The article’s second point was to listen actively and let the person talk about their feelings, memories, or thoughts without interrupting or trying to fix their emotions. Cally made a funny face. So far, there hadn’t been much chance of talking in Logan’s case. His lack of conversation all day had been tantamount to that. All week, in fact. He was hardly saying much at all. Cally read down the article and took on board that she needed to avoid clichés such as “they’re in a better place”. She was supposed to offer practical help, be patient because grief didn’t have a timeline. The person may have ups and downs, and it was important to understand that emotions change frequently in the world of grief.
Cally nodded in agreement as she read that everyone grieved differently and took on board that some people may want to talk about their feelings, while others might need space or prefer distractions. The article said to follow the lead of the person grieving. She continued to read, tried to take the suggestions on board, and finished by rereading a few times that
compassion, patience, and understanding were key. Grief was deeply personal, and support could make a difference just by being present and available. Cally shook her head that there was no “suck it up and get on with it” option and resolved to be patient and present.
She rapped on the door of the bathroom. ‘Is everything okay in there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Need anything?’
‘No.’
As they had been all day, Logan’s responses were short and sweet. He, again, didn’t appear to be in the mood to chat. Cally thought about the advice in the article and left it. She was present; that would, hopefully, be enough.
Leaving him to it, she bustled around the kitchen, checking on the pork she’d put in a low oven that morning. Inhaling an amazing smell of caramelised onions, apples, herbs, and pork, she pulled open the oven door and checked on the meat. That morning, before she’d wondered if going out was a good idea, she’d thought Logan might do well with a home–cooked meal. She’d put a loin of pork on a bed of onions, apples, and herbs, sloshed in a bath of wine, and left it to do its thing. She’d stopped in the bakery for tiger bread and bought some olives from the deli as a little starter. Now, taking baby rocket, spinach, and chard out of the fridge, she tumbled it onto a plate, finely sliced pear and fennel, squeezed on lemon juice, tossed it all together then added grated pecorino and a smattering of walnuts. She envisioned that a nice meal might do things to help a grieving partner but didn’t hold out much hope. Pottering around, she put an old cutwork tablecloth that had been her grandma’s on the table, snipped some lavender from the bush she had growing in a pot on the balcony, popped it in a jam jar, and added it to the centre of the table.
As she heard the bathroom door handle go, she swallowed as Logan came out the bathroom with a towel slung around his waist. He might be sad but other things about him had not changed. Wowzas. He just about managed a smile as he went into the bedroom and came out a few minutes later in soft blue shorts and a white polo shirt. Cally closed her eyes for a second as he went straight to the fridge, took out a bottle of wine, pulled two oversized glasses out of the cupboard and filled his almost to the brim.
Cally was more than concerned that the night would plunge into him drinking too much, but didn’t let it show. 'Dinner's almost ready.’
Logan looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused. 'Oh, yeah. Sure,' he mumbled and looked at the salad on the table. ‘Thanks.’
‘No worries.’ Cally bit her lip as Logan gulped a big mouthful of wine. ‘Can you grab the cutlery?'
Logan nodded as he fumbled slightly with the cutlery drawer and gestured around the kitchen. 'Sorry. You’ve done all this. I should have helped. I'm a bit…’
'Don’t be silly. It's been a tough week.' Grabbing a pair of oven gloves, Cally opened the oven door and pulled out the tray of pork. Steamy, fragrant air billowed around the small kitchen. She transferred the pork and onions onto a serving dish, popped the pan on the hob and stood making the gravy.
Logan reached for the bottle of wine and topped up his glass. Cally was concerned but unsure about whether or not to broach the subject of how much he’d been drinking.
'This looks great, Cal. Thanks for taking care of me.'
‘You don’t need to thank me. How are you feeling?'
Logan shrugged, taking another large gulp of wine. 'Fine, I guess. As fine as I can be, considering what happened. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem real. I don’t know what to do.' He trailed off, and gazed out the window.
Cally tried to keep the article she’d just read in mind. 'It's okay not to be fine. What you're going through is difficult.'
Logan nodded. ‘I know you’ve been through this. I just keep thinking about him, you know? I wish I’d beennicer. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, eh?’
Cally wrinkled up her nose. ‘Try not to think that.’
‘Easier said than done.’
‘Yup.’ Cally poured the gravy into a little white jug, put the serving dish on the table, and sat down. Logan got up to get another bottle of wine out of the fridge. Cally couldn’t not say anything. ‘Umm, do you think you should slow down a bit with the wine?'
Logan looked up, a flash of anger in his eyes. 'I'm fine,' he said, his tone sharper than usual. 'It helps to take the edge off.'
‘I'm a bit worried about you. This isn't like you. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Sorry, but I’m calling it. I can’t just sit here and let you drink too much again. I don’t think it will help in the long run. The opposite, in fact.'
Logan sighed and put the bottle back. 'I know. I'm sorry. I don't know how else to deal with this.’
Cally felt her heart ache. At least Logan was sharing how he felt. She’d take that as a plus. ‘I wish I could make it better.'
‘It's notfair. He had so much life left to live.'
‘Nope. It's not fair at all.'
