Earlier this week, I went and saw a counselor for the first time in my life. She had me recount in detail everything that happened two weeks ago. My mind had been doing a good job of folding up that awful memory and sticking it away in a drawer, like that bit of clutter that you don’t want to deal with so instead you just stick it out of sight so you can claim the cleaning is done. Pulling out the clutter was excruciating, but probably for the best. One thing she told me is that I cannot expect to grieve “by the book” with the five stages of grief because of the suddenness of his death. She said that in reality, my mind may not let me grasp what has happened for months. It’s weird, I obviously know what happened, I’ve been trying to take steps to take care of the mundane awfulness of life’s little details, I wrote and delivered a eulogy, I consented to donation, I’ve screamed, and I’ve cried but I can honestly say I have not fully wrapped my head around things. That scares me because things feel bad, really bad, but what will happen when I really “get it”? I don’t want to find out.
Last night was my first night alone since it happened. I felt like a spent several hours fighting off a panic attack but eventually I found sleep on the sofa and in the morning I woke back up and started all over again. I haven’t been able to sleep in our bed. It is just too much. I tried once but just started sweating and hyperventilating. I will try again at some point. I obviously can’t spend my whole life on the couch, but now is not the time to deal with it.
Finding the pieces 