"How important is it to you to not disturb another with your grief?" asks a friend. Judging from my actions of late, a great deal.
I see myself driving home, using my breathing techniques to stay in the moment so that I do not disturb other drivers with my distorted and red crying face. I frantically run up the stairs to hide in my room so that there are no witnesses as I let go of the pent up emotions as I am once again reminded that Bill is not physically here to share in the responsibilities of daily life. I hide in my garage to unleash my grief when I think it is better for me and less worrying to others. I smile, then gulp back my initial response when people ask, "How are you?" Fine.
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Journal Entry: July 13, 2011
There are many more genuine okay moments in my life today, but there are still many grieving moments to deal with.
Why am I so afraid Bill?
What am I so afraid of ... disturbing others? ... embarrassing myself? ... or both?
Have the events of the past three months rendered me untrusting? Or am I just projecting my own expectations of myself into how I think others would respond to an open display?
I continue to receive understanding from a shrinking group of supports for my long periods of silence, for my random outbursts of anger and for the absence of heart. I am thankful for this. It simply is no longer apparent from everyone ... we are all so conditioned to think that the first year is over and all that means.
Why do I feel such a responsibility to another's need to know that I am okay?
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Why am I so afraid of the public display of this most important human sound?
We remind others of their mortality when we make those grieving sounds. Let it all out, kid.
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