Black Monday: What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?
September 10th 2006 12:10
On the same day that Steve Irwin was wiped out by a stingray, my mate's girlfriend broke up with him.
My mum emailed me to say that when the barb went in, Steve pulled it straight out - it is jagged and makes a hell of a mess coming out...I lay twisted up in bed that night, my head filled with bloodied visions of Steve pulling the barb out, all tangled up with bits of his heart - and pieces of my friends’ broken heart.
I didn't know who I felt worse for - the late and great Steve who must have endured a horrific moment of absolute terror - or my friend who I’m ashamed to say, I didn't quite know how to comfort in spite of, or perhaps because of, having written books and articles about this a million times before. It’s all very well offering advice by the truckload to a faceless audience, but when it’s someone you really care about, you stop and think twice before kicking into autopilot.
And that's the thing isn't it? How do you best support a friend? Keeping in mind that a long-term break up is not dissimilar to a death and involves the same long, slow five stages of grief.
I remember only too well, going through that zombiefied phase. And the sheer frustration of having to endure those who didn't get it, and those who tried, but simply didn't have the `right' answers.
That's how I feel now. Helpless. Unsure of whether to jump in and siphon out the gory details, or to stay cool - fearful of seeming intrusive, respectful that my friend will talk when they're good and ready. After all there are no guarantees that anything I've got to say will make a difference - hell, it might even come off as a glib cliché - but listening and being available 24/7, now there's an offer I feel comfortable with.
So if you are in awe of your mate, you value this friendship and you think of them as an absolute legend - just like Steve, then crikey, it’s time to say so. I'm taking my own advice with this one and sending my mate a link to this blog now.
My mum emailed me to say that when the barb went in, Steve pulled it straight out - it is jagged and makes a hell of a mess coming out...I lay twisted up in bed that night, my head filled with bloodied visions of Steve pulling the barb out, all tangled up with bits of his heart - and pieces of my friends’ broken heart.
I didn't know who I felt worse for - the late and great Steve who must have endured a horrific moment of absolute terror - or my friend who I’m ashamed to say, I didn't quite know how to comfort in spite of, or perhaps because of, having written books and articles about this a million times before. It’s all very well offering advice by the truckload to a faceless audience, but when it’s someone you really care about, you stop and think twice before kicking into autopilot.
And that's the thing isn't it? How do you best support a friend? Keeping in mind that a long-term break up is not dissimilar to a death and involves the same long, slow five stages of grief.
I remember only too well, going through that zombiefied phase. And the sheer frustration of having to endure those who didn't get it, and those who tried, but simply didn't have the `right' answers.
That's how I feel now. Helpless. Unsure of whether to jump in and siphon out the gory details, or to stay cool - fearful of seeming intrusive, respectful that my friend will talk when they're good and ready. After all there are no guarantees that anything I've got to say will make a difference - hell, it might even come off as a glib cliché - but listening and being available 24/7, now there's an offer I feel comfortable with.
So if you are in awe of your mate, you value this friendship and you think of them as an absolute legend - just like Steve, then crikey, it’s time to say so. I'm taking my own advice with this one and sending my mate a link to this blog now.
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