Now Grief Feels Like Nothing

Dad and Kitt Learning How to Brush Her Teeth
Dad and Me Learning How to Brush My Teeth

Unlike grief theories that propose defined stages, grief is not linear, nor is it universal. We grieve differently.

Now I feel nothing. I’m numb. My psychologist describes it as “taking care of business,” reframing what I’m going through, my coping mechanism, in a positive way.

Quoting MedlinePlus, NIH, U.S. National Library of Medicine at https://medlineplus.gov/ency/article/001530.htm

Grief

People’s responses to grief will be different, depending on the circumstances of the death. For example, if the person who died had a chronic illness, the death may have been expected. The end of the person’s suffering might even have come as a relief. If the death was accidental or violent, coming to a stage of acceptance might take longer.

Symptoms

One way to describe grief is in five stages. These reactions might not occur in a specific order, and can occur together. Not everyone experiences all of these emotions:

  • Denial, disbelief, numbness
  • Anger, blaming others
  • Bargaining (for instance, “If I am cured of this cancer, I will never smoke again.”)
  • Depressed mood, sadness, and crying
  • Acceptance, coming to terms

People who are grieving may have crying spells, trouble sleeping, and lack of productivity at work.

Grieving — My Father Passed

Grief is the price we pay for love. —Queen Elizabeth II. Meme by KittO’Malley.com

My father passed away. His illness and death took us by surprise. We had no idea that he had lung cancer, nor that his infection was severe, until last week.

Thank you for your love, support, and prayers.

Shedding a Few Tears

tears-on-plant

It’s been a year. It’s been a year since I noticed that my mother hadn’t taken her turn in Words with Friends. It’s been a year since my mother was verbal. It’s been a year since she could use language.

Her passion was words. She spent her days playing word games. She was proud that she had been debate team captain in college. She could and would and did slay with words.

Last year she had a stroke. Life hasn’t been the same since – not for her, not for my father, not for my sister, not for me, not for my son, not for my husband.

Finally, I allow myself to gently shed a few tears, a few soft tears. Finally, I allow myself much needed mourning the loss of my verbal mother. She is still with us, but she is different. Her brain permanently changed, permanently damaged.

I can no longer talk on the phone with her. I can no longer play word games with her. And, so, I’m sad. I miss the old her. Even if she did slay with words.