Pity
Pity
While living with me the year before he died due to alcoholism, my young adult son, Adam, helped me recreate my home with my artwork. He had a good eye for color and placement. So we took down everything on the walls and replaced it with my paintings. We both enjoyed the process!
Many months after his death I decided to look for a live-work situation. I wanted to open an art gallery, even though I was not a trained artist, and live in a connected space.
The perfect situation literally fell into my lap while having a lovely outdoor lunch in an art district. The owner of the restaurant pointed out a building a few doors down. Within a few weeks it was mine. I had a place to set up shop and live. Interestingly, the street parallel to my new home and art studio contained my son’s name: Adam’s Lane.
I didn’t want anyone in the small community to know about Adam’s death. I wanted a fresh start. Mostly, I did not want their pity.
Pity. That seemed to be the way that acquaintances reacted to the death of my son. Heaven forbid they knew I also had an infant who died. It left people speechless. It seemed like my job to help them feel better. It was so draining for me.
People asked: How many children do you have?
I responded: I have a daughter who lives out of town.
In this way, I could avoid the discomfort others felt about the deaths of my sons.
Fast forward two or three years. I painted a painting in Adam’s honor and translated it to a clothing line called Adam’s Red.
Then I wrote a book about our relationship: Transforming to Joy; Responding to My Son’s Struggle with Addiction. I offered book talks in my art gallery.
Ironically, I went from not talking about Adam to creating and sharing all about him!*
It took time and eventually our mother-son relationship became integrated into the person I became and continue to evolve into.
I can see now that other people’s pity belongs to them, not me. While I was fresh in my grief, people’s pity felt unbearable. Today, I can look at other people’s discomfort about my losses with greater understanding.
Thank goodness time is a great healer.
And thank goodness we have so many ways to express our grief.
It is a journey.
With healing light and love,