Damn, Man, That's Horrible

But also, why are you telling me this?

April 2023

How, when, and why I tell people about the loss has been impossibly tricky from day one. And since it’s almost inherently an overshare anytime I mention it at all, I feel like I get it wrong most of the time. But the reasons I share vary and continue to change as time passes. Initially, it was because I was actively sobbing in public and people would inquire. But then I felt terrible for dragging them into that pit with me and soon developed a tactic for dealing with public breakdowns that didn’t involve detailing my heartbreak.

Then sometimes I would tell people if I was going to be with them for a while, like on a work trip or multi-day media event. I would mention it as a means of not having to explain why I just started crying or otherwise weirdly lost my shit out of nowhere. I felt like it might be easier to get it covered before I became unexpectedly unmanageable. An odd approach, granted, but it’s what felt right - or perhaps least wrong at the time.

On occasion, I’ll encounter friends that I haven’t seen in person since the loss. And I know that they know, obviously. And I also know that they have questions about it. Not because they want all the horrible details, but because they care. It’s hanging over us and it’s heavy, so I put it down for us both.

Unfortunately, I have occasionally weaponized it when I was having a particularly bad day or needed the conversation or inquiry to end. Like the time I was, yet again, trying and failing to buy new clothes. And the salesperson insisted on knowing why I was interested in so many varying items. And I finally mentioned that I lost a lot in a house fire. And then they told me that on the bright side, I get to replace everything. And then me telling them, that’s all well and good but replacing my wife can’t be done in a sporting goods store, or anywhere for that matter.

And I now know that there have been times when my reveal was terribly selfish. At some point, I think I subconsciously recognized that I see shock wash across a person’s face when I tell them what happened - and that I could read in their eyes just how awful the loss was. Which made the often bottomless torment I was feeling seem a bit more justified.

It’s also likely that I was attempting to sponge up some sympathy, extract a hug, or find a shoulder to cry on. I also think that there were times I wanted someone to tell me how strong they thought I was or how well I was handling it all. Because at the moment, strength was nowhere to be found and my grasp on any and everything was tenuous at best.

Initially, I didn’t even know I was doing it. Not until out of nowhere these incidents started turning up on the list of daily miscues I ruminate over when my head hits the pillow. But it’s a dreadful thing to do to somebody and I need to knock that shit off. Because something tells me that ill-begotten comfort or strength acquired through surreptitious means is pretty greasy stuff and potentially the mark of a selfish prick. Or I don’t know - maybe it’s trauma doing what trauma does? Regardless, I’ve been more aware and I’ve gotten much better at not doing it, I think.

I finally have a consult to see a counselor though. And when I do the same thing to her that I’ve been doing to other people, I’m hoping she’ll be able to tell me for sure what’s going on there. And also clue me in on any other ways I might be trainwrecking myself or others. If I can manage to move through all of this in a healthy way and not be an asshole while I’m doing it, that would be optimal.