Major's not rushing anyone, least of all Rose. Whatever she might have or want to say, she can - but he isn't going to put expectations on her like that. He won't force her to talk, or explain, or do anything for his sake. If she so much gives him a look to indicate she'd rather be alone, he'll be out of her hair without a word and without a bad feeling towards her. People deal with grief in different ways, and no one way is more correct than the other. He's never been that much of a judgmental person, but he always remembers his more recent past and how that puts him at the very bottom of the "Can Be Judgey" list.
Her voice draws his gaze towards her face, though - just for a brief moment, to acknowledge her. It drifts down towards the crushed up flower in her palm, the tiny purple petals now darkened and withered. He only knows obvious flowers like tulips and roses, so he's got no idea what the plant is that she's got in her hand, but he figures there's some kind of significance. She'd have chosen it for a reason, whatever it might be.
He continues to listen to her, allowing her to say as much or as little as she pleases. He understands more, now, with her explanation.
"Sometimes, shock and grief sort of make a cocoon around us, to protect us from too many emotions at once. The brain will always try to protect itself. Sometimes, we go into that shock and feel absolutely nothing because there's no other way we can get through whatever's going on. We compartmentalize, dissociate. And then we often feel a sudden outburst of emotion later on down the line, sometimes unexpectedly." He clasps his hands in front of him as he stands, now looking at the grave again. "I used to work at a homeless shelter for youths. Most were young teenagers. I saw that sort of thing a lot there." He shifts a little bit closer to her, gently tapping her with his elbow. "I was told once that feelings aren't right or wrong; they exist outside of the realm of morality. They just are. So if you aren't feeling as sad as you think you should be, it doesn't mean that what you're feeling is wrong. It's ... just what you feel." He turns towards her now, not reaching out for her (though he's the sort of person who's generally inclined to do that), but unclasping his hands to show they're there should she want to hold them. "You coming here, putting flowers on his grave even when no one else knows about it, because you want him to be remembered, because you want to not forget, regardless of how sad you feel or how ... not-sad you feel .. that speaks more than feeling sad for the sake of feeling sad. Feelings are simply feelings, but we've got control over what we do with them, how they affect our behaviors."
He reaches up, places a gentle hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before letting his hand fall again.
"It seems to me like you're feeling plenty, but being constructive with it."
no subject
Her voice draws his gaze towards her face, though - just for a brief moment, to acknowledge her. It drifts down towards the crushed up flower in her palm, the tiny purple petals now darkened and withered. He only knows obvious flowers like tulips and roses, so he's got no idea what the plant is that she's got in her hand, but he figures there's some kind of significance. She'd have chosen it for a reason, whatever it might be.
He continues to listen to her, allowing her to say as much or as little as she pleases. He understands more, now, with her explanation.
"Sometimes, shock and grief sort of make a cocoon around us, to protect us from too many emotions at once. The brain will always try to protect itself. Sometimes, we go into that shock and feel absolutely nothing because there's no other way we can get through whatever's going on. We compartmentalize, dissociate. And then we often feel a sudden outburst of emotion later on down the line, sometimes unexpectedly." He clasps his hands in front of him as he stands, now looking at the grave again. "I used to work at a homeless shelter for youths. Most were young teenagers. I saw that sort of thing a lot there." He shifts a little bit closer to her, gently tapping her with his elbow. "I was told once that feelings aren't right or wrong; they exist outside of the realm of morality. They just are. So if you aren't feeling as sad as you think you should be, it doesn't mean that what you're feeling is wrong. It's ... just what you feel." He turns towards her now, not reaching out for her (though he's the sort of person who's generally inclined to do that), but unclasping his hands to show they're there should she want to hold them. "You coming here, putting flowers on his grave even when no one else knows about it, because you want him to be remembered, because you want to not forget, regardless of how sad you feel or how ... not-sad you feel .. that speaks more than feeling sad for the sake of feeling sad. Feelings are simply feelings, but we've got control over what we do with them, how they affect our behaviors."
He reaches up, places a gentle hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before letting his hand fall again.
"It seems to me like you're feeling plenty, but being constructive with it."