#27 I am alone in this

Go back to the writing you printed off yesterday Read back through your writing, underlining any words or short phrases that catch your attention. Using a different colored pen, go through the same document: look for phrases that could be expanded. Where are the places in your text that you can open up a dense little story, or expand on something you hint at? Where can your text be opened?

I shuffled into my grief therapist’s office in acute pain and nausea. My stomach was in knots. My heart felt pierced, I wondered if I could breathe. Misery was my middle name.

Could grief really hurt this bad?

“Yes. No-one talks about it, but this is the neurobiology of grief.“ My systems were on total overload trying to process the unfathomable: the terrifying suicide of my beloved son, Ben.

I have been living in my private world of black for five months now. Most of the physical pain has lifted. I deal with guilt, blame, and loss. I am alone in this. My family members do not grieve or speak of Ben. They do not say prayers, light candles or place flowers in his memory. Yes, I am alone in this.

Now, I can keep my grief just below the surface. My heart is broken but I can love and I can accept love. I can feel sunshine on my face. I will take my next step forward towards a new way of living without Ben. I know I will find my way.

Photo by Ben. (2019) It is my job to push through that door.