A story of grief by a man and a boy
I find that some days my grief just grows heavy and intense without any real warning or explanation. These days, however, I try to avoid letting on when l feel this way because people tend to want to ask why. I have learned that it can be hard to simply articulate how I’m feeling without having to go into great depth about exactly what I’m thinking.
‘Why are feeling so bad today?’ someone might ask. If this particular type of grief makes an appearance at the same time as a touch of anger then I really have to bite my tongue. Erm, because my wife’s dead, I find myself wanting to say. I mean why the fuck do you think I feel so bad? I do realise it’s rather hostile to bring something into conversation and then expect the person I’m talking to not to respond, however. This is one of the aspects of grief that can make it such an antisocial emotion. In my experience people tend not to know exactly when to reach out and when to leave well alone. And how can they when the grieving person may not know what they do or do not want until it does or doesn’t happen?
I suppose asking a someone why their grief is more intense than usual is a bit like asking where exactly a person misplaced something that they have just admitted to having lost. Perhaps if they knew the missing item’s location they would be able to do something about its misplacement other than just making a passing comment borne out of frustration, which is usually worst met with a question that so often makes that person want to explode.
If it’s not altogether obvious from the rather irritable tone of this post, I’m afraid to say that today is one of those days. Just don’t ask me why.