Three or four weeks after Lance’s funeral we received an information packet from The Compassionate Friends (TCF). When I came home Kathy told me about the information and how it was a support group for bereaved parents and how she wanted to go to a meeting.
I’m listening but honestly I’m thinking that this is the last thing I need. I don’t do support groups. Heck I don’t ask for directions when I driving, what makes you think I’m going to a support group meeting.
However, I know Kathy is in no shape to go alone so reluctantly I go.
The first thing I notice is there are people smiling. I think this is strange but rationalize it by assuming they must be the counselors. Then the meeting starts and I realize those people smiling are other bereaved parents. Their children died, they are smiling. Exactly what have I walked into? Stranger still is the fact that it’s been years since their children died and they are still coming to meetings.
I am quickly coming to the conclusion that this is no place for me but before I can slide out, we are divided into smaller sharing groups. Kathy goes one way and I find myself with six strangers in another group. So I figure out what’s going on and prepare for my turn to talk.
It comes and I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Instead I turn into a blubbering idiot who is barely able to get out his own name let alone any other information. Thankfully the meeting ends and I escape into the parking lot resolute never to return.
On the ride home Kathy is going on about her group and how she was able talk about what she was feeling. I’m listening but I’m thinking, “Boy, I hope this wears off before next month and she forgets about coming back.” She asks me how my group was and I say fine but I’m thinking that this ranks as one of my worst days since Lance’s death.
So just like night follows the day, August follows July and we are back to the meeting. Unfortunately Act 2 is a repeat of Act 1, the same blubbering idiot shows up. On the ride home the answer to every question is either “fine” or “okay”.
But inside I’m sure I’m going nuts. I’m doing this really weird stuff in front of strangers and I’m having these really weird thoughts in between these meetings. I know Lance is dead but I think I see him on street corners. I’m following motorcycles that look like his only to discover it’s not him. It’s Groundhog Day only it’s not funny. I remember that the definition of insanity is doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results. I’m losing it.
The September meeting is to be my last. It’s helping Kathy and she is getting around safely so she can keep going by herself. I’m done. I’m there but I’m dreading it. Another bereaved dad who is about 2 years down the road gets to talk before me. He starts in about how he thought he was going nuts and it’s like he is inside my head. He’s saying exactly what I’m feeling. The longer he talks the more I relax.
When it’s my turn there are still tears but I can get out what happened and how I feel about it. At the end of the evening I am physically tired but mentally I’m feeling much better than anytime since Lance was killed.
Over time as I reflected on this early experience, I have come to two conclusions.
The first is that self-help support groups may not be for everyone but until you try it you won’t know whether or not it could help you.
Second the ultimate secret to The Compassionate Friends is realizing that you are not alone. I left that 3rd meeting still believing I was going nuts but comforted that others were going with me.
To be continued…
Patrick T. Malone
Tags: Depression, grief, hope, signs and connections