Stupid People
What has amazed me since my husband died is how stupid people have been towards me. Some have come up to me when I am with my YOUNG children and asked questions, wanted details. Others look at me as though I am the most pathetic soul in the world and then there are the ones who tell me, “don’t worry, you are young, you will meet someone else.” Excuse me???? No one can replace my husband OR be my kids’ daddy, NO ONE. But then I realized that would make THEM feel better. If I re-married then I would be ok, and they would feel better.
Since this happened to me I have wondered how I would behave if it happened to someone else. Would I be as wonderful as my friends have? Would I stare at the poor widow when I saw her at the supermarket or school? I know going through it is the only way to understand. Still I wish people would treat me as they would if it never happened. So, if you didn’t talk to me then, don’t suddenly become my best friend now. I’m not interested in being your friend.
My husband was in a public position. He was in the local media so my story was everywhere, is all over the internet. I hate that. His friends wrote things, beautiful things and sent them to me and my kids. I know I will have that to treasure. Still to me and my children, he was ours. All ours.
I remember when he first died. We had Shiva here and about 1,000 people went through my house in the 3 days. I don’t remember all but I do remember staring at some and thinking why are you here? I was exhausted and emotionally in shock and worn out. Yet, I had to thank them for coming and speak to them. If they never spoke to me before, why must I speak to them? Some didn’t come who should have. Never sent a note, never made a call. I don’t understand that. My guess is that they couldn’t handle it. But I have no room for anyone’s else’s grief. Only my children’s and mine.
Grief is exhausting. I sleep alot after the kids go off to school. I can’t eat and my meds make me nauseous. People don’t want to know that though. They only want to stare and pity the poor widow and then go home to their happy homes thankful they aren’t me.
