Looks

Since Colby has passed, I get "the look."You know the one. It's the look you see where another person knows something awful about you but doesn't know what to say, how to approach, what to do. So I have decided to help you out. Like every grieving parent I know, I want to talk about my child. Yes, it makes me sad. I often tear up. I am still on an emotional roller coaster.

I do understand that while it helps me to talk about Colby, it makes you uncomfortable. But please know that it makes me uncomfortable for you to look at me out of the side of your eyes, to avoid my gaze, to go out of your way not to cross my path. So let's not both be uncomfortable. Please ask how I am doing. Please give me your condolences. Offer your help, say you are sorry. Let's lay it all out on the table and get it out in the open. My only child has passed away. I am flustered, unfocused, unproductive. I am not the same person I was. I will never again be that person, but there is enough of me left that I am still your friend, co-worker, acquaintance. I am still me, even though I do not know who that is, will be.

I admit I am guilty of the same behavior. When the loved one of a friend or acquaintance has passed I, too, do not know what to say. I am afraid anything I will say or do will make the situation worse. But I now know that nothing could be worse. Anything you say or do will be of help. Anything but avoiding me. Anything but the look. I may not answer your call, return your call, answer the door, acknowledge email, accept invitations. But I get them. I listen. I read. I do what I can and I hope that someday I will be able to do all of those things. I hope that someday I will realize that "the look" is far in my past.