I related to different parts of this, so many similarities. I got a phone call from my mom. I lost my sister to cancer many years back and sometimes I wonder what this grief has been like for my mom, my brothers and her kids. I'm close to her first born and sometimes I want to ask but then I don't know if I would open something too heavy.
I know exactly the kind of call you mean. What lives underneath it. Grief that has learned to wear a normal voice.
I am so sorry about your sister. Only people who have lost someone to cancer can receive it. Long dragging loss. Gives you too much time to prepare and then, somehow, not enough.
What you said about wanting to ask your nephew how the grief has been, and then stopping yourself at the edge of the question, I think that restraint is one of the most loving things a person can do. Some doors, once opened, require more than a conversation to walk back through.
I think the wanting to ask is itself a form of care. You are holding the question on their behalf so they don't have to carry it alone, even if they don't know it's being held.
What I'd gently offer, and take this only if it fits, is that sometimes the people with the heaviest grief are not waiting for the right question. They are waiting for someone to simply to be patient enough that the answer becomes safe to give. You may already be that person for him without knowing it.
Jadudi would have read your comment and nodded. He had that quality of recognizing weight in other people and sitting with it rather than rushing to lighten it.
Thank you for bringing your sister into this space. She is welcome here 🖤
I related to different parts of this, so many similarities. I got a phone call from my mom. I lost my sister to cancer many years back and sometimes I wonder what this grief has been like for my mom, my brothers and her kids. I'm close to her first born and sometimes I want to ask but then I don't know if I would open something too heavy.
I'm so sorry for the lose of your friend, Jadudi.
I know exactly the kind of call you mean. What lives underneath it. Grief that has learned to wear a normal voice.
I am so sorry about your sister. Only people who have lost someone to cancer can receive it. Long dragging loss. Gives you too much time to prepare and then, somehow, not enough.
What you said about wanting to ask your nephew how the grief has been, and then stopping yourself at the edge of the question, I think that restraint is one of the most loving things a person can do. Some doors, once opened, require more than a conversation to walk back through.
I think the wanting to ask is itself a form of care. You are holding the question on their behalf so they don't have to carry it alone, even if they don't know it's being held.
What I'd gently offer, and take this only if it fits, is that sometimes the people with the heaviest grief are not waiting for the right question. They are waiting for someone to simply to be patient enough that the answer becomes safe to give. You may already be that person for him without knowing it.
Jadudi would have read your comment and nodded. He had that quality of recognizing weight in other people and sitting with it rather than rushing to lighten it.
Thank you for bringing your sister into this space. She is welcome here 🖤