Yesterday, I went to my monthly shrink appointment. When he asked me how I was doing, I answered honestly: pretty shitty, you?
I reminded him of Dad’s death last month and told him about all the problems I was having. Some days I felt like I was made of panic and loneliness. Some days I hurt so bad, I couldn’t look at the pain for fear of it overpowering me. Other days I would spend the whole day working up the energy to clean the kitchen. Sometimes, I couldn’t even do that much and would lie in the dark and tell myself stories in my head. Good days where the days Mom came over for Homemade Family Meal night. Mostly, I’ve been hurt, lonely, and very tired.
The doctor looked at me with so much sympathy it made me ugly cry harder.
I told him I knew it was all grief, and even though this isn’t how I expected it to be, I know my grief won’t feel like this forever. I also told him I know I needed to let myself feel this pain so I can start to heal. This level of pain is temporary.
He told me I have an excellent outlook everything. I explained I decided if I was going to be batshit crazy for the rest of my life, I was going to do it well, and with flair whenever possible. To his credit, he laughed.
Then I got to Mom home, not Viking home (life is weird, don’t judge me) and I found this.
So, I set to sobbing all over again. Earlier, even before the shrink, I had cried earlier when I was thanking my friend Renee for using her ninja mind powers to get me out of the house the Friday before. I hadn’t even realized how much ninja mind trickery she had used until I was discussing it with the Viking the night before.
Today, someone posted about a loved one losing someone soon, and I typed out this long post about caring for her loved one and herself, then decided it wasn’t the best place. Here is the right place
Grief and You, a Handy Guide: (As told by a complete novice at being a human and grieving)
Grief doesn’t always happen like it is shown, you know, every where. Dad’s death wasn’t a surprise. I had planned my grief according to the way everything shows grief happening. Week one: Shock and being busy with the plans. Week Two: being there for Mom and start facing my own pain. Week Three: the week of suck and self care. Week Four: Start the process of healing. Yeah, so much no, did not happen like this AT ALL. Okay, well, week one happened like I thought it would, after that everything went all wonky.
I think my brain released all sorts of strange chemicals, or I was super good at lying to myself because the first few weeks I was mostly fine. The night before Father’s Day sucked, but even that was in a manageable range. I felt sadness and pain, but nothing like I was expecting. So, a month later, when I’m hurting so bad, I was confused as hell. I was supposed to be getting better by now. How is it possible that I’m hurting worse? Why am I crying in a Mexican restaurant because Dad loved the place? My grief was sneaky ninja grief. Now that I know what is going on, I can forgive myself and be a bit kinder to myself about crying at everything and having bad days.
Mom, on the other hand, has been a damned superhero. She’s been my rock, along with the Viking. We also created Homemade Family Dinner Night. She comes over in the afternoon and we hang out while I cook a good homemade meal. I love cooking for family, and it makes sure we both take care of each other.
You never know how much those quick phone calls, texts, and Facebook messages mean. If someone you love loses someone they love, send them those messages. I promise you it means something to them. Sometimes people would text or message me, and I would respond with one or two words, but it wasn’t because I didn’t appreciate them, my brain was just not capable of responding.
We realize you were there for us at the funeral/memorial. I’ve always eschewed going to funerals because I never thought it would mean much to the person you were going for. God, was I wrong. When my friends showed up for me, and some for Dad, it meant everything. I might not have been able to express it enough because of brain melt, but I will always be thankful for it. Thank you.
Remind us as the weeks go on that it is still okay to be hurting. I feel like such a baby for still hurting. I know logically it is normal to still hurt. I know I’m doing okay. I know this in my logic brain. Unfortunately, my logic brain has less control over my feelings than I would like. Stupid logic brain.
Some of us will never ask for the damn help we need no matter how bad we need it. Seriously, I have this wonderful group of friends, and I never ask for help when I need it. I’m stubborn. I get that from Dad.
That’s all I have figured out right now, but I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.