Coming back to life again ... thanks to you!

The notations on the doctor's clipboard read, "53 year old woman, complicated grief, depression, socially withdrawn." He had stepped out of the room for a moment and I snuck a peek. They were notes about me, after all, and I was always curious to see what doctors were really writing as they sat and talked with me.

After the death of my son, there was little mental or physical energy in me that wasn't expended at work. If it weren't for Matthew gently pushing me to go for a walk, watch a movie, or cook a meal together, I could have been satisfied with coming home from work and going straight to bed. Matthew even got me to go back to church.

Then Matthew died and I just stepped back inside my home and closed the doors. Work, family, and keeping up with the house was almost too much anyway.

I need to truly thank my doctors, my family (especially my daughter and son), my neighbors, my co-workers, my old friends and new, and the members of CafeMom groups and the BereavementJourney online support group for helping me return to life. My doctors have been firm. My family has been ears for all my screaming, crying, and questioning, as well as an abundant source of hugs. My neighbors are always doing sneaky little things to help out around here. My co-workers have been so kind and helpful, especially during a year where I've also taken on so much more work and responsibility. My friends, God bless you all, for hanging in there with me through divorce, son's illness, job change, car accident, dislocating my shoulder, not returning phone calls promptly, showing up late at functions and ocassionally bowing out at the last minute, my son's death, my shoulder surgery, and Matthew's death.

To the new friends I've made online through support groups and CafeMom, oh, I wish I could meet you all in person and give you big hugs for allowing me to share my stories and to be there for you in your time of need as well. It's not so easy for me to be on the receiving end and you've made it easier for me by allowing me to give back to you.

Thank you.

Go At Your Own Pace...But Keep Trying

A fellow grief support member asks, "When will I laugh again? Will I laugh again?"

So far I've found grief continues. The ragged edges of the wound begin to heal, so it doesn't snag sooften and so painfully as time goes on. But we have lost someone who was apart of our lives, a part of our families, a part of our very beings - and that hole, that wound, does not go away. It does become, I think, part of who we are and will always be.

We do eventually smile again, and work withour full energy and attention, and laugh and even make jokes. We remember the good times and are grateful that we, at least, had these moments. We had the moments we carried our babies in our wombs if nothing else. Or we had the hours they were in our arms. Or observing them grow during childhood. In my case, I was blessed to have 32 years of my son's life with me.

The sad moments will always come, and not only on holidays or special events- sometimes five or 10 years later, we'll see someone who might be the age that our loved one would have been. They might not resemble them in the least. Or we'll see a bicycle and we'll become acutely aware of the times we watched our child ride, or the fact that our child never got to ride. We'll see a color or smell a fragrance. It will trigger the sad, almost fresh grief feelings all over again.

But, eventually, it won't be so overwhelming that we can hardly find the energy to take care of ourselves or the living loved ones who still surround us. We'll still have to be prepared and know that those unexpected moments can arise.

A problem can be "complicated grief". That is, grief that also carries extra feelings of anger (murder, violence, drunk driving accident) or guilt (valid or just assumed). We'll all have some anger and guilt, but there are circumstances where those issues make the grief even more complicated and hard to work through. You may have made promises you couldn't keep. You may have had an unresolved fight before the death or spoken words you wished you hadn't spoken.

I promised my son we would find someone to help us; that we'd find some way to get him back on his feet;that we'd find a way to get some money and treatments. He died before the money and the help came. There are moments I'm still regretting terribly.They pop up and invade my mind and mingle with the grief. Things that maybe I could have done differently - maybe I should have gotten naked and stood on top of city hall and yelled for help. I should have just sat and held him more, but some days I was so tired from working extra hours (and two jobs) to earn money to pay for the help- and meds we could get without insurance that I would stagger in late at night and collapse. I wish beyond wishes that I could have afforded the internet and cable tv while he was alive. He was awake and in pain in long cycles day and night and having interaction and contact with people on the internet could have been a distraction and entertainment for him.

I don't know yet how to deal with all of this because I, like you, am just a fellow traveler on this grief journey. I know we have to keep walking, though. We have to get up each morning and get done what needs to be done. We need to take care of ourselves and the others who are hurting around us (whether they are handling their grief the same way we are or not, it is still painful for our spouses and children of all ages when a family memberis lost). We have to put one foot in front of the other and start going to the soccer games and watching our living children play. And we have to clap and cheer whether we feel like it or not right now. Eventually, the clapping and cheering will become easier and will not require such effort. And even further down the road we may find ourselves clapping and cheering joyfully because of the event in front of us.I've learned this so far: You will not get anywhere unless you start moving towards that goal. You will not swim again unless you put on a swimsuit and step into the water. You may not feel like swimming laps or racing the first times back in the pool. And you may find it more comfortable in a smaller pool or with a smaller group of people. And maybe you might just want to float or dog paddle for a while. Maybe you might want to get right back out after only a few minutes. But then you get back in and stay a few minutes longer the next time. You go at your own pace, but you have to keep on trying.

The same with the joy and the laughter in our lives. We have to keep on trying. We go at our own pace, but we keep trying.