Waiting at the airport for his flight from Washington back to Milan, Italy, my favorite cousin called for a last-minute chat.
“So, how did it go?” stuck in meetings all day, he hadn’t had a chance to read yesterday’s post and I filled him in on all the details of my Oprah audition.
“I am glad to hear you sounding happy,” he said.
That comment made me stop for a moment and suddenly I became conscious of myself. Projecting myself as a happy person is not my intention. Every time I laugh, I am almost aware of laughing and somewhere within it sounds a strident cord. I am in mourning of the worse kind, and it is still so fresh and raw that I can taste the blood.
But it cannot be denied, lately I have laughed as well as cried.
Sometimes I stop in mid emotion and think of Andrew. I go back to last November and find that nothing has changed in that landscape, nor in the way my whole being responds to those visual memories.
Strangely I am reassured. For what kind of mother would not feel pain in the midst of “those” memories.
Well it is pathetic, isn’t it? Since when does love equate exclusively with tears of sorrow?
And whose judgement do we fear, ours or that of others?
I am not sure where I am going with this, so I am going to stop in a minute, but first I want to say this. My sense is that grief, ours and other people’s reaction to it is multilayered and far more complex than we realize.
During my conversation with my cousin I realized how excited I sounded, but the moment he said that he was glad to hear that I was happy, a gear changed in my brain and I started talking about the fact that the distraction had really helped me. As I kept talking I started crying and within seconds I was once again drenched in the waters of misery and sorrow.
I will ponder over that. But in the meantime I would say to my bereaved friends that distraction is a great thing.
I am discovering that being proactive is beneficial to ourselves and those around us.
And, since I believe in life after life, I sense that seeing us torn apart by sorrow is a torment for our loved ones who have died by suicide, that they do not deserve.
So, go on, try having a bit of fun and don’t feel bad about it.