I was reflecting on the lunch meeting I had on Monday. A fellow bereaved mother sat across from me and we seemingly interacted like everyone around us. But were we really?
The place was crowded and the tables were close together, the sound of chatter filled the space, word exchanges, gestures, smiles… we did the same, but our conversations seemed to have been a bit different. Very uneventful and fluent for us, but the silence and looks from the table beside us let us know we were using words that startled people. Talking about our dead children and death in general is just a part of our conversation but I guess it is a different kind of narrative, ours and theirs.
I was looking at my friend, smiling, even laughing from time to time. Her whole body language is different from the time I met her. Even though she still feels very much on a hunt for peace and meaning, she is different from the woman I met 2 years ago. I don’t remember the time we first met like this, in a setting outside our support group, just her and me. That was in the time when my mind was still completely absent and disconnected. We persisted, and now 2 years later, even not remembering the starts, I can see our progress. Her progress and my progress. I never knew I was going to learn this, life without him, I think she never thought she would learn life without her son either. But there we were, talking and smiling, two friends having lunch, deliberating on new ways to look for our boys within this life without them.
With Love, Tina