Can I give you a hug?

I went to a new dentist yesterday. Within the first few minutes, the kind hygienist asked how I was in a way that felt like she really wanted to know. I told her I'd lost my son two months ago and she said (in a Persian accent), "Oh, shit...I'm sorry.. I don't usually swear, but f'ing A-- that's horrible. I can't believe I'm swearing when I've just met you." I laughed and then she said, "Can I give you a hug?" Which she did and then told me she hadn't hugged anyone outside her family since March, but she had to hug me. This was the really sweet part of my experience.

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Sadly, she didn't really know how to be with me and so she talked for the next 90 minutes, without pause, mostly about her 16-year-old. I tried to hold it together-- couldn't ask her for quiet because she was working on my mouth-- and felt so trapped. I sent Amy a text (she just showed up at the appointment sensing I might need her support-- that is love in action!) and said, "I can't go back to the office-- can you get my laptop and meet me at home?" The hygienist recognized that she was talking because she was anxious and apologized, but I was flooded and I mumbled thanks and quickly paid my bill. When I finally got out of there the tears started the minute I put my hand on the door and didn't stop for thirty minutes. I've learned how to drive through a veil of tears-- and to pull off the road if necessary. I got home and was grateful that Aspen (my soul-daughter) was still there. She had spent the night since things at home are really rough for her. She held me as I cried and eventually the grief well emptied, I was able to sip some tea and get back to doing some work.

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NOTE to people in service positions-- When someone is grieving it's likely that we need quiet or the opportunity to choose how much information we take in. Processing is slow. I don't need distractions from my grief. I certainly don't need to hear about how close you are with your child-- that is like torture. Naming your anxiety about what to say or how to be can be helpful if you are willing to be uncomfortable with my silence. I'm so raw and just need to get through the appointment. You might say, "Thank you for telling me about your loss. I imagine it's hard to say what you need right now. I invite you to do whatever you need to be as comfortable as possible. I will listen. I'm right here. This is so hard"

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I had a dream last night that I remembered for the first time in weeks. I'm in the center of a large corral and a man is galloping around on a stunning quarter horse showing me the horse's skill and strength. Suddenly a beautiful dog runs toward me, gently pushes me over, and stands on my chest. She looks at me so lovingly then puts her nose into my neck and lays down on me. She's a collie, super fluffy, and maybe 30-40 pounds. I look up and see that the man on the horse has stopped in his tracks and he's just staring at us. "I've never seen her do anything like that before. She's telling you she's yours... wow."

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Then I told Bridget about my dream and she said, "I dreamt you got a new dog last night." Whoa! I sure would love that... though Amy has definite reservations, given how much change we've been going through.