The following was passed along to me. If you know the author or where it originated, please have her contact me. Thank you. -Lynda Cheldelin Fell
The Mask
One day, many moons ago and shortly after my son passed away, a bereaved parent asked me “Have you started wearing your mask yet?" My reaction was to give her a puzzled look, the look of someone who did not understand what the mask meant or the meaning of her question.
Having survived a full year of sorrows and after having experienced the “tidal waves,” the “crashing,” the “rebuilding” and the tremendous loneliness steaming deep from my tormented soul, I have finally understood what wearing the mask was all about.
Lessons came in early and quickly at the start of my journey as a bereaved parent. I rapidly learned that whenever I showed my “raw” grief over the loss of my child, or even glimpses of the incredibly difficult path I was traveling on, I was often times treated with pity, surprise or disbelief. Many of those times I was also bombarded with unsolicited advice, while other times I encountered distant stares and a coldness that stem from a place of disengagement and uncaring demeanor.
It seemed to me that my grieving had suddenly turned me into someone to feel sorry for, who seemed overly vulnerable and dangerously approaching a point of failure. Someone I did not recognize and prompted to be shun away.
My strength also became questionable and my grieving needs were shortchanged. Defective, unfit, complicated, stuck, unhealthy, and broken are many of the words crossing my mind when I think of a bereaved parent like me. It is not surprising then that my natural inclinations were (are) to conceal the depths and extent of my sorrows.
Conceal? Yes, as I have quickly and painfully realized that my ability to “function” and “fit in” in a blissfully sorrow-ignorant society seems to be dependent on my resilience. The faster I am able to recover and move on, the stronger, more independent and capable I seem, and the more desirable person to be around I become.
Pain, I’ve noticed, makes people uncomfortable and weakness seems to have no place. My sorrow can only coexist, so it seems, in the dark depths of my broken soul.
Luckily for me, I quickly discovered the “I am okay” mask, which I now wear daily – it feels safe and it works! This mask is what allows me to go to work, socialize and appear as “normal” to the rest of the world as possible. This mask also seems to give others a sense of comfort. The comfort steaming from the belief that I am okay, and finally “moving on/forward,” and “getting over it.” Clearly, if I look “okay” then I am definitely on my way to recovery.
Unfortunately, the possibility of recovering from the loss of my precious child is null. There simply is no “moving on,” “getting over with” or “moving forward.” My grief has no expiration date, and my recovery is simply an impossibility. Wearing the mask is my saving grace, my safety net, but also my torment. This mask can be so exhausting…
Consequently there are times, when burdened by the pressures of my contained pain, that I’ve chosen to take my mask off (just for a bit), and finally let the guard down and share my sheer pain. Sadly, disappointment has quickly followed. The reactions I’ve encountered have made me want to immediately crawl back into that little cold, lonely but safe place (where ONLY I know how bad it is, how cold it feels in it and how lonely it becomes) and once again, I am forced to wear the mask.
The cold stares…the pity…and the ill-advised comments quickly disappear afterwards.
So I ask, why is grieving so difficult to handle? Is it because of our human quality to quickly want to fix anything that seems to be broken? Or is it our inability to accept things that cannot be changed, such as death? If people were to just stop trying to fix me, telling me what to do, acting as if they understand how I feel (unless you lost your child, you don’t), and trying to change me (and all other bereaved parents), I (we) will be once again free. I (we) will not have to hide behind the “feel good/I am okay mask," since this mask can only masquerade the pain, but could never take it away.
And I could only hope that one day, people will finally understand that the loss of a child is a devastating event beyond repair. That life as it has been known, no longer is. That the cycle of life has been permanently altered, the chess pieces moved, and the lives of parents, relatives and friends forever changed. You cannot fix the “unfixable” – you just can’t!
Instead love and accept us just as we come…imperfect, broken, different, hurt, and desperately trying to survive." ~ Anonymous
