I've had some trouble the last few days thinking of what to write. I was lucky to have some time the day after Christmas to write a few posts and schedule them...and I guess it was a good thing I did...or my blog would have been rather blank the last few days...
I haven't been much in the mood to post. I found out on Saturday that a good friend of mine's husband committed suicide. I can't go in to all the details out of respect for privacy (not that you would know who they are...but...just in case), but it made me realize how little we sometimes know people and the things they are struggling with in life.
This friend was always very private, and I respected that...in part because I am also very private. I think that is why we always got a long pretty well. We knew we cared what the other was going through, but we never pushed for information, just let each other tell it when we felt like it. I would hardly say we were "close" in the sense that I'd call her when I was in need or vice versa, but I do know that if I ever did call that she would be there for me. We just sort of understood each other, and though we did not "hang out," took an interest in each other's lives and what each was going through.
She is a strong woman. I've found out that she is even stronger then I really knew. She has been through a lot already. In the past, I often admired her for her strength and perseverance. But to be faced with something you weren't prepared for. Didn't have a plan for. She has two young children, whom are now going to be without a father.
I talk a lot about grief in my posts, in part because I am still dealing with my own. In the past, I've said that my dad's death helped me to relate to others who were experiencing grief and loss. I'm starting to think I may have been wrong. I can relate/share my experiences with those who lose a parent. I can understand in a way, and know that nothing I say will make it better and that continuing to hear "It will get better," "He's in a better place," and "I know it hurts," can make you want to scream. But I find myself at a loss with what to say to her. I want to call her and let her know that I am thinking of her, and I'm here for her if she needs someone...for even the smallest of things. But...I'm too chicken. And I don't know why. Is it the fact that I'm scared to hear her voice...to hear pain...to not know what to say after I tell her I'm thinking of her? Is it that I feel my words, no matter what I say, will be small and insignificant to what she is facing? That I will trip and stumble, as I try to get out something meaningful...because I'm more a writer then a talker?
It has been three days since this all happened, and I was one of the first to know. But yet, I am probably one of the last to say anything. I've found myself poised to call, and then don't. At the very least, I want to write her a letter...something I am so much better at doing. But, I don't want her to think I didn't care enough to call.