Why Are People Quiet When Grief Is the Loudest?
“I’m sorry about your grandmother,” my neighbor said as I was walking my dog down the street. It had only been a week since she left us, and I was trapped in the ebb and flow of fresh grief, finding pockets of joy and caverns of despair, anguish, and anger alike.
In that moment, I was looking at how green the grass was, and admiring how warm my skin felt in the early spring sun. For one second, I was living in the moment and practicing mindfulness just like all those annoying blogs preach about, only to crash back down to Earth due to five well-meaning words.
I was shell-shocked, not sure how to respond. “Thank you,” or some other form of gratitude would have been the proper response, but those words didn’t come to my tongue. “Me too,” is how I wanted to respond, but that made me feel like a jerk.
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