Everyone talks about the many stages of grief. I felt like I was moving through them at a nice pace and was really doing well. Until I wasn't doing well anymore. It puzzled me. The last month has been a roller coaster of emotions but it wasn't until Saturday at the band competition that the realization hit me that Catherine was gone.
I've spent the last month making plans, worrying about my kids, my husband, work, the house, writing thank you notes, accepting meals, and being grateful. I haven't cried much. There were a lot of tears the day she died but I don't remember crying much after that. I've had a few down days but not a lot of tears. Saturday at the band contest, the tears flowed freely. It is the most I've cried since she died. They just wouldn't stop. It was ugly. Since then, I've been in a really sad place. Lots of anxiety and sadness. I just can't seem to pull myself out of it.
The book "Good Grief" was recommended to us by one of my doctors. It lists the following stages:
Stage One: We are in a state of shock
Stage Two: We express emotion
Stage Three: We feel depressed and very lonely
Stage Four: We may experience physical symptoms of distress
Stage Five: We may become panicky
Stage Six: We feel a sense of guilt about the loss
Stage Seven: We are filled with anger and resentment
Stage Eight: We resist returning
Stage Nine: Gradually hope comes through
Stage Ten: We struggle to affirm reality
When I first read those stages, I realized I was going through a lot at once. The shock lasted quite a few days. There hasn't been a lot of emotion. I've definitely felt depressed and very lonely, but by my own doing. The physical symptoms of distress is there and causes me to feel like I have a cold coming on all the time. I'm definitely panicky. I lay awake at night and have irrational thoughts about all the danger that are lurking upstairs while the boys sleep. The panic is real. I'm angry and I have lots of guilt. But the ones that we have always heard about, denial and acceptance aren't on that list. That list has been my guide for this process. I like having a plan and knowing what is next. Since denial and acceptance weren't on that list, I didn't think they mattered. They definitely matter and do exist.
Through the last month, I've been busy and I believe I was in a state of denial. There was a part of me that knew she was gone but it didn't seem real. It wasn't until the band competition that it became real. Not being able to shake this sadness has driven me to madness. I've contemplated chopping all my hair off. I've considered going back to my natural hair color, whatever that is. No matter what I have done this week, I can't shake this incredible sadness. At therapy today, I was told that it was acceptance. I was finally accepting that she is gone and the grief is very real and weighs very heavy on me. It is so painful and nothing that I was expecting. It wasn't on the list. I wasn't prepared for it. No planning was involved in coming to the stage of acceptance. There was no warning. It has hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything seems harder the last few days. Life just seems too overwhelming. I kept asking our therapist how to make it stop. She told me I can't. It is a process.
I don't want to accept that Catherine is gone. I don't want to accept that she is never coming home. I don't want to accept that I don't get to see her grow up. I don't want to accept that I won't see her on this earth again. But it seems as though we don't have control over these stages. They come and go as they please.
As someone that was mad that I wasn't healed a week after my c-section, this is torture. I'm impatient. The pain is so brutal, exhausting, and lonely. We are 32 days into this process. For me, it seems like no time at all. I fear that for the rest of the world it is plenty of time. I fear that people are going to expect me to find a normal and be okay. Hell, I fear that I expect all those things for myself. I fear that this sadness is going to consume me to a point that no one wants to be around. Who wants to be around a sad person all the time? There is no real guidebook for this type of process. Sure, there are books on how to deal and there is the textbook stages that we go through, but no one tells you how to get through it and at what point is enough.
There is a lot of confusion through all this. I work daily to not push people away. Because while I am so damn sad and finally accepting that Catherine is gone, I need people. I need the helpers and the huggers and the ones that tell inappropriate jokes. I need the people that listen to me prattle on about my daughter. This process sucks. There is no sugar coating it. Not even a little.
So make sure that the people in your life that are grieving know you are still there. Don't let them push you away. Even if they don't accept your invitations for going out or they cancel at the last minute, don't give up on them. Keep calling. Keep asking. Because through acceptance, even though it sucks, we finally get to the reality of our situation. We won't be the same person but a version of ourselves is still there.
I've spent the last month making plans, worrying about my kids, my husband, work, the house, writing thank you notes, accepting meals, and being grateful. I haven't cried much. There were a lot of tears the day she died but I don't remember crying much after that. I've had a few down days but not a lot of tears. Saturday at the band contest, the tears flowed freely. It is the most I've cried since she died. They just wouldn't stop. It was ugly. Since then, I've been in a really sad place. Lots of anxiety and sadness. I just can't seem to pull myself out of it.
The book "Good Grief" was recommended to us by one of my doctors. It lists the following stages:
Stage One: We are in a state of shock
Stage Two: We express emotion
Stage Three: We feel depressed and very lonely
Stage Four: We may experience physical symptoms of distress
Stage Five: We may become panicky
Stage Six: We feel a sense of guilt about the loss
Stage Seven: We are filled with anger and resentment
Stage Eight: We resist returning
Stage Nine: Gradually hope comes through
Stage Ten: We struggle to affirm reality
When I first read those stages, I realized I was going through a lot at once. The shock lasted quite a few days. There hasn't been a lot of emotion. I've definitely felt depressed and very lonely, but by my own doing. The physical symptoms of distress is there and causes me to feel like I have a cold coming on all the time. I'm definitely panicky. I lay awake at night and have irrational thoughts about all the danger that are lurking upstairs while the boys sleep. The panic is real. I'm angry and I have lots of guilt. But the ones that we have always heard about, denial and acceptance aren't on that list. That list has been my guide for this process. I like having a plan and knowing what is next. Since denial and acceptance weren't on that list, I didn't think they mattered. They definitely matter and do exist.
Through the last month, I've been busy and I believe I was in a state of denial. There was a part of me that knew she was gone but it didn't seem real. It wasn't until the band competition that it became real. Not being able to shake this sadness has driven me to madness. I've contemplated chopping all my hair off. I've considered going back to my natural hair color, whatever that is. No matter what I have done this week, I can't shake this incredible sadness. At therapy today, I was told that it was acceptance. I was finally accepting that she is gone and the grief is very real and weighs very heavy on me. It is so painful and nothing that I was expecting. It wasn't on the list. I wasn't prepared for it. No planning was involved in coming to the stage of acceptance. There was no warning. It has hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything seems harder the last few days. Life just seems too overwhelming. I kept asking our therapist how to make it stop. She told me I can't. It is a process.
I don't want to accept that Catherine is gone. I don't want to accept that she is never coming home. I don't want to accept that I don't get to see her grow up. I don't want to accept that I won't see her on this earth again. But it seems as though we don't have control over these stages. They come and go as they please.
As someone that was mad that I wasn't healed a week after my c-section, this is torture. I'm impatient. The pain is so brutal, exhausting, and lonely. We are 32 days into this process. For me, it seems like no time at all. I fear that for the rest of the world it is plenty of time. I fear that people are going to expect me to find a normal and be okay. Hell, I fear that I expect all those things for myself. I fear that this sadness is going to consume me to a point that no one wants to be around. Who wants to be around a sad person all the time? There is no real guidebook for this type of process. Sure, there are books on how to deal and there is the textbook stages that we go through, but no one tells you how to get through it and at what point is enough.
There is a lot of confusion through all this. I work daily to not push people away. Because while I am so damn sad and finally accepting that Catherine is gone, I need people. I need the helpers and the huggers and the ones that tell inappropriate jokes. I need the people that listen to me prattle on about my daughter. This process sucks. There is no sugar coating it. Not even a little.
So make sure that the people in your life that are grieving know you are still there. Don't let them push you away. Even if they don't accept your invitations for going out or they cancel at the last minute, don't give up on them. Keep calling. Keep asking. Because through acceptance, even though it sucks, we finally get to the reality of our situation. We won't be the same person but a version of ourselves is still there.
There is no time limit on this. As someone who’s lost people close to me and watched three family members lose a child, you’ll never heal. Things will never be “normal” again. So don’t put that expectation on yourself. It’s unattainable.
ReplyDeleteThe pain never completely goes away. After time (lots of time, many, many years) it becomes more and more manageable but it’s always there. You just live with it.
And you create a new normal. You eventually find a new rhythm that includes the people and activities in your life at that moment. Then those change and you adjust again.
Try to find things to be thankful for and activities that make you happy. Cry when you need too. Get mad when you need too. Laugh when you feel like it. Do you! You are unique and there is no set timeline for your process.