Great Expectations...

I don't really understand the co-relation between grief and social problems, but it's there and it's bothering me. A lot. I'm going to write it out and figure it out if I can.

There are people who I've known for many years who now fill me with anxiety and dread. When they text or ring me my whole body goes rigid with stress and I get a knot in my stomach. Most days I don't even bother answering the phone. I just want them to go away. The anxiety has different levels - low level for some people and through the roof for others.

My discomfort with those friends doesn't feel logical. It's not something I consciously choose. In some instances it's because they simply weren't there for me when I needed them last year. So am I bitter? Angry? I don't know. I try not to be. Anyway, there's more to it than that and not all of them were distant last year.

I'm starting to think it all comes down to the fact that these people were part of my former life - the life where I was married and we were a 'complete' family of 2 adults and 3 children. Most of them were friends of Diarmuid's too. Is there room for them in this life? I don't think so. Not yet. It's too hard. Too painful. Does the friend they had back then still exist? My life was shattered into a million pieces. Those friends were there, on the parameter. They were affected too but to a limited degree. Their day to day lives remained the same. Can I bear talking to them in the same way, about the same things we always talked about before he died? That's part of it. When I try to slip back into those old ways it hurts because I've slipped back to the old me and then it's like a fresh bolt of pain because he's not there. Yet I cannot constantly say to them "stop, this hurts too much".

Part of it too is simply tiredness - long chats, extended phone calls, meeting up... it's all exhausting.

Mostly though, I *think* it's all about their expectations. They expect me to be the same person I was before... but I'm not. I can't be. Not their fault. Not mine either.

Funnily enough, there are others from my old life who I really do want to stay in contact with. I think it's because they have adjusted their expectations of me. They aren't surprised when I'm tired or struggling; when I'm confused or stressed. They might not have lost a loved one but they have enough empathy to imagine that it has changed me without asking "hey, what's wrong?". With the others, every time I see them we revert back to those old days, *they* revert back to the old jokes, the old anecdotes, the old habits, with no allowance made for how much I've been forced to change; no time given to my new feelings and my new status as a single parent. It stabs me in the heart. I simply don't have it in me to force myself to 'fit' that old structure any more.

Should they change their expectations? Should I tell them to do that? Or should I suck it up and just 'be' that person I used to be? I don't think that's possible actually.

Out of Synch

The most intense loneliness is the kind that happens when you're surrounded by joy, sunshine and positivity. Dark days, pouring rain, seriously stressed neighbours/colleagues/friends sort of give us a licence to feel lonely - we feel it already but now we have a logical excuse for feeling it. The inner despair is perfectly in synch with the outer grimness.

Throughout July we had a heatwave here - so unusual for Ireland. So for about 3 to 4 weeks there was a holiday vibe - barbeques, beach trips, ice creams, daddys and daughters, daddys and sons, husbands and wives............. and I have never ever felt such black loneliness in my entire life. My Lonely Licence expired, the rules changed, I was now supposed to join in the banter about late night barbeques, last minute hotel deals, sun lotion and how we're finally getting to use it, the "it's like being abroad" comments, the hysteria, the fun.

Surely only a surly, mad, grouchy fool would feel anything but elation when the sun shines for 16 hours and the whole country grinds to a halt to enjoy the summer we waited for for years? Well I guess that's me then - a grouchy ol' biddy, 44 but old before my time, a negative moaning Minnie. Pffft. Summer Scrooge (but without the redemption).

To be fair, for the most part, I played along - 'played' being the operative word. I kept my mask on, agreed that it was great - yes the sunshine's fabulous; yep, nothing like it; enjoying it? Of course. Happy? Jeez, why wouldn't I be? I smiled, faked it. But inside I was dying. I felt completely dissociated from society. Just as our inner despair is perfectly in synch with those lonely winter rainy days, my inner turmoil could not have been more out of synch with the 'shiny happy people' all around me throughout July.

Roll on winter time - it suits me better. Bah humbug.

The Shallows and The Deeps

The hardest part of this awful grief experience has been the broken promises, the awkwardness, the thoughtlesness, of some people. Knowing someone cares, having someone go out of their way to help, having someone who rings up out of the blue to say "I reckoned you're having a bad day, I care" because it's a birthday, anniversary etc, it's worth so so much. 

When the phone is silent, when people cross the road, or when they look at you and know by your eyes that you're hurting but instead of catching your hand they change the subject to something trivial, that cuts through our hearts.

I thought I would lose my mind last year from all the broken promises and abandonment. And the ones who came back on the scene in January, the 1st anniversary, to say 'phew it's a year at last, you can get back to normal now'. 

But, after 15 months I'm content to say I didn't lose my mind AND I've become philosophical about them and stronger for it. 

Now I look at them and know that there are two types of people: The Shallows and The Deeps. The Shallows are weak, cowardly, self-serving people who are all about the drama (hospice, ambulances, funerals) but don't care about your feelings once the 'drama' ends - as if our grief was last year's reality show and the season has ended so it's boring now. They have no integrity and no character traits of any value. Harsh but true. 

Then there are the rare gems, The Deeps, they are the caring, giving, selfless few who will drop everything to come to you, cry with you, laugh with you, let you ramble on about your love, your relationship, your grief, tell you to sit down and "have a glass of wine", won't judge you for the mounting dishes and the child's dishevelled hair. They are gold. 

And here's the thing... it's not a question of only wanting people who talk about Diarmuid. It goes deeper than that. It's knowing that we can talk about anything (perhaps not even mention him) but behind whatever conversation we're having they know, they're aware, they get it. There is pain and there is loss and it's real and they don't hide from it.


I now feel sorry for The Shallows and I'm glad I'm not one of them because I have empathy. My children have empathy - I'm raising three young people from The Deep species. To hell with The Shallows. Honestly, they're not part of my life anymore because they don't deserve to be. 

To the rare gems, the Deeps, the golden few, thank you from the bottom of my heart.