This is a follow up to my earlier post - some of the "positive" actions of month one.
Even with all the numbness and raw emotions, I did take a few steps forward-ish:
I immediately started therapy - the week after dad died. I wanted to waste no time. I knew how dangerous the mind could be - how dangerous grief could be. I wasn't at my best the day my dad died. 2021 had been a tough year for me. I've started a draft on that. Hopefully I can get myself to a place to finish it.
It was a year filled of very intense emotions and longing and very deep reflection. Long story short - I was struggling. I was struggling with my place in life - my purpose. I was struggling with the breakup. I was struggling realizing my chance at having kids was slipping away. I was struggling with confidence. I was struggling with being lonely. Late 30s, single, no kids, small town. It was hard to find a core group. This was all new to me. I had never really felt the pressure of any of that until 2021.
But my dad. My dad was there for me supporting me and picking me up and encouraging me while giving me the time and space to fight and figure it out. Then he died, unexpectedly, right in front of me. Trauma. People told me it was a trauma that I had experienced. Trauma, on top of just the grief of losing a parent, on top of the breakup, on top of already feeling lonely and isolated. The loneliness intensified. I had lost the two most important people to me at the time. I felt like I had no one to turn to. And that was only the tip of the iceberg of what I had lost. Therapy has been 100% necessary for me and it's likely the main reason I am even able to write any of this. I won't say everyone needs it, but I do know the difference it has made for me. I think we all have room for growth and can find a benefit from it, even when we aren't at the lowest points of our lives.
I played softball. There was a church pickup game that I decided to play in. I hadn't decided on a home church yet. But I thought this might help me get connected and plugged in. It was awkward because I didn't know anyone. I pulled up. There were multiple fields. Crap. Where do I even go? Anxiety. I got out and looked around, trying to gauge the people walking around. I found a family that just looked the part and sure enough they were there for the church game. We followed a group of guys that they knew. And it was the wrong field. More anxiety. We made the trek back. I got in my car to go to a different field.
Why did I even come to this thing? I wasn't ready. It was about 2 weeks since my dad had died. No one knew what a hurdle it was for me to show up on a good day, let alone feeling like I was. I had such a void. I was still just kind of existing and showing up places. No one knew I had tears in my eyes standing on 2nd base after my double - my dad wasn't there to see it. I cried leaving the field. Normally I'd talk all about the game with my dad -either in the car or on the phone. I just left the field and drove home in silence. Very anticlimactic for something that felt so hard to do.
I kept playing in a rec league that I had played in previously. I'd make a couple jokes about my dad dying when a team was wearing me out in the outfield or made a good play on one of my hits. Literally my first game back and the first 3 batters hit it my way. No one really understood. I was just desperate for connection and any kind of acknowledgment of the pain and loss. My brother and his family showed up and offered me some support. I assume they were trying to step in for me since Dad used to always come watch me play. It mattered.
I fought the incessant urge to withdraw. Every part of me wanted to do just that. And I mean every part of me. I wanted to hole up and be left alone. I can't express how much I wanted to this. Funny because I also felt incredibly lonely.
It is dangerously easy to succumb to this. And there were nights I did just that. Maybe it's ok sometimes - to allow the feelings to be present. But I let the people who reached out to me offer what they could. And I reached out to a couple of people who offered me an ear. I tried to stay connected to people who were willing.
I kept a journal. I wrote an earlier post about how I needed to write. I also wanted to have something I could show someone else if they needed it. I knew there might come a time, years from now, when I would need to access those early days of grief to really be there for someone. Or maybe someone would just need access to it. I know it helped me seeing stories on the internet or simple quotes that I just identified with - that seemed like they were plucked from my very heart - that I read and could just say "yes, that's exactly it!"
Wanting to have it all written down came to me as I was talking back and forth with the guy from middle school (you know-the real MVP). He knew pain in a far deeper way than even what I was feeling. And his being able to understand and put words to what I was feeling made such a difference to me. I cannot explain the importance of someone just acknowledging and knowing the pain and sitting in it with me. To tell me how bad it was. How unfair. Not trying to fix anything. Not trying to show me how it gets better. Letting me just talk about what I was feeling. Knowing that in that moment, there is no better. I did not care that I would "get through it" or "it would get easier" or that I was "strong." I needed the time and space to feel the hurt and be heard. To get through just that moment. And I could go to that person for help with the next moment. Some days the only thing that got me through was the thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to help someone because of what I was experiencing.
I let myself feel. I didn't want to just "push them down". I tried to keep myself from being too busy. I didn't want to just distract myself out of grief. Maybe (?) it works for some, but I have seen plenty of people that really feel the effects of that later. I feel like this can get tricky. As a reminder, these are purely my experiences and I am not a therapist. I mention what has been helpful to me. I try to show what therapy may offer and to provide encouragement and recognition of pain and struggles. I want some of this stuff out there and talked about so that it can help the next person in their own grief. But my simple explanations require further development by a professional, and it may be best to let a therapist guide you. My therapist made sure I knew the importance of being in touch with my feelings and letting myself feel all the emotions and to recognize them - to honor them. She helped me know what this may look like - in a healthy way.
I posted instagram stories. I needed a way to channel some of my emotions. I wrote briefly about that. There were days I didn't know what to do with myself or how to handle what I was feeling. So I found a brief respite in creating a story. Sometimes the stories would spark a conversation from someone reaching out. And if it helped create connection, that was a good secondary outcome, I suppose. It seems like we get bombarded with all this perfection. I am not saying it's a good idea to just go air dirty laundry for the sake of "authenticity" or post every moment of pain. But I tried to find a healthy outlet for myself. It was a productive distraction. And I have reached out to more people and have been more open to those who have reached out to me because of it.
We ate together as a family. There was a meal train that was started for us. We had meals taken care of for at least a month. We were all grieving and coming together just seemed to help. It was as if some of the weight was lifted, at least for a moment, because we were all so deeply affected. Being around each other, and not the outside world, gave us a safe space. It offered some sort of structure in the chaos. We were able to grieve and also to laugh as the kids did kid things. I can't say if this was helpful for my brother's family or was an additional burden, but I know I looked forward to being in that bubble. Also, the food was really good.
I went out to lunch. One of my best friends invited me to eat lunch and run errands with her and her husband. We all hung out together back in high school. This gave me some sense of normalcy. It broke up the never-ending numbness. It was a safe way to get out of the house and the thick, suffocating air of mourning. Plus I had some things I needed to get done before going back to work. I was able to laugh and to joke. This was kind of hard for me to grapple with. How was I laughing? How was I able to talk about anything but my dad? What was I doing?
We went in a home goods store. And there -there I saw it. The most perfect piece that seemed like it was hanging just for me to find. A decorative periodic table - my dad's favorite thing to teach. He loved the organization. I can't explain the feeling I felt when I turned the corner, aimlessly wandering, and there it was almost shining at me. It now hangs in my house. It's not some noticeable shrine for my dad but is a subtle nod to remember and honor him. We drove to Culver's and I drank my dad's favorite drink, with a lump in my throat, and my friends shared that experience with me.
I am sure there are things I am forgetting. This is by no means a "how to grieve" post. Really none of them are. I've learned enough to know the process is different for everyone. This is simply just what I did - trial and error. I may realize months from now places where it didn't work. I may look back and be like "I am so thankful I did that." Grief truly is a journey - maybe even an odyssey - but I've been out of school too long to even go there.
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