<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pick-your-gadget/">Pick Your Gadget</a>
Recently, so very recently, I had someone tell me that my feelings weren’t valid. That they didn’t think that what or how I felt matched their level of understanding. It hurt to hear that. I never thought that somewhere there was a measuring stick that someone had created to measure the loss of a child. Why did my short time not measure up to someone who had lost their child when they were an adult?
The setting for this argument was even worse, a group whose sole purpose is to offer advice and comfort for parents. A helping hand for people who are at some many different stages of grief that they sometimes need to be around others just to see if there might be a better method. [there are no better methods, just times when it is better than maybe the previous day.]
I didn’t know how to respond. The guy who used to be so very angry about this topic, the guy who would have fought with every ounce of strength to justify even the slightest downturn of a smile because of some memory, fell silent. My ability to hopefully paint a picture that gives a moments insight into how I feel left. And when I did speak, I am now more upset with myself than I am with any other person.
“When you don’t have enough information, you have to see it like a null set. Trying to engineer a solution without enough factors.”
That is the biggest bunch of bullshit I could have spouted. Trying to relate to a scientist who didn’t think the life of a small child measured up to the life of a adult child.
That hurt so deeply I can’t explain. The knife that resides just outside of my stomach got a definite jarring straight through me. In the matter of a few sentences someone had tried to reduce my daughter to an insignificant person.
When I got back to the car and looked over at my ride, I asked them to step out of the car for a minute. I screamed like someone had just hit me in the knees. Kathy was so worried that she jumped back in the car and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. In 30 years of being friends, she has rarely seen me get this wound up. I scared her and I didn’t mean to, I needed to let it out.
Last Christmas was the first I had been through without her, without her mother as well. It was painful and I didn’t do well with it. Sitting in a chair holding another child was absolutely more than I could handle, I had to leave the room afterwards and get control of my emotions.
This Christmas feels worse.
I never thought I would hear someone ever tell my grief was insignificant next to theirs. Would you tell someone that because they were only married 5 years that if they lost their spouse it wasn’t the same as losing a spouse of 50 years. The memories are different, but the loss is the same.
I’m so angry that I allowed myself to lower myself into his beliefs. Explaining my daughter away just so I could try to get this man to in some way relate. Yeah, I don’t know what it is like to lose an 18 year old. I also don’t know what it feels like to walk on the Moon.
It took more effort than I thought to go to the store and buy a gift to place under the tree. A silly Disney themed doll and a sweater with Winnie-the-Pooh on it. I’m not a good wrapper of gifts, but I took all the time in the world to do my best.
I would do anything, absolutely anything to be able to see those things unwrapped.