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  • Writer's pictureRachelle Jervis

Day 138

Updated: Jun 26, 2019

Grief is my shadow. I don’t know the polite way to say I don’t want to talk about it. Wherever I go, people want to ask me what’s happening in my life. No matter what they ask, the premise of the question is, “Now that your only child is dead, what are you doing about [where you’re living/working/relationships/etc.]?” Even knowing that the questions come from a place of love, I hate them. I wish there was a polite way for me to say, “If you want to know what’s happening, read the blog.” It’s okay that you don’t want to know but I’m not going to crib note it for you. Instead, let’s talk about something else, anything else.


I put off all manner of social and professional engagements trying to prevent having to talk about it. I know that their interest comes out of genuine concern for me and not schadenfreude but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to talk about it.


Someone said he missed the “Whoo-hoo!” cheers of joy I would exclaim upon hearing good news. I could relate; I missed them too. Another friend said she recalled my “center stage” laugh and hoped I’d get it back. Historically, I had been a loud laugher. I don’t know what I am now.


It is impossible for someone to ask how things are going with the sale of my house or anything else related to Constance with the incredibly serious weight that it contains. Oh the pressure, the pain. I want to sink into a ball and cry until I die of dehydration. I think, ‘why have the walls not tumbled down?’

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