Skip to main content

Observations of Bereavement

Now that I've been in bereavement mode for over a month, here are a few things I've observed...

I've been hinting at this before, but now it's official -- the bereaved mind is completely delusional. Think about it. No matter how a raggedy a person is in life, everyone celebrates them when they die. Pookie could have sold drugs, had 15 kids by 13 baby mamas, and the day he gets shot, he becomes St. Pookie the Divine in the eyes of those who love him. Maybe not quite divine, but you get the picture.

Grieving can really work up an appetite. It's hard work being sad. Even though I'm not crying as much as I did at first, the sadness can creep up on you at any given time. That's very draining, which makes it necessary to eat. Coupled with the fact that I just returned to the gym yesterday, I've gained at least 10 pounds this month. Of course, keeping up the figure is really hard when you consider my next point...

Black people believe that fried chicken can cure grief. Understand, I love the stuff as much as everyone else, but if I tell you I was all clucked out by the time the funeral was over, I only say it 'cuz it's true! I guess you're supposed to be able to fly over the pain by filling up on Church's, Popeye's, KFC, and the like. While I appreciated folks being thoughtful enough to bring food to the house, the bird stopped flying after the third bucket.

People only get together when someone dies. Why is that? I was so glad to see everyone, but I couldn't help thinking that Granny would've enjoyed them, too. I know we all lead busy lives, but I think it's important for families to see each other on happy occasions, too.

I've said this before, but I'll say it again -- I have the best friends in the world. Some reached out to me when they found out, others sent stuff, and still others actually came to the funeral. Even though I've thanked them, I don't have the words to express how much their love and support has helped me during this time. And that's saying a lot for me! LOL

Stay tuned for my take on what NEVER to say to a grieving person...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

He's Gone...For Real

My uncle died. He actually ceased to live. I don't know how to handle this. Even though he was my mother's brother, he was so much more than that to me. He was the coolest cat on the block, He set the standard that every man had to meet. He was the one I compared every man in my life to. For all intents and purposes, he was my de facto dad. I am stunned. I feel like someone knocked the wind out of my body. I grew up watching him. If he sat up straight, I wanted to sit up straight. I once caught him standing up to pee. I thought I'd do that when I grew up, too. (You can just imagine that conversation). That's the thing...he never shied away from my craziness. When I discovered what a father was -- at the tender age of five -- I purposed in my heart to find one for myself. I asked every man I knew, including him, if they'd be my daddy. He said, "I can't be your dad. I'm your uncle." When I pressed, he gently explained that he already had a significan...

A Middle Aged Rant

I am single. I’ve never had a husband. I’ve never given birth to a child. I’ve never lived with a man over six months. I am 54. I’m not classically pretty. I’m overweight. I’m not very tall. My brother says I’m a unicorn. My friends are kind enough not to make me feel small. My mother mentions in passing that she wants me to find a husband. I try not to be sad about my state. I’ve lived a life that some would find enviable. I had my dream job, met and interviewed great people, made great friends, and traveled all over the world. I have a new career that I find oddly fulfilling. Men don’t always like that. Some of them are jealous because I’m not easily impressed. Some are jealous because I’ve done things they haven’t. Some are jealous because I’ve lived on both coasts. I don’t know what to do. I can’t change my life – not that I want to. I can’t change my past – not that I want to. I can’t change myself –not that I want to. I just want someone to see me, not the image I present. I want...

I Own My Tears

I own my tears. I used this as a hashtag on a Facebook post. I was talking about the movie, "The Fault in Our Stars." If you've seen it, you know what I mean, and I won't spoil it for you. Of course, you know me -- it's deeper than that. I need to say it out loud... I own my tears. New Boo meant the world to me. He really did. Our relationship meant the world to me. It really, really did. And now it's over and he's gone -- seemingly for good. That makes me cry more than I want to, and more than I have ever imagined I would. And while I hate it, I need to do this. I need to mourn this thing in its entirety because it has truly changed my life. I own my tears. I own the fact that I am hurt. I own the fact that I'm mourning a relationship that I wanted to work more than life itself. I wanted to be a part of a couple, and eventually a family. That may well happen for me one day. Today, though, it doesn't look likely. So yes, I cry. And you ...