Bereaving has no timeline

When my sister died in 2009, I coped by burying myself in my studies, and with the outpouring of support from my sister’s peers and my family. It took years for me to find fulfillment in life again. Just when I was living my best life in Spain, I received the news one morning early 2016 and flew home to Florida to be with my father.

The death of my mother started a dark phase. A dreadful feeling accompanied me, lurking under the surface. I’d feel pangs of guilt whenever I found enjoyment in anything. Seemingly at random, I’d be overcome with debilitating waves of grief. I stayed in my room with the blinds closed. I stopped listening to music. I stopped eating. My emotions and actions were sometimes unpredictable, even startling. Even with family and friends visiting our house, I felt isolated. I thought that nobody understood my pain. I started experiencing sharp, sustained pains in my chest. Several doctor's visits later, I had a diagnosis of “broken heart.”

Feeling overwhelmed, I sought mental health services for the first time. My health insurance set me up with the nearest counselor - would you believe that her name was Angel and had the same birthday as my sister? 

Walking to weekly therapy was the only reason I went outside. Angel always seemed to have the right response to my doom and gloom outlook. She told me that mourning is the outward expression of grief and one way to channel my grief would be to do activities that my loved ones did during their lifetime.