"I will never get over this grief, and I'm not sure if I want to," says Margaret. "What kind of a mother can smile with a child in the ground?"
The cynic in me makes an internal sardonic quip about farmers smiling if one of six children survived. The human in me feels queasy.
Her eyes well and I try mimicking the action, but just look slightly pained.
Ella nods and thanks Margaret for sharing before asking the rest of the group if any of them would like to share.
Brian stands up; an action that isn't required.
Brian lost his wife. He usually doesn't share. I guess something Margaret said incited a change in his behavior.
"Every day I think if I could choose to not have met my wife. If I had never met her, I would have never lost her, and I would never of had to feel this fucking sad"
Brian pauses and makes eye contact with Margaret.
"It would have been easier to have never met her. But I don't regret it and I wouldn't take it back. I am better for having known her, and the world is better having had her exist in it."
Brian sits down, visibly shaking from his—albeit mild—outburst.
A blanket of silence falls over the room for a full five seconds before Ella disrupts it with a question about how pain can help us persevere, the type of question that is both insensitive, inconsequential, and all too far common.
This was my queue. I dab a napkin I had pulled from the table displaying cheap donuts and off-brand water bottles to my non-existent tears, and quietly stood up out of my chair and shuffled to the back entrance.
That was the nice thing about grief groups. No one holds you accountable. I could triple check the meter I knew was paid without Laura asking me about my sobriety.
I walk to my car. Thrown off by Brian's unexpected testimony I hadn't planned the soundtrack to my drive.
I light a smoke before checking the meter and start thinking about what he would want to hear after that meeting. What he would want to hear and what you find applicable to your personal narrative are two different things the human in me says. I silence that and think of what would make me feel best tonight.
I have 17 minutes this time.
I listen to Fleetwood Mac but avoid Landslide.
YOU ARE READING
Grief Groups
General FictionIn the wake of his brother's death, Alex starts attending every meeting he can, regardless of what it means. Showing up drunk to AA meetings and high to NA meetings, Alex has to learn what it actually means to grieve and move on with his life.
