Old blueprints triggered in grief

Yesterday was a hard day. We laid a dear, dear friend to rest. A beautiful friend with a million different memories, all entwined within my family and my childrens upbringing. It was hard for us all. Being at the funeral finally made it feel real, as Ive been somewhat numb this past week.

I found it impossible to comfort my children and hold space for them. I was barely holding on myself. They were all watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to fall apart, which finally happened when I saw her coffin in the church. The dam broke, but I had one of them on either side and was so conscious that my upset would affect them. Trying to hold it together. One of them became nippy with me a couple of times. I’m not proud that I nipped back. Even more ashamed that someone might have noticed. I should know better. I was able to recognise, even in my grief, that she was struggling, and this is her blueprint she got it from me. She is in fear, and so am I. I was at least able, in that moment, to simply let it go.

Later in the evening, in the haze of disbelief and sadness, as I sat with red, puffy, nipping eyes, sighing, staring into space, exhausted she came and gave me a hug. She said that she was sorry, that a few times today she had responded in ways that weren’t helpful. I told her it was ok, that we were both really upset, and that we had fallen back into old stress behaviours. In hindsight, perhaps we shouldn’t have sat next to each other in that specific moment because we do tend to trigger each other. She agreed.

My husband has also struggled today, as he can’t fix this. He can’t take my pain away, and that’s a hard one for him. But he is able to communicate that, which is a huge shift in itself.

As I move through this grief, I’m planning to be kind to myself. I’m prepared for the mistakes I’m going to make because, of course, I won’t have the emotional capacity I might normally have.

I count myself very lucky that I haven’t had a lot of experience with grief in my life. Those close to me have, but I’ve always been that bit removed watching with a mix of horror and curiosity. Feeling useless, without the skills to help, because I had no experience of this and therefore no understanding. Dreading the time when I inevitably do go through this.

Is there a right thing to say or do? I think not. Just being there without fixing, without advising. That awkward silence is a place we dread; we can feel so useless in our inability to soothe. But that silence says it all.

It says, I see you. I feel this with you. You are not alone.

And maybe, in the end, that’s the only thing that really matters.