Shut Down

Recently I was in a meeting with someone I had never met before. She was underprepared and what should have taken a short time took over two hours. We were meeting about Oliver and assessing his developmental age. This is certainly not a fun subject and I was already irritated to have to be there in the first place. I was unsure what she actually knew about Oliver and the full arc of his diagnosis. Terminal diagnoses are thankfully not incredibly common within schools, so I try to show grace when together we are fumbling over words to set goals for a child who is regressing.

The elephant in the room was Waverly. Did she know about her?

Typically I would mention her in this setting, making sure the professional I was dealing with was aware and could therefore make the necessary changes. Avoid sibling talk, avoid the phrase "I would just die", and in general avoid discussing the future. I know this isn't easy. People stutter and trip over their words. I try to smile and say that it is okay. I usually make a statement about our society not dealing with death and grief very well.

I totally neglected my duties this time. And halfway through the interview, the woman looks up at me and thoughtfully says that she knows about Waverly. She expressed her sadness for my loss. It was everything I say I want in these types of interactions. Acknowledge her passing. Say her name. Express some sort of condolences.

My response - "Yes. And I don't want to discuss it any further." I didn't thank her. I didn't say Wavey's name. I said it. I looked down and coldly turned my body, giving her every indication that I was done.

We finished the assessment, shook hands and I tried to end the meeting with a kind word. Everything in me just wanted to get out of that windowless room into the fresh air. I wanted to scream, cry and run. I made my escape and I couldn't stop thinking about that single moment.

Why did I respond in such a way?

I was already on edge, unhappy with the way the meeting was progressing. I was also fasting for a doctor appointment, so no food or coffee for 18 hours. But something else snapped in me.

I knew that if I uttered her name I would fall apart. My emotions were welling up inside of me and I hadn't cried for awhile. Her name on my lips would bring a waterfall of tears and I knew this was not a safe place to fall apart. It was self-protection.

I share this story for one reason. Grace. She saw my terse response, thanked me for being direct and moved forward. She didn't shut down. She didn't turn cold. She saw before her a woman who was just trying to hold herself together in the midst of unfathomable grief, and she responded with grace.

May we all encounter and strive to be like her in that moment.