Ten months.
Recently, I realized that marking the 17th of every month has turned from how many months it’s been since my son died, to a countdown of how long it will be until the one-year anniversary of his death. I’m dreading that day more than I can say, for some reason. It looms large in my mind, growing ever bigger and threatening to block out everything else.
I’m lucky, though. Although grief after losing a child is a universal experience, my problems are very much first-world problems. I don’t live in a war zone, or have to worry about food, shelter or safety. Materially, I have everything I want or need. And, I’m lucky enough to have access to medical care, including mental health care.
My entire family needed that access and mental health support after our loss. I don’t talk about their private experiences here, just my own journey, but I can say I wouldn’t be functioning even at the limited capacity I am if I didn’t have access to therapists and psychiatrists and the care they provide.
Grief affects you profoundly, mentally and physically. I’m more likely to get sick. I can’t handle stress at all; every molehill becomes a mountain. I cry, all the time and at the drop of a hat—like last night at my son’s 8th grade concert when they sang SEASONS OF LOVE. I’m more anxious, irritable and quick to lose my temper. I don’t always feel like taking a shower every day, and I haven’t worn makeup in months (it just runs at some point, let’s face it).
Therapy gives me a place to talk about this, and strategies that help me cope. Medication helps, too, allowing me to keep my head above water and put energy into self-care.
There’s no shame in needing help. You don’t get a medal for handling grief on your own. Therapy and medication will be part of my life as long as I need them, although how and when I access them will likely change as my grief does. I’m incredibly grateful that I have a health care plan that pays for at least some of this (if I’m ever tempted to not get out of bed, I remind myself that I have to work to pay for everyone’s therapy). So I add this to the list of things I’m thankful for, that I never wanted to be.
Meanwhile, two months to go.
Saying the Quiet Parts Out Loud 