Today I attended a meeting. This involved spending the day with some people I’ve known for many years. They are all aware of Al’s death. I once considered two of them to be my best friends but things got in the way and we disagreed. It was all very unpleasant just at a time when I most needed some support as I went through some ill health and the resurgence of a complaint against a GP who had indecently assaulted me but acquitted by a jury. This time, the General Medical Council’s investigation, which I’d requested immediately after his acquittal, was coming to a head and I’d been ordered to give yet more evidence. This meant I'd have to relive the whole sordid ordeal yet again but without the support of the two people who knew more about it than anyone else. One had sat in the courtroom when I was giving evidence so she was extremely well acquainted with it all and understood my distress The other had supported in her own way – with more than a little insensitivity but the practical help of minding the children as I gave evidence was invaluable.
Unfortunately, the contact from GMC and ill health happened just as my friends became extremely distant so I was on my own. It wasn't their fault. They didn't know my world was caving in as I didn't explicitly tell them - I just kind of folded in on myself and teetered on the edge of a breakdown for several months whilst the GMC messed me about.
It was just too much to handle and until today, I'd forgotten how much of that I’d carried alone - I'd forgotten that:
I’d suddenly felt completely isolated
I'd suffered ill health for months and then, within the space of just five weeks,
I’d undergone surgery with long-lasting complications
been threatened with a subpoena if I refused to provide graphic details of a sexual assault to a room full of strangers
been forced to travel 200 miles and provide that evidence but was so ill that I passed out
my son died.
After the funeral, I emailed one of them a copy of my tribute to Al. It contained a story about him and her daughters – one of his favourite memories of being allowed to stay up all night in a Youth Hostel. It was never even acknowledged. Today when I saw her for the first time since then, I asked about her daughters and she told me how well they are, spoke a little of what they are doing these days, and how much she enjoys being a Grandmother. It was good to hear that they are both doing well - they're both lovely girls and I liked them both immensely. However, she didn’t offer any condolences - maybe she thought I’d forgotten I ever had a son so she didn’t like to mention it. She didn’t ask me how I was coping. In fact, she didn’t refer to him at all. I deliberately mentioned him, (some people seem to need this before they can do it) but there was no response. I felt squashed. How could she not even acknowledge my son when she had known him so well for so many years?
The other, who is not known for her sensitivity and for reasons best known to her, decided to talk about her job interview for a Crematorium several years ago. She bragged about how two of the men interviewed didn’t return after being shown inside an oven but that she wasn’t at all fazed by it. At one point she said, “Well it’s only bodies . . . it’s only burning.” I was shocked.
Only bodies!
Only burning!
I’ve always known she can be insensitive but this really was a new low. I left the room, close to tears and shaking with anger. It isn’t often I’ve ever felt that I wanted to smash someone square in the face but she came close.
The thing is, and this is the really awful bit, I can’t be sure but I’m not convinced it wasn’t deliberate. Previously, she’s freely admitted that she enjoys being provocative just to get a reaction. And she seems unable to distinguish between a bit of gentle joshing and outright spite or rudeness. Once, in front of other people, after I forgot to fasten my seatbelt, she instructed me to, “Belt up you fat cow”. When I later told her how upset I was by this, she insisted it was just a joke – as if this somehow excused it.
"It's only bodies . . . it’s only burning", would be unbelievably crass at any time. But to make loud flippant remarks about death when in the same room as a mother who has lost a child – well it’s just sick. What a poisonous bitch!
As they left, she announced that they were heading back to her place for a party. The other at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
Unfortunately, the contact from GMC and ill health happened just as my friends became extremely distant so I was on my own. It wasn't their fault. They didn't know my world was caving in as I didn't explicitly tell them - I just kind of folded in on myself and teetered on the edge of a breakdown for several months whilst the GMC messed me about.
It was just too much to handle and until today, I'd forgotten how much of that I’d carried alone - I'd forgotten that:
I’d suddenly felt completely isolated
I'd suffered ill health for months and then, within the space of just five weeks,
I’d undergone surgery with long-lasting complications
been threatened with a subpoena if I refused to provide graphic details of a sexual assault to a room full of strangers
been forced to travel 200 miles and provide that evidence but was so ill that I passed out
my son died.
After the funeral, I emailed one of them a copy of my tribute to Al. It contained a story about him and her daughters – one of his favourite memories of being allowed to stay up all night in a Youth Hostel. It was never even acknowledged. Today when I saw her for the first time since then, I asked about her daughters and she told me how well they are, spoke a little of what they are doing these days, and how much she enjoys being a Grandmother. It was good to hear that they are both doing well - they're both lovely girls and I liked them both immensely. However, she didn’t offer any condolences - maybe she thought I’d forgotten I ever had a son so she didn’t like to mention it. She didn’t ask me how I was coping. In fact, she didn’t refer to him at all. I deliberately mentioned him, (some people seem to need this before they can do it) but there was no response. I felt squashed. How could she not even acknowledge my son when she had known him so well for so many years?
The other, who is not known for her sensitivity and for reasons best known to her, decided to talk about her job interview for a Crematorium several years ago. She bragged about how two of the men interviewed didn’t return after being shown inside an oven but that she wasn’t at all fazed by it. At one point she said, “Well it’s only bodies . . . it’s only burning.” I was shocked.
Only bodies!
Only burning!
I’ve always known she can be insensitive but this really was a new low. I left the room, close to tears and shaking with anger. It isn’t often I’ve ever felt that I wanted to smash someone square in the face but she came close.
The thing is, and this is the really awful bit, I can’t be sure but I’m not convinced it wasn’t deliberate. Previously, she’s freely admitted that she enjoys being provocative just to get a reaction. And she seems unable to distinguish between a bit of gentle joshing and outright spite or rudeness. Once, in front of other people, after I forgot to fasten my seatbelt, she instructed me to, “Belt up you fat cow”. When I later told her how upset I was by this, she insisted it was just a joke – as if this somehow excused it.
"It's only bodies . . . it’s only burning", would be unbelievably crass at any time. But to make loud flippant remarks about death when in the same room as a mother who has lost a child – well it’s just sick. What a poisonous bitch!
As they left, she announced that they were heading back to her place for a party. The other at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
Soon after Kieron died, my daughter was talking to an old school friend who had got a job in an undertakers. This girl started to go into detail about what her job entailed. Kieron was lying in an undertakers as she spoke. The crass and almost malicious insensitivity of others is completely inexcusable and unbelievable.
ReplyDeleteIsn't it awful Janine. The thing is that you say 'almost malicious' but I'm not convinced it wasn't deliberately malicious.
ReplyDeleteI've known her for long enough to know that if what she said had been pointed out to her, she'd have replied, "Oh FFS it's nearly two years ago - she needs to get over it."
Some things are just unforgiveable - even when said by those who are lacking in the most basic level of empathy.