I am almost always stunned by people’s reactions to other people’s bad news: horror; cool indifference; compassion; ghoulishness; silence; terror; wisdom; a wonderful dark humour that resonates with everything we know.
People might also judge you in your grief: you’re too open; too closed; too ghoulish; too sad; too happy; too detached; too attached. In the end, and even in the beginning and middle, their opinions do not count. People who would judge you in these ways might never have been in your situation, or haven’t the wherewithal or courage that you, perhaps, are blessed with.
Years ago when I was in my twenties and having a minor bout with cervical cancer, I vividly recall one of my co-workers stepping away from me whenever we passed one another in the restaurant dining room where we worked. It was as if she thought I would contaminate her, although last I checked there was no way to spread cervical cancer from one person to another. (Besides, I just wasn’t interested in her in those ways).
The things I know are these:
Share what you want and need to with anyone who feels right.
Do not share difficult news with the prurient, the calloused, or with people who have a shaky track record.
Do not be hurt if some people are unable to respond to you. Not everyone is equipped with the right words and gestures, and sometimes people are just so lost in their tangential grief (for you) that they really don’t know what to say.
People really do have their own fears, and you might, in sharing, have touched on something that terrifies them. While in an ideal world we would always hope that everyone would come forward with what we feel are the right words and feelings, this isn’t always, or even close to always, possible.
Sometimes a person who is the bearer of bad news has to be strong for the people she tells. I remember, also years ago, when my mum died, and I had to find ways of bolstering friends who couldn’t find any words at all. I kept making them tea and telling them that it was okay. After they left, I would lie as flat as I could for as long as I could. It’s a strange world, but even in its strangeness, the world makes its own kind of sense.
And don’t forget: if people know you as a caregiver, they can resent that, suddenly and unexpectedly, they might have to become at least a bit of a caregiver to you. Some of us just aren’t equipped or prepared for either the reversal or the task, and therefore must be forgiven, and maybe even understood, for this lack.
By sharing with the people you feel closest to or most aligned with (psychologically and emotionally), you keep the energy positive. You know as you walk through your days that thoughtful, caring, concerned individuals are walking alongside of you, sending out their best wishes for a happy result.
And if you don’t believe me, ask my friend Mike, whose recent and sudden loss of his adored brother has, to the best of my understanding, rendered all of these things, and thoughts, true.
We cannot know what tomorrow will bring, but we do know, deep within our hearts, who we can trust…who will hold our hands in the black of darkest night.
