Life and all its delicacies.

I've noticed that when people experience grief, all they want, simultaneously, is to be heard and left alone. Because no matter how individual, how private, their loss may be, they will attempt to convey it for others--something not quite possible, even in the realm of experienced loss. No life is measured the same, no life is truly experienced by others quantitatively--but they hope there can be something real and touchable--hope that all life feels equal in loss-- forming something out of nothing, forming bonds out of split ends. They don't want all the fake pity, the cliched words of comfort. But they still go to people--they need people. There seems to be something comforting in knowing what to expect from others. Which brings me to that one line we almost constantly say to someone in need: "I'm here if you need to talk" or "I'm always here if you need me". But are we always really there? Are we always willing to give up 'our' time for them--and are we doing it because it's the right thing to do, or we don't know what else to say? Honestly, I think it's a little bit of both. When you have a friend who has experienced loss, what else is there to say? There is nothing else to say. There is "loss"--and lest we know it or not, it comes in all forms: loss of words, loss of knowledge, loss of motivation, loss of life.

So next time you feel required to say, "I'm always here for you if you need me"--assess if you'll really be there. Assess if they'll really need another "loss" in their life.




Photo cred: amyjart @brickfish.com