Mourn You ‘Til I Join You, by Martha Thomases – Brilliant Disguise | @MDWorld

August 11, 2012 Martha Thomases 5 Comments

Yeah, there’s news this week, Olympics and elections and killer bicycles.  I suppose I have opinions.  I do have opinions.  They just aren’t very provocative or illuminating.

The thing that has captured my imagination is my bereavement group.  Also, it’s really funny.

Please don’t misunderstand me.  It’s not funny to lose somebody you love.  That’s sad, and hard to deal with, and it’s a long,difficult slog.  However, the group is made up of humans, and, as Art Linkletter proved, people are funny.

Since my husband died, I’ve been more than a little bit numb.  I’ve read enough to know that this is a normal part of the grieving process, but that doesn’t stop me from fretting and, more to the point, complaining, and loudly, so that I get a lot of attention.  Because I have sensible, no-nonsense friends, they recommended that I find a support group.

There are lots of different kinds.  That’s because people have many different kinds of relationships, and people die in all kinds of different ways.  You kind find groups for people who have lost a loved one to suicide, or violent crime.  You can find groups for people who have lost children, or parents, or spouses, or pets.  There are groups for LGBTQ people, young people, old people, and non-English speakers.  None of those things were issues for me.

I wanted a group that met at a convenient time, at a convenient location, that I could blow off when I felt like it.  My husband had just died, and I wasn’t ready to make another major commitment.  I wanted a group full of attention whores and drama queens, because I didn’t want to stand out, except for me keen insights and sharp wit.

The first time, I went to the wrong room.  The group leader instructed us to make pieces for a mobile that reflected two sides of our lives, at work and at home.  I thought this was odd, but I’m not trained in art therapy, so I went ahead.  My work side was all sparkles and fireworks, because as a publicist I have to be a cheerleader.  My home side was somber and isolated.  Oddly, the woman seated next to me had a cozy, happy home side and a rigid, orderly work side.  “I want to live at your house,” I said.

Turns out I was in the wrong room.  This was a group for people who worked for a hospice, to help them handle the pressures of their jobs.  I think I messed up their aesthetic.

The next week, I found the right room, and the right bunch of people.  As with so many group therapy sessions, we began by going around the room, introducing ourselves and explaining why we were here.  We had lost partners, parents, and children.  Some had lost their loved one recently, and some a year or two ago.  And then, coming in late so she could get the most attention, was a woman who lost her aunt.  Four years ago.  I think she was there to sell real estate.

Most of the people there were having trouble with their families and friends.  They were still sad, and their families and friends were uncomfortable about it.  Family and friends don’t know what to say.  Family and friends want the griever to get over it.  Even the woman who lost her daughter in October was being told to snap out of it.

Grief doesn’t work that way.

We are supposed to be supportive of each other, and we are not supposed to judge.  I sit there, silently judging.

I’m not as assertive in real life as I am here, on my virtual soapbox, but if someone told me to get over it, I’d be all, “Get over my ass, dick head.”  And then, I’d tell that bitch to stop appraising my apartment.  It’s not for sale.

Martha Thomases, Media Goddess, is packing her bag for LA.