home_alone tender_square “you’ve been gone for two days, and i’ve been alone over christmas.” she thought about her words carefully. “help me understand what’s prompting you to say that.” “it’s just a fact,” he said. she’d had an enjoyable day, admittedly without him, and didn’t want to start a fight. she told herself she wouldn’t apologize for spending time with her friends. “to me, when you say that, it strikes as guilt being directed toward me for leaving.” “no, it’s not guilt,” he said. “it’s just…i don’t know my place in the world.” they unboxed their takeout and ate at their tray tables as they sat on the couch, the tv dark as they spoke. for years, she’s been trying to be empathetic, she’s been trying to be sympathetic. yes, she realizes engaging with people does not come as naturally to him as it does to her. “i hesitate to say this,” she began, “because i don’t wish to diminish what’s been a very real experience for you…” “i don’t think i’m going to like where this is headed,” he sighed. but she wasn’t trying to solve his problems, she wanted to offer ways to reframe his thinking. “it’s just that—i know it’s difficult for you to feel like you belong—but honey, we all struggle with that to some degree; you’re not alone in that feeling.” at the party, she recounted how she struck up a meaningful conversation with a stranger and they discussed alzheimer’s (he was a former researcher on important studies about its effects on the brain) and cancer (his father died of lung cancer, two years prior). typically, this was not “party” conversation for her; so often she strove to keep things light about what was happening in her life. but his wife asked how she liked living in the states and she replied honestly: “i used to love it years ago, but now i just want to be back home; i miss it.” middle age was changing everything. “i’m sorry,” she said to the couple, her eyes turning glassy. “i don’t mean to be so heavy.” “alzheimer’s is harder on the caregivers than it is for the person who has it,” the husband told her. and she thought about her mother and how much support she’ll need in the years to come. she wanted to be there for it all. the stranger went on, “exercise is so important, as is therapy.” her father had been cycling frequently, though he may have stopped with the season change. and he was seeing a psychiatrist that specialized in dementia. but the worst was yet to come. when she left the conversation to go the bathroom, her tears surprised her. she was grieving for her parents and herself. she was grateful for the understanding of someone she’d only just met. “everyone has anxiety about whether they fit in,” she concluded to her husband. “but i think if you speak from your heart, people will surprise you.” “but i don’t want to talk about grief,” he said. “they are just things that happened to me, they aren’t who i am. all i’ve been doing is grieving.” she was puzzled by this admission. he rarely brought her into his grief; it was private, it was hidden, it separated them. and if grief separated them when she was his closest ally, what chance did he have at feeling like he fit in anywhere? it was a question she didn't dare ask aloud. 211219 what's it to you? who go blather from