The Vacuum

Yesterday's Show. Ryan planted for me last year.

There is this odd phenomenon that happens to a person after a loss.

Everyone wants to rush in immediately after when you're confused and hurting and stressed and they want to just "be there" for you. They make promises at the funeral that they'll be there and maybe check in by phone or text a week after and then *POOF* everyone disappears. There's this massive vacuum staring you right in the face every single day. You're Every Day is gone and so is everything else.

You lose friends.
No one wants to talk about the one you lost. They change the subject, ignore your comments or skip over you in group conversation. And it's super freaking obvious.

Promises are broken.
"Call if you need anything"
"Let me know how I can help"
"Rain check"
"I'll call you"
"Maybe next week"
Everyone tells the grieving person these things, but sooner or later (and I've been surprised how soon is sooner...) people you found the strength to reach out to wait a few days before responding to texts for coffee or dinner and (understandably so) they always have plans to do something else - always. Just don't lie to me about that.

I checked my phone one week and realized there were 3 people that had called me. And each one of them called because I had said something in text first that had started the conversation. Talk about a great feeling.

No one "gets" it.
The body language and the response to admitting you've lost a lot of weight, that you can't imagine disconnecting his phone, that no, you're just. not. hungry... it's why we stop talking and sharing things. Thoughts and feelings begin to be internalized (not good) and we're constantly spot checking whether we're "crazy" or not. I don't feel crazy. I feel hurt - very very hurt.

There's nothing more isolating than realizing everyone else's life is going on as usual. 

There's nothing more frustrating than watching the eyes dart and people shift in their seats when I say "Ryan" in a sentence. Ryan planted this beautiful rose bush in the yard last year because he said he was going to be buying so many flowers for me that it would be more economical to have them on-hand.

Rose bush planted with help from the supreme digger.

What people don't get is that I've already got the constant reminders - from the time I wake up to the time I pass out - that he is gone. No one calls to wake me up, there are no sweet texts and "checking in" during the day. The phone never goes off anymore. The one person I want to call when I see something funny, run across an inside joke, have a bad day, have a good day, am sick or hurting, need a hug....that sweet wonderful man is gone. Not just my future but my present is unrecognizable.

I DON'T CARE if talking about someone that died makes you uncomfortable. Chances are, if I'm talking to you about him, it's because you knew him too. Pretending like it's "business as usual" does nothing but further alienate someone that is grieving. Changing the subject to talk about something as trivial as the weather or the newest pair of shoes you bought or any number of other nonsense is not being helpful. All we expect is that our friends and family and the people around us are good listeners. We would expect that if our loved one was still alive? So why has that changed now? Listen and respond.