The weirdest shit sets me to crying these days. It’s not a big deal when I’m safely at home, but it’s a bit awkward when I’m in, say, the frozen dessert department at Publix.
Shortly before Christopher died, we went grocery shopping and each had our own list.* He liked things like apple juice and white bread while I’m partial to bottled water and bagels. We walked up and down the aisles grabbing things off the shelf, laughing, and enjoying just being together.
As we rounded the last aisle and headed to the checkout lanes, Christopher walked a little ahead of me to check out the candy display. I remember looking him up and down, from the back of his shaggy-haired head to the heels of his sneakers, and thinking how lucky I was to have him in my life.
Christopher was such a generous and kind soul, he had been his whole life. He only saw the best in people and he only wanted the best for everyone.
After his funeral, it was many weeks before I could leave the house again. When I finally did go out, my husband had to accompany me everywhere and intervene on nearly every interaction because I was still mute with grief.
At some point, we stopped in at the local Publix. I came around the same corner I’d walked with Christopher and promptly lost my shit.
Outwardly, I just looked like a loon who was crying over a shelf of sunscreen and lip balm. Inside, I was a howling, hyperventilating mess.
Michael had long-since learned the “I’m overwhelmed, please help” look and quickly finished paying for our groceries so we could get out of there. Meanwhile, I was flooded with memories and wondering how I’d been so happy just a few weeks earlier.
Triggers (god, I hate that word) are like that. They hit like lightning bolts and do just as much damage. I’ve learned some coping skills over time and also pre-game most social interactions ahead of time to try and predict any weird landmines I might encounter.
But they find me anyway. You would simply not believe how often suicide is mentioned in a jokey manner or used as a plot line in a movie or TV show. I can more or less handle that as long as I can tune it out or change the channel.
On the other hand, seeing images or hearing about the method Christopher chose to end his life (which I still can’t verbalize) sends me into a full-blown anxiety attack. Those are the situations that absolutely suck.
A while back, someone in a group I’m part of posted a meme that used that visual as a punchline and I essentially blacked out. I didn’t lose consciousness, but when I described how I lost time my counselor said it was disassociation. It was pretty awful.
Another time, I was at a social event and an acquaintance who doesn’t know what happened made a joke about killing people in the same manner as Christopher died and I almost threw up.
Yes, I’m working on this with my counselor but we have to take it millimeters at a time. It’s going to take a long while to desensitize me.
I don’t hold people responsible for what they can’t or don’t know. I realize people aren’t purposely being insensitive. In fact, I know that people who are aware of my pain points go out of their way to avoid them. It means the world to me.
Which brings me to the reason for this post. A lot gets written about what to say and what not to say to a grieving person. (Indeed, I may write one or both of these posts myself **.)
The main takeaway here, though, is one thing I never see mentioned in these how-to articles. Consider saying to someone you care about who’s grieving, “I know sometimes words or phrases can set off a flood of unexpected emotion. Is there anything you’d like me to avoid saying when we talk? If it’s difficult for you to answer that question, feel free to direct me to someone else who can tell me.” ***
You can also ask a close friend or relative. Michael knows what I can’t be exposed to and I’m pretty sure he’d like to print it on a business card and hand it to everyone we meet.
As I’ve said before on Twitter, grief is fucking exhausting. My guard is up every waking minute, bracing myself against anything that might catch me off guard and send me into a corner to breathe into a paper bag. I’m so tired. So, so tired.
* Christopher’s shopping list is up above as the featured image on this post. I found it in my purse a few days after the funeral and I will never throw it out. Even his garbage is worth more than gold to me.
** If there’s interest, I guess? I don’t know.
*** I know, I know. This is not blanket advice for every grieving person and I can’t account for every situation. Use your best judgement.