By Patsy Kelly
Being in grief is a little like stepping onto another planet. The aliens around you look like you, act like you and speak like you. They see you, greet you, even try to include you in their alien gatherings. Huh. Don’t they realize you’re from another planet? Don’t they realize your world has vanished and you’re here against your will? Apparently, some do make efforts. Those efforts are appreciated, but often miss the mark. Some are just downright offensive; but since you’re new to their planet, you don’t give your hurt away.
You try hiding your hurt; giving it away might open the flood gates and then you know what happens. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men wouldn’t be able to handle the cleanup in aisle nine. They wouldn’t be able to put Humpty Dumpty together again. You trudge along with a mask so as to convince the aliens you fit into their strange world.
Grieving puts many of us in the club of misfits. We don’t feel as though we fit anywhere anymore, especially if the loved one we’re grieving is a partner. We’re not a part of a pair now; we’re half of a couple, and half doesn’t feel whole. Friends try inviting us over, but we visualize the scene – all couples save one. We try returning to church, but there’s a vacant place beside us. We make plans to go somewhere, but we’ve always gone together before. We cancel. We try introducing ourselves, yet halfway we realize we’re not who we were – the spouse, parent, loved one – belonging to someone special. What do we say? Better to avoid the situation altogether.
Misfits felt clumsy in high school, but they outgrew the awkwardness. Misfits on a new campus or job soon find their ‘tribe.’ Misfits in a new community soon find like-minded people – at the bookstore, art opening, auction, concert – somewhere. Misfits in grief wander alone, as though wearing blindfolds, stumbling through the usual social events that previously were a breeze, now feeling our way but suspecting that at every juncture, we’ll fall off the edge of the earth.
There are remedies. You may not be ready to hear them. Maybe you’ve decided to hibernate for the winter and come out in the spring so ravenous that you’ll overcome all fears just to make connection again. That’s okay. Just don’t prolong the hibernation until you never allow yourself to venture out again.
The first remedy is to identify the friend or friends who don’t come in pairs. Or if they are a couple, identify the duos that don’t feel alien to you – that is, they listen, they don’t probe, counsel or invalidate your feelings. Ask them to just ‘be.’ It’s enough. Really.
The second remedy is to identify others who are grieving. The world is full of us. It’s just that we don’t go out with banners flying and broad grins on our faces. Let them in – even if it is only on a trial basis. That’s okay.
The third remedy, and one that encompasses the other two, is to join a grief group. This is a collection of people who get it, who understand. When you’re in a room with other misfits, you find that you fit.
For information about the Grief Group in Jacksonville, email griefgroup.jax@gmail.com.
