I Hope You Never Understand

I've been avoiding the grocery store. I knew I was doing it, but I think I understand why now.
That's been a big deal for me, knowing the "why" behind the decisions I make as this new person.

I used to LOVE the grocery store, the shopping, running into people I know and having a quick chat. I'm a social person and I loved everything about shopping and being out.
I would plan an entire day to just be out and about; visiting my favorite shops, smiling at strangers. It was soothing to me. The way some people want to be home, I wanted to be out. Just out. Just going and doing things. 

But over the last several weeks, Brad and I have gone without food to cook. I've simply sat in my chair, my stomach aching with hunger and I just... sat there. After awhile, we would order food to be delivered or Brad would grab something on his way home. I would rather spend $1,000 on a single meal than go to the grocery store. I would do anything to NOT go.

Why? Why the sudden change? I don't feel depressed. Not like people would assume. I'm not consumed with it. I've worked hard to not fall into depression. It's obviously a struggle and something that could easily happen, but this isn't that.

I spent several weeks going over my new hatred for shopping, especially for groceries. Why did this happen? Yes, I know; grief changes a lot but this is different. This isn't depression. This is the ONLY area where I've seen such a change like this. 

The week following Enzo' death has been a blur for me. I can't recall conversations. I don't remember having people in and out. It's all just murmurs. It's all a big blur. I know people were there and for the most part I know who showed up. I also know who did NOT show up, but that's a different blog.
I know friends brought food, I know people cared for me. I know I sat for days, doing nothing. Just waiting for the memorial plans to go into motion. Waiting for his body to be brought back to Texas. Waiting to see his body. Just waiting and people all around me, but I can only remember small portions of that week. 

Until recently.

My first time going in public after Enzo died was to United. I went to the flowers to buy something purple to wear to his memorial. Now that I remember it, the awful feeling seems stuck in my shoulders, in my back, my muscles, in the very essence of who I am. Walking into that store was one of the hardest things I've ever done. 

"Please don't let me see anyone I know. Please. Please. I don't want to see anyone. Just in and out."

There she was. Not only someone I know, someone I defiantly do not like. A person that gossips. Someone that seems to stir up strife and contention. I've never met someone more selfish and self absorbed. 

Of all the people I know and could run into, it was her. I took a deep breath as she hustled up to me. There was no avoiding this. 

She started in with the "I'm so sorry. I can't believe it. When I found out, I thought it couldn't be true."

In that short exchange, she managed to mention herself 4 times. My son is dead and you just made this all about you. Standing there, in that moment, I wanted to kill her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk away.

"Thank you," I said even though there was nothing to thank her for. 
"What happed," was her reply. Again, no "how are you?" Just nosey. Just fodder for her gossip.
"He took his life." It was the first time I had said that to anyone outside my family and close friends. This was the first time I spoke it in public. And to this person? It was the worst feeling ever. She now had fresh, new gossip to serve on a platter for anyone that would listen. It was one of the hardest things I've said and it wasn't with someone safe.

She babbled on and on about nothing I can remember and suddenly I blurted out "This is the first time I've been in public. I didn't want to come in here, but I need flowers for his memorial." 

In the moments that followed, I learned a hard lesson. I learned the truth: people don't care.
Her reply to me sharing my heart broke me completely. If anything was left of me, her words destroyed it. 

"I understand completely. I don't like being in public since my dad died. I get it. I'm the same way. We don't go out much." 

"You're dad died of Covid," I said matter-of-fact. 
"Oh yes, he did. I understand."

Her dad, an elderly man, died of Covid a few months before Enzo died. And here she was, comparing the two. She was telling me the natural order of death with her father was COMPARABLE to a mother losing her son to suicide. Let's be honest- it can't be easy to lose a parent. I know this. But it's also the natural flow of life. It's how it's SUPPOSE to happen. Yes, it's difficult. But to tell me you understand losing a child when you've never lost one, especially to suicide? No. There is NO way to compare the two. None. The fact that she did, proves what I already know.

While we were in this exchange, another lady I know saw me. She walked up, hugged me tight, and left without a word. THAT is what I needed. Just that. I'm still so grateful for that hug. Suzanne, I love you for that hug. I will never forget it. 

I got away from Mouth of the South and got in my truck. I sat there. I had just had the worst week of my life and now, I had just had the worst experience going out in public for the first time since Enzo died. Someone told me my son's death was just like them losing a father. How could anyone think that was the right thing to say? Even before Enzo died, I knew that wasn't the thing to say. I would never tell someone that lost a parent I understand. Because both of my parents are alive. I don't understand that. To compare is to invalidate my hurt, my loss, my grief. To tell me "that's the same thing" is selfish. Grief is not comparable. Your grief isn't mine. Losing a elderly father is not the same as losing your 24 year old son.

After weeks of reflection, I understand why I don't want to be in public for now. I won't be so kind if this were to happen again. I don't want to see all the sympathy in people's eyes. That "I'm glad it was your kid and not mine" look I've come to recognize. I don't want to keep answering people's questions: 
Did he show any signs? How did you find out? What about his bio parents? Did you speak to Cal Farley's Boys Ranch? Was it a gun? Did you get to see him? I could never handle that.

I was very public about Enzo and what I was going through at first. And now, remembering that exchange between Mrs. Mouth and me, being in public isn't so great anymore. I still want to go, but I want to be unrecognizable. Shopping is still soothing to me. But being asked questions isn't. At least not right now. 

If you do see me and you ask, I won't be rude unless you compare my son's death to something. To anything. I found one place where comparing is somewhat acceptable, somewhat ok. Where talking about a shared experience is healing. And it's not in the grocery store. It's at the Survivors of Suicide Support Group, a place I hope none of you reading this will ever need to attend. I never want to see your face in that group. I never want anyone to experience what I have. Because that one place, where comparing loss might be ok, is the one place you NEVER want to be. 

I hope you can never understand. I hope no one else could ever understand. 

And for those that don't know what to say when you see someone that has lost a loved one to suicide, a simple "I might not know what you're going through, but I'm so sorry and I care about your grief journey" is simple and perfect.