I have a new neighbor, someone I love dearly moved into the widowhood this week and I’m heartsick about it. Her journey to the hood was much like my own and she has arrived here in the same fashion I did eight months ago; overwhelmed, over tired and broken. It will take a while for her to settle in.
People worried that her story would rekindle my own, and I guess it did. I found myself reliving my reactions, my emotions – I could feel the broken pieces of her from a province away. But her story didn’t increase my grief about my story, her story created a grief of its own – my heart broke because hers was breaking.
I know her house will be full right now, family and friends will arrive to hold her hand and hold her up. She will be busy, there are things that have to get done; a funeral to plan, a closet to empty; she will function in a daze. But then the flurry will be over and her friends and family will get on with their lives – they will stay connected but she will be on her own to face what the future holds. That’s when she will realize she has moved into the widowhood, that’s when everything will start to sink in.
There is no welcoming committee here in the hood – people aren’t excited to greet a new neighbor. Most people know enough to wait for the invitation to acknowledge a new resident. The hood is a scary place, it’s hard to venture out when you’re the new kid on the block, you keep your curtains closed for starters and the front door locked. Just moving into the neighborhood is enough to cope with in the beginning.
Eventually some neighbors will start showing up with offerings – their personal grief wrapped like a present – and they will gift her with their stories. It’s a heartfelt gift coming from a place of good intentions but I’m not sure why the gift of a sad story is an appropriate offering to someone still raw with their own. Perhaps the stories are being presented like membership cards – maybe they say, “I’ve been here too. I feel your pain. I get it.” Or maybe they say, “You will survive – look at me, I’m still standing.” I know they are sincere offerings, given from a vulnerable place and shared out of love – but sometimes they can be hard to take.
I hate welcoming new people to the hood, I never know what to do – they don’t want to live here anymore than I do. This new neighbor is close to my heart – she was one of the people who showed up for me when I was moving into the hood; when I asked for space she gave it, when I asked for comfort she came. I will trust her to ask for what she needs. My offering will be that trust – I will count on her to count on me.