Welcome Guest
Join here
Members Log-In
Privacy Policy

Friday July 30,2010

They Ask What It Is Like

by Scott Mastley

After Chris' death I shared an apartment with a friend. On Chris' birthday my roommate asked me how I was doing. I said that the day was tolerable, that I was doing OK. He said that he didn't want to remind me of it by bringing it up. I told him I was thankful that he had asked about my day. I needed a friend to care. No one besides my parents was talking to me about Chris. When I asked my roommate if our friends ever said anything about Chris' death or about my family, he said, "They ask what it's like to live with you."

I guess that they were curious, as I was about the boy's father who had died while I was in high school. They were also cautious. At first I was upset that my friends wouldn't talk to me openly about my grief or about Chris. I was angry with them for not recognizing something that had devoured my life. I was surprised that they had asked my roommate about living with me. He had responded that there are times when I am quiet but that I don't bring him down or act more strangely than normal.

After calming down, I was glad to know that other people were thinking of Chris and thinking of my grief, even if they weren't talking to me about it. At least I knew that I was not alone in missing him. I think they were afraid of opening a wound, and that is why they did not approach me. What they did not realize is that the wound is wide open every day. I learn to live with it.

Chris's absence is as present as the air I breathe. I think about him and the life we shared every day. I think about the example he set for me and the standards he set for himself. I think about his love for his family. There is no reminding, no re-opening. There is acknowledgement of grief and loss and feeling. In asking a simple question, "How is your day going?" friends can recognize the feelings as being present. It is a wonderful feeling to have a friend who cares enough to overcome the common fear of expression to show concern.

Some people are afraid that if I cry in response to something they said that they made me sad. They think they caused my tears. Even though I should have known better, I felt this way about my mother. I thought that she was fragile, and I would choose my words carefully because I did not want to make her cry. It has taken me a long time to realize that the crying is not a direct response to things people say.