Both sides of the coin
A strange thing happened at work today. My coworker who lost her mom last week was back in the office. When I saw her, I went over, gave her a hug, and said “I’m so sorry.” I kept it simple. At some point, I’m not sure when, I’ll let her know that I’ve amassed quite the grief library and that she’s welcome to borrow some books if and when she’d like. Not everybody works that way, and she may not be interested. But books saved me when everyone else either didn’t know what to say, or stopped bothering to say anything. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through this without them.
I stopped back into her area after dropping my stuff off at the office fridge to talk to two other coworkers who share the space, and I was cracking wise and laughing, and I realized she was listening. And I felt bad, because I remember how awful it was to hear people laughing when I felt so lost and horrible. How could they laugh when my world had fallen apart??? And I felt good, because I remember how awful it was to hear people laughing when I felt so lost and horrible. And I was glad I’ve found my way to laughter again.
Some days, I’m not sure if I’ve made any progress at all since July, even though I know I have, because right now, the only reason I want to stay in bed all day is because it’s dark and cold in the mornings. But in a moment like that, where I am laughing, where I am being…me…I know that I have come a long way in just these few months. The weird thing about death is that it gives you a crash course in life: an understanding of how things cycle; an understanding of the duality of all things, and the ridiculousness of trying to assign absolutes to anything; an understanding, not just on an academic level, but on a gut level, that you control nothing beyond yourself, and even those reins are sometimes tangled and useless; a firm grasp of what’s important and what’s not. You begin to understand, in very concrete terms, that you are dying, that we are all dying, from the moment we’re born, and we should live like we are, soaking up every bit of life we can. And yet while you shouldn’t waste time, neither should you hurry. Life itself is a Zen koan, it seems to me. Unsolveable, but perhaps that is, and has always been, the point. It is not to be solved, but lived.
I find it so strange to be on both sides of grief at the same time, still working my way through my own, learning to live with it, and to be presented with the opportunity immediately to make use of what I’ve learned because of it. I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure what the best thing to do is, especially since this coworker and I are not close, but merely friendly. However, I’m crystal clear on what NOT to do, and if I can avoid that, it will be a kindness.