I was worried about my sister’s visit. Afraid that it would be uncomfortable, and that she’d want to talk about Will and share her grief upon returning to the same apartment where she last visited with him. Anxious that she’d want me to talk about how I was doing, and what I was doing, and how it was for me to live here. Worried that we’d have to dance around the topic and that it’d be all weird.
All of these fears were valid, and all of these things happened. Well, all except the weird dancing. But none of it was particularly painful or uncomfortable. Early in her visit, my sister very graciously and very kindly spoke directly to these issues, and we somehow pushed past the discomfort toward some honest sharing and healing. With the help of others, I’m slowly learning that this task of grief is something that is accomplished somewhere between the personal space and the communal one. I’m learning to balance my internal processing with the face-to-face conversations that challenge me and remind me that I’m not alone in my sadness.
So in the end, her visit was a very healing time– her kindness and conversation was a salve, and her attention to The Girlie gave The Wife and I a nice break. If anything, The Girlie is a little spoiled, and I’m afraid I am, too. So when we had to say goodbye at the airport, Ella started the crying, and I finished it.