It snuck up from behind me and

bit me. Hard. It was at a place that I totally wasn't expecting to have a grief fit. And it really made me irritated. Can't I go some place fun and simple without having unexpected tears?

No. And that's the problem. People don't know how to handle tears. It makes them uncomfortable. And they want to "fix" the "problem." This is unfixable. I don't know how to handle my tears too.

It stinks.

This was a simple social event where I would be meeting people who didn't know me and my family members, so of course the natural questions of "where do you live, what do you do, how many kids to you have" etc. just sort of come up in conversation.

But it was having to listen to the response of my mother that got me tonight. She didn't answer incorrectly, wrongly, or bad--there just wasn't a simple "out" or simplistic response to her conversation. A woman asked her how many grandkids she has, to which she replied, "4." It was just chit-chat. The woman asked her how many kids she has, to which she replied, "4." But then the lady asked how many were married of her 4 children. Hmmm. How to respond easily to that one? "My two oldest are married" was an easy enough answer and is how she chose to respond. I mean, really--was she supposed to say "my oldest son is married and my oldest daughter is widowed"...? No. To strangers who really don't care per se (or need to know)...just saying that the oldest two children are married made the most sense. It really wasn't her response that made me cry. It was mostly the craptasticness of the situation that made me frustrated. The stigma of being a single parent--even though it came about unwillingly for me. It was just, well, odd to overhear this conversation--sort of out of body-like.

My sister lost the love of her life during her senior year of high school. His loss was unexpected and was felt far reaching by many. Adam and I mourned, even though we didn't really know this young man. We mourned because my family--my sister--mourned. Our heart ached for her. Tonight we were in the company of people who knew of this young man's passing. When the connection to our family was realized, one woman thought (probably because I couldn't look at her/listen to her) that he was "my" loss. Finally when I realized she was talking to me and not to my sister sitting next to me, I blurted out "J____ was her sweetheart who passed away. But I know something of loss myself, my husband passed away about a year and a half ago, so that is something we have in common." Of course my sister was bawling. I was more annoyed at this point and just wanted to shelter my sister from people giving her the "awww, poor you" looks and other isms that come to mind.

I have thought about my sister a lot through Adam's loss and dealing with my own grief. But it wasn't until I was sitting side by side and wanting so much to stop the pestering of questions of her that I realized how alike we were in this crazy twist of life. I imagined how it would've been if her sweetheart would've been married to her when he died--if she were also a "widow." Granted, our lives aren't the same and being actually married and actually having children together is something that is entirely different that loving someone deeply. Yet, the heartbreak is similar. Similarly stupid, ridiculous, ugly, horrifying, maddening, frustrating, disgusting, and similarly...the same.

She was embarrassed by her tears, I think they shocked her. And yet I also realized how much I have to purge from me before I truly come to terms with it all. It will be a lifetime. I don't understand how I will ever get to that "ok" point where things start to make sense. Here it is, all these years later, and the emotions for my sister are still very raw. I think that while I can "fake" my way out of my emotions in front of people generally...these feelings and deep longing for Adam will always be raw. I just keep waiting for the scar tissue to put down layers over these deep wounds. Tonight I think I picked a bit at the scar tissue--a few steps backwards tonight. It is expected. But still annoying.

There is a song on the radio (yes...another one, however annoying) that comes to my mind a lot these days. One of the verses, at the beginning of the song (as well as the chorus) relates how I still feel most days:

Dreams
That's where I have to go
To see your beautiful face anymore
I stare at a picture of you and listen to the radio
Hope, hope there's a conversation

We both admit we had it good
But until then it's alienation
I know that much is understood
And I realize...

If you asked me how I'm doing
I would say I'm doing just fine
I would lie and say that you're not on my mind
But I go out and I sit down
At a table set for two
And finally I'm forced to face the truth
No matter what I say I'm...
Not over you.
Not over you.