Awkward

There is nothing more awkward than loss. When it's this close, there's nothing that you can do or say. You just kind of have to accept it and let it heal. It's like finding a large crater where land once was in your garden and you have a choice. Are you going to try desperately to cover it up or are you just going to leave it and let erosion fill it in? The point is, either way, the hole exists and will continue to exist for a time. So when your friends come over, it's awkward.

Some people ask me if I would like them to just do things normally. Keep things moving so to speak and not bring up or draw attention to my loss. In a sense, you can't really draw attention to something that is so apparent and no one can really act normal because nothing really is normal anymore. It's awkward.

When I go out with other people or am just surrounded by other people, I feel lonely because my world has changed so drastically in the last few months but I know other people's lives have only been slightly singed (apologies if you are more effected). So I stand in the room knowing that the regular me would go talk to people but I just want to leave. I feel tired. I feel awkward.

Or when people come to greet me. They ask how I'm doing because that's what we do. They hope I'm doing better, getting over it in some sense and if the conversation goes that way, they can remind me of the goodness of God. I, on the other hand, am at crossroads. Do I tell them that I don't really feel the depth of the loss yet and am only beginning to explore sorrow? How could I possibly let them know how I feel without coming off aggressive and defensive yet keeping in mind their good intentions and where they plan to have the conversation go? I just want to tell them that I feel as anyone who lost their mother recently within 'x' number of days would feel and the same applies when they ask about my family members. The exchange somehow feels so false and awkward. Like a boy crossing the floor in 6th grade to ask a girl to dance only to place his hands on her hips for 3 minutes swaying to the beat. They want to feel like they've done something for me and made sure that I'm ok. I just want to let them know that nothing could possibly be ok and nothing can possibly be done.

Because loss is awkward. You sit there facing yourself not knowing what to say or do. Facing others. Facing Him.

And what I've learned is that there is nothing you need to say. No amount of time or comforting words spoken to the person will heal the pain faster. These things take a lifetime and no matter how much we want things to be back to normal sooner, the truth is that our worlds are changed entirely. Sometimes I think God feels most distant during these times because he knows that I need no words of comfort. What I knew of his goodness and the way the world works before this, I still know.

I just need time to sit.