Grief Has No Expiration Date

When I arrived home after running errands today, I saw my neighbor, Susan, in her yard tending to her flower bed. Usually, I’d wave, enter the driveway, and then go inside to address my indoor errands. But for some reason, I knew that I needed to go over and say “Hi” after I got out of my car.

Susan had lived next door to me for 10 years. While we never became as close and Ellen and I did, we were close enough to rely on each other every now and then. I went with her when she went to put her cat, Pumpkin, to sleep and I’d occasionally travel over to hold something for a minute while she hammered it or push something out of the way while she ripped something else off the wall.

A few weeks ago, Nathan and I bumped into Susan at the local greasy spoon restaurant. In one of those how-could-I-have-known-but-I-still-wish-I-didn’t-quite-say-it-that-way moments, I asked her, “What are you doing here? Playing hookey from work?” She said, “No, my Mom just died. I’m having breakfast with my brother and his wife.” Oh, shit.

I told her how sorry I was; she began to get teary-eyed. I said, “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” She thanked me and left; I knew Susan was very quiet, independent, and that she wouldn't contact me, especially if it was about something emotional.

I didn’t know her that well, but, I thought I knew her pretty well. It had been a few weeks since her mother had passed away. She didn’t reach out a lot, so when I saw her today, I knew it was time to reach out to her.

I walked over to her hedge and said, “Hi, Suzie-Q. How are you?” The minute she turned her face away from the rhododendron bush, I could see her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glassy not from the morning dew on her flowers but from the solitary tears that had traveled down over each iris. She said, “I’m having a bad day,” but I knew that before she said, “I’m.”

In an instant, I knew her cat had not coughed up a fur ball on her throw rug, her cable remote wasn’t broken, and she had not recently been convicted of a felony. All of that was not her bad day. Her bad day was that she was grieving the loss of her mother.

While Susan and I didn’t talk frequently or at the level that Ellen and I did, I felt compelled to speak to her like Ellen and I did so often. I said, “Susan, one thing I’ve learned is that grief has no expiration date.” It's okay to cry and to feel sad.

She said on the verge of tears, “I said to myself today, it’s been three weeks.” I said, “Three weeks is nothing, Susan.” I told her that not only had she lost her mother, but she was now an “orphan.”

I told Susan that when I lost my Dad, it was tremendous, but there was another feeling that lingered and took me a while to identify. At the worst moments in my life, I always thought, “If my whole life goes to shit, my parents will always be there.” When both my parents suddenly weren’t there, I realized that I had not only lost my father, I had lost a lifeline, too.

Susan said, “That’s exactly what I’ve been feeling today.” I said, “I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but I do know what it’s like feeling as you do today.” Even though you’ve been supporting yourself for years and maybe only talked to your Mom once a week, she was still your Mom. She was the half that made your parents your whole life.

I told her that some people wouldn't understand how she felt. She said that she mentioned something to her manager at work. He responded to her with, “You’re still dealing with that?”

But I told her for every one person who didn’t get it, there were nine others who did. No one ever would understand exactly how she felt, but she was walking in the footsteps of many others who traveled this seemingly lonely path before her. And, those of us who had been there before heard the voices.

They were not the voices of the dead. They were the voices of those who lost and were struggling to live with their loss. We'd be there for her when she needed us.

I told Susan that the most important thing she could do was not beat herself up for still grieving after the funeral. It was okay to feel the pain, as long as the pain didn’t make it impossible for her to get up every day. She didn’t have to get over it and move on; she owed it to herself to cry, to feel whatever she wanted to for as long as she wanted to, and to move slowly through it all.

I said, “In 37.4 weeks, you can be taking a walk, see something by the side of the road that will remind you of your Mom, and you will just start to cry.” You’ll feel silly, because you’ll be thinking, “Why am I crying for no reason?” But, there is a reason to that, and it’s totally okay; you lost someone you loved, and just because she doesn't continue doesn’t mean that your love for her doesn’t continue on and on and on.

She said that July 18th was her Mom’s birthday. Before I could say anything she said, “I have a friend coming to spend the day with me.” I told her that was a good idea, because every April 30th (my Mom’s birthday) was a hard day for me even almost 18 years later.

Many times during our conversation, I wanted to jump the hedge and give her a big hug; however, I knew this wouldn’t be my last conversation with her and there would probably needed hugs along the way. I knew that I’d watch over her, because though I didn’t know exactly how she felt, I knew how it all felt for her.

Before I left, I told her again that if she needed me, she should call me. I knew already though that I’d be over during the week to check on her. I said, “If you ever start crying, don’t feel badly. If you need someone to listen, I will come over. I won’t tell you to get over it. I will only tell you that your tears are not over yet.”

Susan stood there, immobilized in what I knew she felt was her own world. I hoped that by tomorrow what I said made her feel like she had landed on a Planet, albeit a momentarily sad one, that was well occupied and welcomed her with open and loving arms and a secret handshake to boot. As I went to leave, she said, “Thank you. That’s the best thing anyone has said to me yet.”

Do you know what’s really good about going through something bad in your own life? It’s when you’re able to make someone who is going through something just as bad in their life feel better due to what you learned from the bad thing in your life. It doesn’t erase the bad thing in your life, nor in the other person’s life, but it reaffirms that there are many more people out there who understand what you're going through than don’t. ♥