pity vs sympathy

I'm scared to go back to work. There, I said it. I'm frightened by the anticipation of sad eyes and awkward silences. I actually feel a sick sense of anticipation for all the terribly wrong things people will say. I've had a couple of these experiences already and I'm hoarding them. My favorite is a classmate who tried to explain to me why God killed my baby. I (very gently by the way) explained my point of view. He wasn't interested and continued to argue his point. That was a good one. I can't wait until I collect one to top it. Maybe I'll write a book someday. I think things like that don't bother me so much because I understand what people are trying to say. Mostly it's, "I'm sorry. I want you to be ok." Even if the actual words end up being a 12 car pile-up.

How do I want people to react? Good question. I wish I knew. Hugs are good, sympathy is nice. Please don't go overboard and put me in the position to comfort you. Right now I don't have the reserves to give of myself to anybody.

Sometimes I'm going to be totally fine. Sometimes I'm probably going to start crying for no apparent reason. I'd like to be ignored if/when that happens. I'm doing my best to hold it together in front of other people.

I can't decide if I want to talk about Mary or not. Well, I do want to talk about her. I love her and miss her. But if we do talk about her, I'm almost guaranteed to cry. Not exactly encouraged in a professional setting. I could not talk about her and try not to think about her in order to get through the day. But that doesn't feel right either. You see, I can't feed her, burp her or change her diapers. Now that the funeral's done and her headstone has been chosen, about all I can do for my girl is to make sure that she is remembered as a real person, worthy of being loved and grieved.

The following is from Julia, posted on Glow In The Woods:

http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2009/5/29/balancing-act.html

And so here's my new hypothesis. I think we try to act like we have it together because we need to be seen as sane. Because in-sane people are easy to dismiss.

She's just insane with grief, can you imagine?

You can pity the insane and walk on by. It's totally allowed. You can even judge them. They are the other, not you, not one of the normals. You don't have to try her grief on in your mind. She's clearly lost it, and you would never let yourself fall apart like that. I mean, sad things happen all the time, but it's been months now. You'd think she'd be better by now, you know?

Sane people, on the other hand, need to be taken seriously. We interact with them. We're supposed to listen to what they say. Pay attention.

And so I think that some part of our need to be seen as sane is not about us. Not about our pride being hurt if we are pitied. Not about being infuriated because we are patronized with idiotic advice on how to make it all better. I think that some part of this is about the need to have our children, these little people we are grieving, be seen as profoundly cherished. Grieved by crazy people, they are invisible. Grieved by articulate sane people who are still hurting, they are suddenly important. Worthy.

I think we hold it together so that when we choose to talk about it, we are not dismissed. I think one of the things we most want others to understand is that our grief is not an overreaction, that our love for the person who died warrants the grief, that it's messy as all get out, but that the mess too is normal. Not an overreaction. Not an overreaction. NOT an overreaction.