Skip to main content

Pretend


 I just broke down crying in the car on the way to Hamilton.  That hasn't happened in a while.

I pushed "Send" and my text whooshed off to Denise and Lisa.  They both replied almost immediately with a similar version of the same question:  Why?  Did something happen or is it just everything?

Life.  Life happened.  Shannon and I were just in Oregon for two weeks.  We attended his son, Clayton's, celebration of life and started tearing down the crushed remains of the house where Clayton had lived.  Shannon had lived with both of his sons in that same house for several years.  Lots of memories covered in soggy insulation, moldy drywall, and tree branches.  A house full of mementos now smashed to bits and loaded into 40-yard dumpsters.  

We came home to Montana just in time for Shannon to fly back to Oregon for work.  There was no time to decompress, to settle, to process.  We jumped right back into life and charged ahead.  Because life happens, with or without us.

The week after we got home, I was talking with a friend.  He asked a few questions about the trip to Oregon, how things went.  Then he said, "You seem to be doing really well.  You seem like you are thriving."

Thriving?  Thriving.  That comment has stuck with me.  Thriving.  I sure hope not.  I hope this isn't what thriving feels like.  I hope thriving feels a million times better than whatever this shit show of emotions is.  I think I have become adept at pretending; the old "fake it till you make it" adage.  

So I started noticing.  I started paying attention to people I know who are also grieving.  I see their tricks and adaptations.  The empty smile that disappears as soon as they turn away.  The forced laugh.  The blank stare.  The briefest hesitation before answering the question, "How are you?" as the brain calculates how much honesty to share or not share.  The vague answers and deflections.  We have become experts at pretending that things are okay, when things are quite far from okay.  But life goes on, and we have to go along with it.

I ran into some old river friends at the bike shop the other day.  I hadn't seen them in a few years.  My first thought as I got out of my truck was, I wonder if they know about Scott.  I walked up and greeted them.  The husband gave me a smile and nod, deep in conversation with the bike shop owner about the bike that was in front of them.  The wife gave me a big smile and a hug.

Here it comes, I thought.

"How are you?" she asked, her hand on my shoulder.  "You holding up okay?"

My brain did its quick calculation and decided on Vague Answer.  "Yeah, I'm alright," I replied with a shrug.

Get ready.  Here it comes.

She looked down at the ground, then back at me.  "I'm so sorry I didn't reach out last summer."

I nodded.  "It's okay."

"Scott saved my life, you know.  On the Grand Canyon.  He saved my life.  I flipped in my kayak and swam in a bad rapid.  Before I knew what was happening, I looked up and there he was in his boat.  He reached over the edge and just plucked me out of the river.  He saved my life," she said in a rush.  Then she started to cry.

I gave her a hug, comforting her as she continued to cry.  This was not the first time I had consoled someone over the loss of Scott.  The griever often seems to take on the role of comforter as well, and it feels strange and surreal.  

Its not always pretend.  Sometimes, my smile is genuine.  I laugh often from my belly and my soul.  Some days, when asked how I am, my honest answer is, "I'm good."  Because some days, I am truly good.  I am happy, and I can smile and laugh.  Other days are hard.  I find myself in a period of sadness right now.  Life feels heavy and big.  I know the light will return, and the heavy will lift, and I just need to ride it out until that time comes.  Until then, I will hesitate before I answer.  I will wear an empty smile, and I will laugh from my throat instead of my belly.  And that's okay.  

      

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Beginning

  "I just need a copy of your insurance card," I heard the office manager say as I walked down the hallway toward the waiting room. "I gave it to them next door.  Can't you get it from them?" a male voice replied. I grimaced as I continued toward the waiting room.  The physical therapy office where I worked was in the same building as an orthopedic surgeon's clinic.  Most people assumed we were the same business.  The office manager had to clarify multiple times a day that we were two separate businesses, and the repetition made her cranky.   As I reached the waiting room, I listened to her icily launch into her speech about how the two businesses were separate and we needed our own copy of the insurance.  I stopped and waited for her to finish, looking at the back of the man standing in front of her window.  He was tall, with broad shoulders, thick hair. and muscular calves.   After the manager finished her tirade, the man shrugged...
Post a Comment
Read more

Spaghetti

  Scott and I had been dating for about a month.  He lived in Darby, and I lived in Lolo, so we usually either met halfway in between for dinner or he would drive to Missoula and meet me somewhere for dinner after work.  One sunny spring Saturday at the end of April, Scott invited me to his house in Darby.   I had not been, and vaguely knew where Darby was.  When he told me he lived in Darby, I thought for a moment, then asked, "That's the place with the candy store, yeah?" That Saturday afternoon, I got in my car and drove to Darby.  As I got further down the valley and closer to his house, I felt my world shift again.  Something about this felt significant, just as it did when we were walking side by side down the hallway.  Something about this felt BIG.   As I pulled into his driveway, he strode out of the house wearing his boyish grin.  When I got out of my car, he wrapped me in a bear hug and lifted me off my feet, and we ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Pull It Out

I gasped.  I knew something was wrong.  I gasped again, forced a slow exhale.  Another gasp.  I couldn't gain traction.  I had to get out of the puddle.  Dimly, my mind realized there was no pain.  Something just felt wrong.  Gasp, forced slow exhale.  I hesitantly reached up and touched my shoulder, where my arm should have connected to my body.  My arm was there, only a few inches lower than it should have been.  Another gasp. We were four and a half miles from the trailhead at the end of a three-day backpacking trip.  It had been a wonderful and challenging journey from the beginning.  The weeks-long hot spell had finally broken, and my two friends, Lisa and Rebecca, and I jumped at the chance to hit the trails for some forest time.  We had four dogs between the three of us, all females.  This was a girls' trip on all accounts.  The forecast called for intermittent rain showers, so we came prepared with r...
Post a Comment
Read more