Grief and Humour – Part 2
So, while dealing with this whole grief thing I’m reminded of times I’ve seen women in the supermarket, they stop and seem to pause for a moment and a hand goes up to their heart and for a brief moment it looks like they just received some devastating news. I have been moved to ask if they are alright? And they pause and then they seem OK again and they reply as much and the day goes on.
Last Saturday I was attempting to get a loaf of rye bread carefully transported via a friend across town, delivered on the Friday, into my fridge freezer. My carer had suggested she could do this. But my first world problem in recent years has been a problem getting things into my fridge freezer.
Full disclosure, I also have a bar fridge size freezer and that’s full too. My carer has recently suggested I could live out of my freezers for six weeks without going shopping, but I’d eat a lot of chilli con carne, ice cream and stews, what a way to go.
So, there I am, fridge-freezer door open. My carer waits behind the door in the kitchen as I shuffled, to get the portioned bread into every nook and cranny, I talked as I worked telling her amusing little tidbits from my day, life, anecdotes of my life with my dad. Don’t recall now, even what I was telling her about, but every few sentences I paused, couldn’t speak. Wanted to burst into tears, but needed more importantly to finish my witty stories. I kept it together. My carer had told me I didn’t need to keep telling her whatever it had been I was telling her, but I finished both my stories and the task of getting all the bread in the freezer for safe keeping. Before I successfully closed the freezer door, I announced to my carer a little sadly. “I’m not leaving the door open because I don’t want you to see me cry” as I closed the door.
I just want to point out this is a hard job being ONE-HANDED! Just try it sometime. I offered my carer to open the door again and bathe in the brilliance that I had managed to achieve and she stated if she opened it again everything would fall out. I told her it would then be her job to get it all back in before she left.
So, I opened the door to show off my brilliant Jenga technique, from behind me the woman FUCKING SNEEZED.
And twos things fell out and we laughed.
You still get to laugh sometimes…..it’s just sweeter.
It’s funny how we don’t want people to see us cry. Why don’t we?
I think its embarrassment & a sign of vulnerability. And we think people wont undersand? Like, any of this should matter? Cheers,H