Julia at I Won't Fear Love has a great post (and blogiversary celebration) up about the conundrum people find themselves in when something tragic has happened in their lives. She references the Pain Olympics, which you might remember if you were blogging in the infertility world back in the stone ages. She outlines the concept just fine, so I'll wait while you read her post.
Done? Okay.
I couldn't agree more. In the years after the loss of all our boys, and particularly after Thomas's death, I constantly walked this fine line. I wanted people to know and recognize that something had broken my entire world - something momentous and irrevocable. I wanted them to know that I was hurting in ways that defied description and that I would never, ever be the same. I did not want them to try and lessen my pain with any of the lifeless verbal band-aids and lame condolences we are so driven to awkwardly give one another in times of crises.
And yet, I loathed the idea that people were feeling sorry for me - that my story had turned from one of a good girl living a good life, to a sad girl trying to survive tragedy. It did not mesh in any way with my self-concept.
What I finally arrived at was this:
I wanted pity, but I did not want to be pitiable.
Read that again, because it's an important distinction: I wanted PITY, but I did not want to BE pitiable.
The only reaction from friends, family, or even strangers that I found acceptable was ABIDING. To simply be there with me. To tell me that this sucked more than they could conceive of and that they had no words. To sit with me and not try at all to make it better or to lessen the pain I felt. To give me hugs or fall silent on the phone. To bring me carbohydrate laden food or send me tasteless e-mail jokes or take me to a movie and just hold my hand when I cried in the concession line as a pregnant woman walked past.
Whatever the grief, whatever the cause, I can't help but feel that mine was a common response: I am sad. I am stricken. But that does not make me OF that pain, and it is not my state of BEING.
I don't know if that makes as much sense on paper as it does in my head, but I thought I should share - for those who have been there and for those who strive to be there for their friends or loved ones in times if crisis.
