This is a reprint of an essay (rant?) I posted to to my social group back in 2006, referring to events in a different group.
Most groups, no matter how focused, end up with personal tidbits thrown in. Often, it’s bad things that have happened, sometimes bad things that might get worse. Good things don’t have the same urge to be shared.
Sharing of bad news is perfectly understandable. There’s a rock over your head, hanging by a thread. It’s pretty hard to ignore. Even when you’re taking a break, especially in a group where where you’re comfortable, you end up mentioning it.
And, our hearts drop. We respond, usually with hugs and chicken soup. Sometimes with helpful advice and comments, sometimes with stuff that’s intended to be helpful but isn’t. And a part of our hearts is committed to the cause, to making that rock just a little bit lighter, to deflecting it just that tiny bit and make the situation bearable.
I don’t mind being shown the falling rock, or being asked for a hug or support or time off, or whatever it is you need. I offer my that part of my heart freely, knowing that someone will do the same for me. This rant isn’t about being shown the rocks.
It’s about the next weeks and months. We walk carefully around you. We don’t want to ask and open bad memories. We want to respect your privacy.
But meanwhile, there’s a part of our heart missing, a part that we can neither reclaim nor mourn.
For you, the rock has landed and rolled away. Life moves on.
But the rock is left hanging over a piece of my heart.