Reaching Out
This is a throwback Thursday post for me with an update/edit.
I want to acknowledge that after everything my family and I have been through this last year and some odd months we have appreciated every single one of you that has sat with us in our moments of difficulty and everyone that has held space with us for our grief.
I read this blog post from another loss mom prior to giving birth to Henry. It is so fitting that I feel I need to share it with all of you.
I am continuing on a bit of an emotional roller coaster these days and I value still the one on one time I have gotten after Henry's traumatic arrival. Thank you, thank you, to those individuals that have watched our girls and made us meals, taken us out for a break, fielded an emotional text or phone call, and even those whose prayers have supported us from a distance!
I have no doubt that when I return to work in a few weeks that this post from last year will hold very true for me as I retell my story and compare our lives from this year to last.
I've underestimated the amount of courage it takes to reach out to someone in their Grief.
I can't say that I have ever tried. I recall once, in my 'new grad' days, having a patient express Grief after a loss of health and I did not know how to respond, quietly retreating and closing the door behind me. That failure to reach out haunts me to this day. I was taught all the active listening techniques, practiced the supportive responses, and yet, when the time came for this therapeutic communication to be put into action, I froze. Knowing this, I am better now at recognizing those who are amazing at reaching out.
In the days and weeks that followed Griffin's death, we received plenty of sympathy cards and some flowers from dear family, friends, and coworkers. There were some gifts, money, and meals deposited at our door as well. They were all welcome and so appreciated. Since those initial few weeks, somehow time has elapsed more quickly and months have flown by.
My Grief isn't as raw but it is probably just as awkward to address.
I've had to come out of my home, a little hermit out of her shell, to reenter the working world once again in the last month. For all my outward chattiness and friendly nature, I was nervous to be among 'the living' in such a public way. I was hesitant and quiet, arriving late to avoid large groups, requesting to stay home on call if I didn't feel up to a day. Probably, I was doing as I was supposed to be, as others have told me, "Be gentle with yourself."
I had wanted to be able to go back, just as before, my old self skipping at work with a smile on. I'm not sure I've done anything close to that. I know that the old self is gone and with it the good smile, the easy one. I have been able to do all my necessary tasks and truly have found the job as enjoyable as ever.
It's the coworkers I struggle to be around.
Don't take this the wrong way. I work with wonderful people. I have the most compassionate group of friends and even acquaintances that care about me and my family. And that is why I struggle. Grief is a lonely place and having been huddled in its depths at home, I worried about the reentry.
I say that I struggle to be around others because of the awkwardness of Grief.
It's a challenge to keep myself together when I am in my personal space. Being surrounded by those folks that I know really care means that sometimes I may lose my place, might crack my composure and end up embarrassing us all. I may end up red eyed, tearful and tired after barely starting my shift. I might have no appetite for idle break-room chatter, no bounce in my step as I go about my day. I don't suppose it would be any other way but all the same it made me nervous.
After starting to come back now, I have had the opportunity to share our tale and Griffin's photos. I've been blessed with avid readers to my journaled thoughts on my blog. More than that, I have been given the best gift that anyone can offer: they've reached out to me rather than making me come to them. Many of these women (and even a few spectacular men) have approached me to offer condolences in person, to share their own story, to write a meaningful note. It is all touching and I need it.
The cards and notes, gifts and meals, flowers and facebook wall posts were such a great base of support in the beginning. The sympathetic smiles, pats on the shoulder and listening ears are a step up as time has progressed. And for those of you that have gone the awkward extra climb- the Reaching Out- thank you...it is more than I could ask for, and likely more than I can ask for at times.
It has made work a place I can bear to be, knowing that I am welcome as I am, recognized as changed but loved all the same.
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