TheBanyanTree: Grief Group

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I think the last time I cried in public was at work last week.  I was
telling Amy about going through Ray’s hospital bags and reading over the
notes he wrote to the doctors and nurses.  The notes he wrote while he was
in ICU tore at my heart, because they told the story that he was aware that
he was dying.  I didn’t know.  Even with all the evidence in front of me, I
couldn’t believe and still can’t believe Ray would ever die.

But I cried while telling her this.  And I hate crying in public, because
everyone rushes up to me with outstretched arms and boxes of Kleenex, while
all I want to do is cry in peace and alone.  But grief bursts come out of
nowhere sometimes.  I try to have them while alone.  I’ll sit in my cube at
work and cry.  I’ll sit in my car and cry.  I’ll be alone in the house and
cry.

Oh, I cried in front of my grandsons while trying to get a baseball away
from Shadow this past week.  I went into the garage and shut the door and
wailed to get my old life back.  No one listens or cares.  Isn’t she over
him yet?

I don’t cry when I go to grief group.  Now isn’t that weird?  It’s the place
where it’s the safest to cry and everyone understands, but I have rarely
cried there.  I cried the first time I came, because Ray hadn’t even been
dead a week yet.  I cried because it was the first time I went somewhere
without Asher since Ray died.  I was truly on my own.  The counselor asked
me if it was too soon, but there was no way I could go back home.  I needed
that group that day.  I needed to be with people who understood what I was
going through.  And I stayed, clutching a box of Kleenex, just in case.

Since that first Saturday, I sit in our spouse loss support group dried
eyed.  A couple of the newer ones have what I call the “widow look,” a deer
caught in the headlights look, a confused and bewildered look, and the tears
are always poised in their eyes.  And there I sit, looking less confused and
dry eyed, no tears in my eyes, offering advice on how to deal with grief.
Of anyone in our group, I’m the closest in time to my loss, and yet of
almost anyone in the group, I’m doing better, or at least, I seem to be
functioning in a “normal” way.

People say I’m strong, but I’m not.  I know that Ray would never want me to
lie around the house feeling sorry for myself.  I hate my life without him,
but no matter how many times I cry and beat the walls, my life is now minus
Ray.  I can’t change that.

I think it’s helped that I went back to work right away.  I’m the only one
in my group who is working.  Instead of sitting around the house looking at
the four walls, I’m out in the world interacting with co-workers and making
a difference, even if it’s just gossiping about the weirdoes in our office.

I still do some volunteer projects like help out with blood drives and Meals
on Wheels.  Next week, I’ll participate in the Walk for Animals sponsored by
the Humane Society.

I read a lot of grief books and widow books and death books and after death
experience books and I think I’ve almost exhausted the supply.

I work out and go for walks.  If the weather ever gets any better, then I’ll
get out my bike.

Tomorrow, I’m going to start a second job scoring 4th grade math tests for
Arkansas students.  That will put me into a different social group and give
me something to do in the evenings besides watching TV.  I’ll miss the free
time, but it’s good to earn a few dollars.  I need them.  That big rebate
isn’t going to cut it for me.

But grief group, even if I don’t fit in with the intense grieving some of
the others are doing, is wonderful for me.  The speakers have been just
great.  The people in the group know exactly what I’m going through, even if
I’m not as intense about it as they are, because I know what they’re going
through.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com

www.polarispublications.com

There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we
don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but
have to let go.
~Unknown
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