I am not a mind reader

Original date 19 January 2012

...and I don't really think I want to be one.

But it would certainly make some things easier...relationships, for instance.

I wouldn't have to guess what a certain word is supposed to mean... or a certain look...or the raise of an eyebrow...or silence.

I wouldn't have to wonder if all men like this, or hate that...or if all widows feel this, or cry over that. I wouldn't have to question someone's motive...or worry that something I said or did may have upset someone. Or was it something I didn't say? Or didn't do?

I don't think there's anyone into who's brain I want to delve that deeply, but it would be nice to know how grief feels to my mother-in-law versus my sister...or me.

I hate not knowing that. I hate not being able to really understand their grief and how it manifests itself. And I really hate not being able to take it from them.

I'd like to be able to instinctually know what my roommate needs me to say or do. I'd also like to be able to know what he doesn't need from me.

I also sometimes wish that other people had this ability in regards to me. I wish they understood that they can talk about Brian 24 hours a day and it won't make me sad.

I wish they understood that I want to be treated the way I was treated before he died. I am not "special." I am not going to fall apart over trivial things.

And after being widowed, most things are trivial. But I wish they also understood that grief is life long. It, like Brian, will always be a part of me. And that's not a bad thing. It's just the way it is.

So I'm not a mind reader. But then neither is anyone else. Which means we're all in this together.

Guessing.
Fumbling.
Wondering.

Sometimes getting things wrong. But sometimes getting them right, which feels all the more sweeter.

So forgive me for not being able to read your mind. But I'm awfully glad that you can't read mine, either.

Some thoughts are for keeping to one's self.