File Under "Stupid Stuff People Say"

Recently, I attended a luncheon to benefit a not-for-profit organization I support. As is protocol at these things, the woman seated next to me introduced herself and described that she had moved down to Little Rock from the Chicago area for a leadership position. We had that in common, the same type of opportunity brought me from Chicago to Little Rock about 15 years ago.

I went on to say that I had fallen in love, gotten married, and my husband, who was a hospice and palliative care physician, had contracted terminal cancer. I shared that I had taken care of him until he died, and then allowed the art journal I created while caring for him to be published as a book. I added that the book had helped many other people in a similar situation and that I had, in fact, written a second book, which was just recently released.

Her response was, “Wow, you’re really living the dream!” At precisely that instant, the announcements started, abruptly ending our conversation. I was left perplexed and a wee bit indignant, thinking, “The dream? The dream???”

No, I am not, “Living the dream.” The dream had Bob and me eating dinner every night at our cute little table for two in the kitchen of our 125-year-old house on Spruce Street, sharing the details of our day, then cuddling up to watch a couple of episodes of our latest favorite series. That was the beautiful, simple dream.

I only half-listened to the luncheon program because I was so stunned that someone could hear my story and think I was somehow living a dream. I have a good life, yes. Publishing two books and learning that they have helped others has brought tremendous meaning to the losses I have suffered. Perhaps she just hadn’t really listened to the whole story and was offering a reaction to the last sentence only. I don’t know... it can be saved in the overstuffed folder labeled “Stupid Stuff People Say.”

That Stupid Stuff People Say folder is chock full of many phrases I have uttered to others. After all, my brother died in 1983 when the world was even less grief-literate than it is today. People said all the stuff that people say. I heard them, and then I said those same things to others in the years that followed. In the last five years, working in the death space, I have learned that so much of what we offer others in a time of grief and loss is at best useless and at worst hurtful.

Since I am a nocturnal overthinker of Olympic skill level, I have given a lot of thought to my own flubs and the old standards and would like to share some of what I have considered with you in the next few newsletters. I hope you will open them, read some of my thoughts, and perhaps respond with some of your own.