I'm a bit of an advice column junkie. Imagine my surprise when, on one of the rare occasions that a widow/er issue was raised, it happened to be something I was dealing with myself.
Dear Miss Manners:
I recently became a widower following my
late wife's lengthy illness. After her diagnosis, we both had time to
plan both her final arrangements and for my one day becoming the
surviving spouse. This was never a pleasant consideration, but I do feel
that it prepared us well for the inevitable.
We discovered during her illness that
there are two fairly distinct groups of well-wishers: The first is those
who genuinely but matter-of-factly say: "How are you doing? We're so
sorry to hear of your condition and hope your recovery is going
smoothly. Please let us know if we can do anything to help," and then
promptly get back to the business of conversing with the living.
The second is the group who approach
with hang-dog faces, tilted heads sad puppy dog eyes and almost moan out
essentially the same sentiment but never seem to want to get off the
subject. (This seems a bit incendiary for Miss Manners, but we came to
refer to the latter group as "grief groupies.")
A few weeks after her passing, I
attended my first subdued social event as a widower. I enjoyed the
company and dinner but left somewhat early, being the only single among a
small crowd of couples.
After my departure, my closest friend was approached by someone who said, "How's Ed really doing?" My friend
assured him that I was handling things as well as could be expected and
seemed to be doing a good job of getting on with my life.
The "well-wisher" assured my friend,
based on some past personal experience, that was probably not the case
at all and proceeded to ramble on about how griefstricken I must be.
I'm sorely tempted to reply to such
people with something akin to, "I'm doing well except for those people
who seemingly won't be happy until I'm miserable," but I know better
than that. My parents (and my wife) raised me to handle situations like
this with as much grace as one is able to muster, but it just infuriates
me to be told how I'm supposed to grieve.
It's difficult enough as it is without being chastised for my technique!
I learned from my wife (who had to
repeatedly handle this during her illness) to be as pleasant as possible
as briefly as possible but to eventually cut off excessive grieving
with, "Well, surely there must be something more interesting to talk
about than this. How have you and Mrs. Buttinski been doing?"
Would Miss Manners be so kind as to offer some other techniques for handling the "overly grieving"?
Gentle Reader:
It is a particular plague of modern
society that everyone considers himself a freelance therapist, serving
humanity by telling others how they feel.
You were fortunate that your wife gave
you such a good example. Miss Manners can only adapt for your situation.
You can hardly say that your loss is uninteresting. But you can say, in
a tone speaking more of sensitivity than indignation, "It's not
something I care to discuss" if you immediately follow that, as your
wife did, by asking a politely neutral question about the speaker.
(
Miss Manners column pulled from the
Post-Tribune.)
I was so surprised to hear the term 'grief groupies' as I thought I had come up with it all on my own. The people who only showed up in my life to hear or see the most lurid moments of my sadness but never stuck around to helpful in those moments or any other moments. Those people who are only interested in me for the horrid details of my most personal pain. Grief groupies, indeed.
I wrote about grief groupies, in a roundabout way, several months ago. At the time I was upset about the prying people. The people who wanted to know how he died, having just met me. Like it was any of their business. Like I was that evenings entertainment. Since that post, I've gotten a little calmer about my response. Not always demanding to know breast/penis size in return for asking prying questions. Notice, "not always". Cause sometimes I still throw that answer out. Mostly I just look at them like a strange new bug and say "what makes you think it's okay to ask me that?" Then I walk away. Cause really? I don't want to dialog with stupid people.
And please spare me the "they just don't know what to say and so therefore say the wrong thing" argument. I'm already grieving and can't remember my own name half the time. Now I also have to be responsible to make others feel comfortable? Nope. Not doing it. I'm mourning the death of my husband. They can just figure out the right thing to say or get out of my way.
But I want to get back to that first group. The ones who show up out of the blue, the ones who know what happened, and have come to settle in and watch the floor show. And it's me.
I'm the floor show. It makes me sick when I realize I've come across these people. It makes me feel dirty. As if I've done something wrong.
If you're a widow or widower, you know these people. You've had one, or three, or a half dozen of them crawl out of the woodwork. Some may have surprised you. Some, upon reflection, may not have surprised you.
These are the people who show up at the funeral ready to throw themselves on the casket, watching you the whole while, waiting to see if you'll out drama them.
Wanting you to out drama them.
These are the people who barely spoke to you before, for some imagined slight, but keep showing up at the house trying to push past you. Trying to get into the house while saying the most sickeningly sweet things with venom dripping from the edges of the words. Craining their necks to see past you, to see how badly you and the house have fallen apart. They won't take no for an answer so you start keeping your blinds down and cower in the bedroom when they knock on the door.
The ones who you meet for lunch or diner and five minutes in start asking the most bizarre questions like "when do you think you'll have sex again" and "have you had him send you messages since he died?"
These are the people who show up to keep you company, spend thirty minutes complaining about how they can't pay all their bills, and then follow up with the "how much are you getting for life insurance" question.
And maybe I have done something wrong. Cause these people were in my life before Steve died. These sick, demented, pathetic, freak show watching people were somewhere in my life - either on the fridges or part of my inner circle - way before something really bad happened. How much of my old life did they poison with their insanity? How did I not see what they truly were and kick them out before they could do me serious damage?
Those grief groupies, they are the ones that really hurt. More than any stranger who is simply stupid and insipid and wanting to hear details. These groupies are the ones who really should know better, and don't. Because the truth is:
They. Don't. Care. And they were already in my life.
Now here's the good news. We can kick them to curb. And please, do it while wearing heels. Big pointed spiky heels. Feel free to leave lots of puncture marks as you walk over them, and past them, and beyond them. Cause they are always gonna be miserable, disgusting, facsimiles of human beings with no emotions other than pain, anger, jealousy and glee at other people's depth of the same. And we're not that. We've got our grief, but we've got it because we've had joy, love, friendship, support and all the wonderful things that make up life. It's the reason we grieve. We miss all those wonderful things. And we'll find joy again. And hope again. And love and support and kindness again. Because that is who
we are.
There's more good news. We'll see those grief groupies a long way off from here on out. They'll never be able to surprise us again cause we can recognize what they are before they become entrenched in our lives. And when we see them coming, we can just wave our pointed high heels in their direction and scatter them like the roaches they are.
Grief groupies, beware.
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Today's post is part of a monthly blog-hop (first Wednesday of each month). It's a way to find other widow/er bloggers to read, interact with, discuss, and follow. Feel free to leave comments, send e-mails, share and interact. The following links are to other blogs participating in this month's hop. Hope you find someone and something new that helps you.
