When Grief Comes to Dinner

Part 2 of my series on grief

Even on the sweetest days, grief often finds her way back in. She does not arrive to take love’s place but to remind us how deeply love has marked our lives.

Last night was a spectacularly lovely, albeit uneventful, evening. Husband and I thought we were having a rare night together. Middle son had plans to meet his girlfriend at the high school football game, and Little Guy was having his very first sleepover with Grandma. He has tried an overnight before, but typically wants a pick-up as soon as bedtime is announced. We knew yesterday would be different, because yesterday the sleepover was his idea.

Husband and I batted around possible plans but ultimately decided we would simply walk the few blocks to our neighborhood Thai restaurant, just in case we were wrong and Little Guy bailed. A couple of hours before it was time to head out, Middle son told us the game was late and asked if he could join. Husband and I had already had time together during the day, so both of us welcomed a third wheel. A year from now both he and his older brother will be in college, and we know we need to take advantage of his presence while we can. There isn’t much to say about the meal besides the cocktail was great, the food was even better, and none of it touched the company.

With no Little Guy in the house, I told Husband I would take the next day off running so we could wake up together, walk the dog, and have a nice breakfast. For someone who has wrestled with an eating disorder on and off throughout her life, saying yes to breakfast hasn’t always been simple. Too many mornings I’ve said no, and I know he appreciates both my willingness and my genuine pleasure in saying yes. The morning went just as expected. When Little Guy returned he was full of pride and excitement, bursting with stories about his night away. Then came the backyard dance party. Little Guy directed the moves as we all repeated the same silly motions in sync with each other. Honestly, the scene could have been in a made-for-TV movie. It was so sweet and wholesome it’s almost embarrassing to write about.

I wish I could end my story there, but that beautiful scene is not what I sat down to write. What I want to share is how the the day took a turn just a few hours later. A turn that wasn’t dramatic but slow, like something quietly unraveling.

After I returned from a playdate with Little Guy, I felt a shift in Husband. This happens sometimes, and because I am tuned in (maybe overly so) to others’ emotions, I felt the change. The connection that had felt so abundant in the morning now felt distant.

Nothing bad had happened, so I ignored it. Then I left Little Guy with Husband and headed to the grocery store. When I came home, Husband met me in the kitchen as I unloaded. The change was unmistakable now. His commentary about the groceries was tinged with criticism; not overt, but I know him well enough to hear what was beneath the words.

Eventually, to his credit, he was able to slow down and name what was happening. Like me, he has done a lot of work on himself, and I am grateful for that. He came to me sheepishly after some time apart and admitted that tonight’s dinner plans had stirred up grief, the kind that never stays too far from the surface. We are having dinner with his sister’s childhood best friends. His sister and her family died in a plane crash several years ago.

We love her friends. They were incredible companions to my sister-in-law when she was alive, and they have remained steadfast since her death. They stayed closely connected with my mother-in-law and kept watch over the family left behind. Their loyalty is both heartwarming and heartbreaking. Being with them is a gift, but it also opens the door to grief that is never far away.

As much as we love them and wouldn’t miss this dinner for the world, their presence always carries grief with it. It is predictable and yet somehow surprising every time.

Grief is a funny beast. Sometimes she barges in unannounced. The first year after the crash, waves of grief came for my husband as soon as the air turned cold; the chill of winter brought him back to the early days after the crash. For me, grief most often slips in when I am alone in the car. Not always, and less often these days, but when she does, she demands to be felt. The more I try to turn away, the harder she fights to be seen.

Tonight though, grief will wait in the shadows while love settles into a chair of her own. We will share stories and weave ourselves closer together, even as the absence of those we’ve lost hums beneath it all. Grief will not take love’s place, but she will stay near, always reminding us how much love matters.

.