I watched the cafe manager make his way toward us – the 3 of us sitting at a table set for 4 – but with no 4th person in sight. He walked our way and then I saw him glimpse the teary eyes of Danelle and I. He tuned into the tone of the table and gently veered away. Now wasn’t the time to check on the meals.

We had headed out for dinner to a local cafe, partly with the intent of discussing what we will do on Sam’s birthday next week – Feb 18 – and soon to be followed by the anniversary of his death on March 24. We asked ourselves what we’d ‘like to do‘ on these days…

Simply, we’d like not to be facing a day like this… But it’s too late for that now. We are neck deep in ugly grief.and these days are brutal reminders. We shouldn’t be sitting in a cafe red eyed from tears as we discuss what would be ‘significant’ or ‘nice’ or ‘appropriate’. 

How the heck would we even know?

Are there books on this stuff? Do you YouTube it?

None of us wants to look away and just press on – go to work then home, followed by a gym session. And repeat. But what do you do?

It’s not like planning a birthday or wedding. The anticipation seems to take the form of dread. But the day is coming. We are placing ourselves firmly back into the reality of his life and death. We can only relive what we have lost. Yes I know we can ‘celebrate his life’ and all that, but it’s hard to keep a foot in both the celebration and mourning camp on the same day. And to be honest it just feels way more mournful than joyous.

I sometimes feel like I am looking at this whole experience thru a window of opaque glass – like I can make out what’s going on but I am not seeing the depth of it. I wonder if I have faced this loss square on or if I’m inadvertently dodging it. I’m not sure how to know that though.

Sometimes I do just look away – hit the off switch on the ‘frameo’ as pictures of him cycle thru reminding us of his life. Some days I don’t want to see those images. Other times I sit in the anguish and allow it to wound me again, reminding myself of how much there was to be grateful for – that we will meet again… It’s a strong hope.

We are now that family of 3 – yeah just 3… And you can’t help but feel the incompleteness that this reality brings.

And I’ve got kinda used to shedding tears in public places – because this is just how it is.  Sometimes tears flow and it would be dishonourable to try and pretend they don’t. I am happy to shed tears for this boy. If you happen to be present or see it then just roll with it.

And as we have gone thru this year I have been reminded again more than ever that we all carry pain – some of us have the cold, brutal, permanent pain of a death, others the ongoing ever present pain of a marriage gone south, or a terminal illness. Some live with tormented minds – damaged souls, even if they present ok… I’d put money on it that everyone is dealing with pain of some sort. 

And sometimes it’s hard to stop and explain it afresh to someone. I had a phone call this week with a person I had never met before and the longer we talked the more I felt that I needed to cue him into what had happened 11 months ago that had put out lives in this kind of holding pattern. I imagine it helped him make sense of our current life situation.

And if you find yourself in the presence of people you don’t know well who are in pain then take a cue from one of our local Thai Restaurant waiters. Danelle had dinner with my brother’s stepdaughter here a month or so back and over the evening both shed some tears at the losses they had experienced. At the end of the meal as they were paying the bill, the young waiter simply said ‘I don’t know what you are going thru, but I hope you’ll be ok.’ A simple kindness and a recognition that two people had shared their pain in his space.

It’s all it takes to make awkward not awkward.