My Black is NOT Cracking.

I cannot believe that I’m almost old enough to collect social security.  How is that even possible when I was just 43 yesterday? I meant 37. I was recently reminded by that statement you receive regularly throughout your entire adult life that you mostly ignored.  (Well, I did.) The statement that told you how much could collect when you retired which always seemed lightyears away.  Considering I never planned on retiring, I really gave it zero thought.  I never intended to be in a financial position to need it! 

Yet, there I sat calculating what brand of dog food I could afford based on estimated payment.  And, by the way, I read the fine print.  (You should too!) What is said is that the current estimates are subject to change in 2034, (11+ short years from now!) at which time, based on current law, you could receive as little as $780 of every $1000 estimated today.  Basically, by the time I’m able to collect, my current estimate would only be good for about 4 years!  After that, there could be a significant reduction in my payments, at which time I might have to consider changing my dog food brand.  Hell, I better figure out how to get back to Plan A!  (You know the one where I’m not in a financial position to need it!)

But the social security I am writing about today is a totally different kind of social security.  In this post, the social I’m writing about is by definition “the seeking or enjoying the companionship of others.”  In other words, friendship.

So, I started thinking about friendship, and “my” friends in particular.  In my attempt to get back to living, I started realizing all the folks in my life that have been noticeably silent for the past few months.  (Pretty much since the funeral on June 11^th.) Immediately following the accident, some of them dropped by my daughter’s house to offer a hug and their condolences.  SOME.  Others were noticeably absent. 

Some reached out by phone, but I had no desire to have the same conversation in heavy rotation.  To hear over and over, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Or “I cannot imagine what you must be going through.”  And they would be correct.  It is (NOT WAS) impossible to imagine.  If you have never experienced the loss of a child, and in such a violent and senseless manner no less, you will NEVER BE ABLE TO IMAGINE THE PAIN.  And why would you want to even try?  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.  Not even certain ex-presidents.

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I let folks know via text after they would call that I really wasn’t ready to talk.  Those that were there with me from day one (and pretty much daily) to witness the pain would be the only people I would talk to.  They were there with me, so there was no need to ask how I was.  They could see it with their own eyes.  NOT GOOD.  And they didn’t need an invitation.  They just showed up.  My one friend drove over an hour a day, almost EVERY DAY, for weeks to be by my side.  Even when there wasn’t a conversation, there were hugs.  She was present.

A few would drop text messages, asking me how I was. (Which to me was a dumbass question.) Some would make stupid comments via text like, “I hope you are feeling better.” Clueless to the level of pain and assuming that it magically diminishes after a few weeks.  My oldest friend said it best.  “You never get over the loss.  You never get over the pain.  You just learn to live with it.”  (Hopefully, it becomes less intense.  I have to believe that.)

So, my thoughts were that these folks waiting for me to “get over” it so they could resurface, believing that things will eventually go back to normal, would be waiting forever.  This IS the new normal.

Over the past few weeks, I took note of those people and was feeling some kinda way about them.  I had reached the point where I was all but ready to write them off.  I felt abandoned by them.  I felt as though they didn’t want to deal with me and my grief, so they were waiting it out.  That didn’t feel like friendship to me. If I could live without them for four months, I could probably live without them for the duration.  But that’s not true.  Friendship, as we age, plays a critical role in our well-being. Friendship provides a sense of security and improves our quality of life.

I decided that perhaps before I write them off completely, I should let them know how I was feeling about their total absence.  I needed to enlighten them.  In the process, I too was enlightened. 

I was told they were giving me space.  They interpreted my not wanting to talk as not wanting to hear from them.  They “thought” they were honoring my wishes.  They didn’t know what to say.  They didn’t know what to do.  If the situation were reversed, would I have known?  Probably not.  I don’t do funerals (or weddings, really) and everyone that knows me, knows that.  Does that make it okay? And yet no one ever wrote me off for not showing up.

So, I listened, and I learned.  As we get older, loss will likely become a common occurrence. Loss is part of our human experience.  Grieving leads to isolation and loneliness.  Both can be physically and emotionally unhealthy.  The worst thing you can do is just leave a grieving person alone. (And that doesn’t mean to beat down their door or stalk them.) Just OFFER to be there. Ask.

It is possible that we will outlive family and friends.  One of the only guarantees in life is that we will all die.  We will all lose loved ones.  (Hopefully, not at 21!)

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But how do you comfort someone that is grieving a loss?  Grief can make others uncomfortable. I get it. So, what do you do?  What do you say?  You have anxiety that you will say the wrong thing.  You fear that what you say might appear insensitive. So instead, you are silent.  WRONG.

Here is my advice to you.

It has been said when you do not know what to say, say nothing.  But that is wrong. When you do not know what to say, say, “I love you.”  It will NEVER be the wrong thing to say.