Being around people is interesting. I never really had trouble socializing. I may have been terrible at it but I learned what it meant to have “small talk” and exchange “pleasantries.” I have always been a behind-the-scenes type of person who rarely had to talk to anyone in order to get a job done. When I was offered a teaching position, my ability to talk to people improved quite a bit. It had to only because I had to learn how to talk to parents, students, and administrators and get up on a stage to discuss my class. It was a challenge for me for sure. Then suddenly, it was gone. Madison’s schedule changed and I had to stop teaching. Covid hit and I was pulled away from all of it. Then, Madison died. To say that I didn’t want to talk to anyone is an understatement. Many close friends tried to pull me away from my home. I appreciated what they were trying to do because staying in my home and thinking was the worst thing I could’ve done at the time. There was nowhere for my mind to go when I was alone but deep into depression and grief. I’ll always be thankful for their efforts and thoughtfulness. But after a while, that all changes. Those meetups fell away and I was forced to deal with my loss alone for longer periods of time. That has been important for me because I must learn how to grieve alone. I must learn. If I can’t learn how to do that I am lost.
Over the last couple of months, I have been seeing more people. Mostly because I’m about to take Megan to college and people want to meet up before she leaves. What I’m noticing is that I present an overly social façade. I have a huge smile, I laugh more, I make more little comments of affirmation, and focus intently. When I come home I think back to those encounters and realize it was nothing like me. I’m pretty subdued most of the time. I do smile and laugh but not as much as I did that evening. I talked too much, I offered too much information, I overdid it…
It has become increasingly obvious that I’m trying to cover up my pain and I don’t know how to do it. There isn’t a single moment in my life right now that doesn’t have a dark companion. Helping my daughter Megan get ready for college, spending time with her, and talking to her is a light. Being around my husband, joking around with him, helping him with things is a light. But those lights are just random candles in this vast darkness I exist in every single day and I have to hide it from everyone else because they don’t understand.
Forcing myself to put on a “normal” face has become pretty easy despite the fact that it’s not real. I wonder all the time how many people I’ve met who seem so happy and joyful but are actually hiding a soul-crushing pain. It has made me more aware of people, more empathetic, more understanding.