the rug out from under

i've heard grief described many ways. i've also described grief in many ways of my own. but perhaps one of the most fitting is that of having the rug pulled out from under you.

in that, a loss can make you feel as if this has happened. or maybe even more descriptive is that of having the entire floor disappear. and you're trying desperately to find something to stand on. you're flailing and grasping, trying to make yourself cling on to the walls around you.

this vividly came home to me today as i returned from out of town where i attended a funeral. of someone who i truly cared about. and i'd more or less forgotten that i'd scheduled my carpets to be cleaned today. i mean, i hadn't totally forgotten. sunday morning before i left, i'd moved around furniture and stacked things up so as to make sure the most trafficked parts of the rugs were available. i'd had that much foresight. but then i kinda sorta forgot about it all as i got involved in the funeral and grief events.

i drove home here. and all i kept thinking on the way was how i just wanted to get home. get my bearings. steady myself before i went into work tonight. seeing the body, talking to the parents and talking to old friends and acquaintences was much more trying that i'd even antipated. the drive home was long. and i just wanted to come in and sit down.

but i couldn't. i turned the key to my apartment and i could smell the cleaner. and opening the door, i remembered, "oh yeah." and the rugs were still damp. furniture still stacked in the corners of the room. the kitchen floor and my bed piled high with stuff that is usually in familiar, calming, well-thought out places.

and so i'm disturbed. literally LITERALLY, the rug has been pulled out from under me. i want to put my suitcase away. i have to go to the bathroom. i remove my shoes so as to track the least amount of dirt in on the freshly cleaned carpet. i walk in straddled fashion down the hallway, so as not to hit the high traffic areas. i brace myself on walls. tipping unsteadily on my tiptoes. i can't get footing. nothing feels solid. nothing feels steady. nothing feels comforting.

so i take care of my business and i leave. i go out to get gas. i go out for a late lunch. i go to the library to pick up a book i have on hold. and i feel like a refugee.

so i come on home again. and i perform the same acrobatics to pick up my ipad and toddle out to the unaffected patio. where i sit writing this quickly before i head downtown to the center. where they'll ask me, "xxxxx, why are you so dressed up?" and i'll have to answer. and they'll express their sympathy.

and i'll lean on them. those who have no idea of my past life where i had the rug pulled out from under me too many times. i'll lean on them, simply, because they are there to lean on. and i'll go on with my work. probably still feeling a bit unmoored. but gradually, i'll be ok. and maybe when i get home, i can shove things back into their proper places.

the father told me today of the first time they met me. they (he and his wife) came in with stacks of information for their first IEP meeting. he said, he wondered how it would go, knowing his wife was on edge in this new territory of school. wondering how we'd take this big stack of demands, concerns, anxieties, questions that they had in their hearts and in their hands. feeling as if they were strangers in a strange land. that might be hostile. and he said, they produced their large stack of notes and asked, "how do we start?" and that i replied, "well, how about we start with this (indicating their notes of concern) and work from there?" he said, "no one, could have said anything better."
he said, he'd never forgotten it. how i made them feel anchored. and not alone.

and i guess i compare it a bit with having the rug pulled out from under you, like this. and i advise anyone who is trying to help, comfort, understand someone who is grieving- who may be anxious, not happy, worried, agitated, maybe even grouchy or angry etc. that all they really need from you is some certainty. some bearing. a solid floor beneath them. even if they can't express it to you, that's what they need. be the solid floor beneath them and help them stand. they are not grasping at you to be aggravating. they are not trying to demand more of you than you can give. they simply want some stability. some security. some reassurance. and that is all.