What do you say to, “I’m sorry”?
Over the last many days … Wait. I don’t know the exact count. I have been counting the hours and then the days for a real long time. I’m not going to look it up because it’s a counter that has oppressed me. That’s a novel realization.
Over the last many days I have told and retold Asher’s story. Very few people want to hear about his life and the light he brought to the world. Almost everyone wants to focus on his passing.
“How did it happen?”
“How did you survive?”
“How old was he?”
Crap like that.
But they always start out with the same words, “I’m sorry.” And I get what they’re trying to say. Here is someone expressing an immense pain in their life, and they want you to know they both see and hear you and want to extend a measure of compassion towards you. But… like having Happy Birthday sung to you at the restaurant, I have no idea what to do in that situation. At first there wasn’t really a response required because it was usually coming from people who knew me. But as the story rolled out like a rogue wave in my friend/coworker circles, sobbing as a response wasn’t going to work. Mostly because these were perfunctory acknowledgements of pain coming from people who don’t really know me or know how savage the cut was.
This all came to a head when I traveled back to “the main office” and was able to meet the people I work with in person for the first time since Asher became a mohawk ghost. And as it turned out,
there was a lot people wanted to say in person that they couldn’t say over VC. It was concentrated, “I’m sorry"ies. I got to the point where trying to sincerely accept these extensions of compassion
was beyond my capacity to shiv a git. I started exploring other ways to respond that didn’t expose my vulnerable side too much. It was too expensive to wade through that with everyone.
- “It’s okay”: That’s a violation. It wasn’t okay. I’m still unsure if it’ll ever be okay.
- “Yeah, well, it happens”: Also a violation. He fought damn hard and deserved more than just.
silence: Awkward as hell. They didn’t know if I heard them, so they’d repeat it. Obviously some response is required.- “It sucks”: True. Honest to the emotions. Okay enough? Doesn’t recognize the person’s extension of compassion.
- shrug: SUPER VIOLATION. I only did it once and I felt so horrible about it.
The shrug was luckily with someone who I was starting to trust and so I stopped the cross campus walk, turned around and said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here. I know you’re just trying to be nice and express a little humanity, but I don’t know what the social contract is supposed to be.” We were able to talk about it and eventually came to the conclusion, “Thank you,” is probably the most appropriate.
It felt good enough. It didn’t feel like a violation of Asher or his efforts to stay on-timeline. So I used it for the rest of my time there.
My Wife is smarter than I am
I came home and told my wife about, “Thank you,” and she said, “I’ve been using, ‘me too,’ instead.”
And hot damn isn’t that the best thing. “Me too.”
It’s perfect. It covers:
- I’m still grieving.
- I still miss him.
- I’m still not “whole” or rather I’m not who I used to be.
- I accept your expression of sorrow at my loss
- I am admitting to an existing vulnerability without having to slog through the pain if I don’t have the time right now.
- It’s honest to his efforts to remain aboard and struggle against the disease.
Social contract satisfied and in a very humane and open way.
Grief Negotiation Protocol
This has all led to a codification of our “Grief Negotiation Protocol.” When interacting with someone “who doesn’t know” there needs to be a careful dance through the important parts.
Success Criteria:
- Include Asher in our lives. I have (3) children. Not just two. He doesn’t have the privilege of speaking for himself anymore, so I must include him.
- Allow the opportunity for the other party to either engage with the pain or ignore the pain.
- Clearly establish the current state of our world (i.e. establish trigger warnings).
- Acknowledge that I might cry. And that’s okay.
Them: So what are you up to this weekend?
(this is idle banter you’d expect from someone cutting your hair or processing your groceries)
Me: Oh, just playing videogames, probably. The kids will all be off, so I’ll have the TV to myself.
(casual return, nothing personal exposed other than that I have kids. I am willing to have a conversation.)
Them: Yeah? How many kids do you have?
(They’ve expressed interest. Means they’re actually listening to the conversation and appreciate human interactions.
Me: I have (3) boys.
(Short answer. Giving them an out if they want it.)
Them: I have a girl and boy. How old are yours?
(There’s some type of common overlap. This is where human connections really happen. But… I have acid in my pond.)
Me: I have a 19-year-old, a 16-year-old and my youngest was 13.
(Did you catch that? If the person is actually listening. The “was” is a clear telegraph of an issue. A sign post.)This is the meat of the negotiation. They have a few options:
- Not hear the “was.” They don’t have the capacity to care at the moment. This is obligatory conversations.
- Ignore the “was.” They don’t want to engage with that because of some pain they carry.
- Engage with the “was.” They want to know more about that. They’ve come to the conversation with protective gear or the curiosity of cats.
Them: Was?
Me: Yeah. He passed this last April.
Them: Oh, I’m so sorry.
Me: Me too.
And believe it or not, there is often a hug after this. Humanity accomplished.
The grief book had a quote from another parent, “When you talk to folks, sometimes you can ‘smell the smoke’ on them and you know they’ve been through something like your own.” And it’s true.
During that negotiation, we can start to smell that the other has been through some stuff.
Bad Example
I was at the head-shrinker’s office, between me and the receptionist:
Her: You have big plans for Christmas?
Me: Well, no. This Christmas isn’t as well planned as others. It’s going to be a little different.
Her: Oh yeah? What makes this year different?
(She was curious and excited, like I had some great adventure lined up.)
Me: My son was alive for the last oneI didn’t respect the protocol.
Her: Oh. I didn’t… I’m so sorry.
Me: Me too.
She started to cry right there in the middle of her job. And I felt like an absolute heel.
Good Example
I was donating blood (Asher, you used a lot of blood. It’s going to take me quite some time to pay off this blood debt. But I will happily do it for other people like you.):
Her: Is this your first time donating?
Me: It sure is.
Her: That’s great. What made you decide to do it?
(similar to the grocery conversation, she’s looking for a deeper connection)
Me: My son went through 1-2 bags a day for 16 days.
(The sign post)
Her: Well, I’m glad it was there for him. Did he have a positive outcome?
(They have their protective gear on)
Me: No. No he did not.
Her: I’m sorry, that’s so hard. Do you mind if I ask you about him?
(She did not wait for the response to “I’m sorry,” and I immediately could ‘smell the smoke’ on her. Either she fought the fires or knew more personally)
Near the end
I have one or two more things I want to say about this event. But I can’t today. Writing out social interaction arrangements is exhausting.
Then I’ll be done. Thanks for reading.