journey." I may also share my own struggles and what I am doing to combat it. (Mainly therapy.)

Some of my friendships have changed because of this journey. I have learned who my truest friends are. I don't want to say "real friends" because some people are not good with death. But I now know which friends will remain so caught up in their own drama/lives that they could not even fathom reaching out to someone who is hurting. Even if it is someone who has seen them through hard times. That's OK. Truth is we all knew those friends were like that from the beginning and our surprise is probably not so much surprise but confirmation.

Last night Pastor R. said that sometimes it is best to say "I'm sorry for your loss" rather than try and connect with the person by sharing something that might upset them.

"Don't open your mouth and let your brains fallout," he said.

I'm going to add, good friend or not do not offer help if you will not follow through. Seriously.

Anyhow, I leave you with this week's GriefShare card or tailman as Pastor R. called it: I would rather walk through life with friends and suffer their occasional unhelpful attempt (to comfort me) than walk through this without them. -Carla

I, personally, would take a thousand barbs just to know someone is willing to hear me talk and talk to me about my loss.

Shit that gets me down

1. Talking to my mom's husband. That shit gets me down for three days on average.

2. Talking about attending grief counseling, counseling or Al-anon.

3. Reading the Al-anon literature. I have been dutifully doing the readings all week.

4. Depression. That shit is hard.

Grieving lessons

When I get past the worst of grieving I will be a better friend, co-worker, employee, sibling and overall person. For right now I plan to take my friends advice and just work on getting back to being myself. I was a really good - if high maintenance - friend before all of this.

There is no timeline for what I am going through.

I've learned that the people who are shitty friends all the time do not magically become good friends when tragedy strikes. They will also make excuses. Don't call bullshit on their excuses. (OK, call bullshit when they are not around.)

You'll know which people will help you.

Don't take offense when people say "What do you need?" and then don't deliver. (OK, take slight offense but do not do it yourself in the future.)

Suicide and a regular death will not be treated the same. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TREAT THESE TWO THE SAME. After my mom died (and there is still no ruling on the cause of death) I kept waiting for people to come over. None of the people I assumed would be there showed up. You don't have to say anything real or correct. Just fucking sit on that couch and take up space.

People will stare. Don't try to be funny about this. Their staring is their way of comforting you.

Safe

I think when people die in a really terrible or unexpectedly shitty way you question why they are not here.

When my mom died I kept repeating, "She's not dead. She's not dead. She's not dead." and "She has things to do." It would eventually become chant that led, mostly, to me hyperventilating.

She was someone who liked to be busy and the center of attention. My sister is getting married and she was supposed to be there to handle stuff like cooking for the bridal shower.

The finality of my mom being gone did not set in until I was sitting on the phone listening to my family making funeral arrangements.

I knew my family would not spend that kind of money if she was not dead.

Later that evening I changed my phrase to "She's gone and someone else will have to do the things she did."

I made people listen to me say it over and over again. It was my new mantra. I was afraid if I stopped confirming that she was dead I would lose my way again.

Safe

I also said "She's safe" a lot. Her life for more than two decades had been a chaotic cycle of drinking-unemployment-jail-bad relationships. There were stretches of calm and productivity, but there was always something waiting in the wings to trip her up.

Most of the time that foe was alcoholism.

At the funeral my dad's friend went around to a bunch of us crying and saying "She's safe."

It broke me and made me feel better that someone else was acknowledging the chaos and constant fear we lived in.

We held each other and I whispered "She's safe?"

"She's safe," my dad's friend said.

Plans

A few days ago I talked to my mom's husband.

Suddenly he said, "We had plans for the future."

"We had plans."

 Once again I felt my heart breaking.

It hurts watching or hearing about other people doing the things that she was supposed to be doing.

It is also good to know that my family is surrounded by so much love and support.

Support and love is probably what is saving and maintaining us all.