The Clutching

I spoke with a new potential friend today - you know, the one that kinda gets you on a wisdom level, the one that doesn't say much but listens, doesn't brag, but shares - that kind of friend.  We went to lunch - a real simple lunch: salad, soup, breadsticks at the Olive Garden.  I don't much care for the Olive Garden, but I do want to get to know the people I am working with, so I went.

We made small talk.  Me, her and another girl, Angela, who is 23 years old and getting her MFA now (ironically at one of the colleges I am looking to apply) and we just shared our histories.  They knew of each other's history, they didn't know of mine.  Maybe it's baggage, maybe it's defensiveness but I always feel the need to explain why I am a single mother.  (There are looks and attitudes and energies that come about when people find out you're a single mother of two - so much so that there are days I wish I could just wear a wedding ring and pretend I am in a state of wedded bliss.  But that would be a disservice to all the struggling single moms, wouldn't it?)  So, I told her, after she asked if I was dating anyone, that I was secretly very judgemental of people who were divorced, never been married (in my age category) and well, that's about it except for the random widower (whose wife I'll always have to compete with for one-upness) and that for me, a 38 year old who wants more kids, it didn't look good and that I'd probably have to pack in the dreams and wait until I'm 50 to get the dude that has it figured out - and by that time, I'll be so set in my ways that I might as well consider myself unavailable...

(This diatribe, by the way, has nothing to do with the title of my blog)...

What I liked about the conversation is that it was a give and take.  It was her understanding my dilemma, then sharing her own goings-on that I understood and empathized, and the back and forth.  I liked that.  And I thought:  "She knows something.  She's lived through something.  She has wisdom beyond her age."  (If I had to guess, I'd say she's my age or younger).  We talked the whole ride back to the office.

It came out. 

Her source of wisdom. 

It came out. 

She lost her dad 12 years ago. 
It was a shock. 
It was a heartbreaker.

We shared the story.  I told her of my recent loss. 

There was silence. 
And more silence. 

Angela was in the backseat, kinda chillin'. 

After a few seconds, I asked a question.

"Does it ever go away?  That feeling of surprise?  That quick hit of pain to the heart?  Does it ever go away?"

She thought for a second and then answered.

"The pain, the sharp pain of thinking that what you're doing is fun and maybe it shouldn't be fun because, you know, somebody you loved is not there to share it?  Well, that goes away.  But the clutching, the shock, it never goes away.  I have moments where I am surprised by the loss every day."

The clutching.  What a great way to describe it.

I said as much to her, and she just smiled.  She knew.  At that point, Angela piped in and said, "What the heck are you two talking about?  You lost me about 3 miles ago!" 

We both laughed and that was it.  The moment was gone.

But the feelings weren't.  Not for me, not for her (I just know it) and I thought about the clutching that I feel every day - since Jeff died, since Dad died - and uh, it's uh, not easy.  But it helps to share the emotions.  It helps to understand the clutching.

The point of this blog is to get the message out that it's okay. 
It's okay to hurt. 
It's okay to share. 
It's okay to be judgemental
and true
and real about things. 

It's okay to feel the clutching.

And it's okay to cry...