Change

"A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. But...there is no word for a parent who loses a child. That's how awful the loss is." (Neugeboren 1976, 154).


I have changed. It was inevitable, I suppose, but I've also realized that many of those around me have changed, too. That's something I wasn't expecting. Very few people mention Brittany's name in my presence which makes me fear that she's been forgotten. "April isn't crying today. It must be a good day. Let's not talk about Brittany." Or, "April is crying again today. It must be a bad day. Let's not talk about Brittany." The truth of the matter is though, I want to talk about Brittany. Hearing her name is like music to my ears. Will it make me cry? Probably. But it might also make me smile. Say her name. I want to hear it. Tell me stories. I want to hear them. But don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of saying the wrong thing. Sometimes your ear or your shoulder is all I need...not words. No one in my immediate circle has ever lost a child. For that matter, most people outside my circle haven't lost a child, either. It's a learning process for everyone and I understand that. What I don't understand, however, is the isolation I often feel. I think people are scared to be around me...scared of making me cry...scared of making me remember...scared of being happy in their own lives. It's ok to be happy around me. It's ok to smile and laugh.

To be fair, I believe my isolation is mostly self-inflicted...maybe because, subconsciously, I try and spare people of that perceived awkwardness by keeping to myself. But more than that, I keep to myself because that's where I am right now. I don't like being out in public...I don't like being in large groups...and I don't like being in malls anymore (gasp!). I can even go days without speaking a single word to anyone besides my husband and son. But my lack of social interaction and voluntary seclusion aren't necessarily indicative of my state of mind that day. It doesn't mean I'm hiding under the covers with a box of tissues crying myself sick (although I still have plenty of days like that). I guess I've become selfish with my grief. That's really the only way I know how to define it. As a result, I have inadvertently shut many people out of my life. My silence has been mistaken for insolence and standoffishness. Please know that is never my intent.

Yes, my heart is broken and I am suffering. Yes, I have changed...but please don't change who you are to me.