What Happened To You?

Death. Grief. These terms are not two in the same, but often get grouped together in the “hard stuff” category. Death -the end of life, and grief -what happens to those who are left behind. Grief is not the same for everybody. Two people will grieve the same person differently at different times. Grief is not a linear progression, there is no timeline, there are no ordered steps. It doesn’t go away after a certain amount of time -in fact, it doesn’t ever go away. It changes, you change, and you learn to live with the grief. You make space for it. Like the ripple of water following a boat, your grief follows you, eventually transforming and flowing back into the water of life. The boat is bigger than the tides, but the body of water is bigger than the boat. It can engulf the boat, should the boat neglect proper upkeep. What was built to sustain will surely break apart if we take for granted proper care and underestimate the power of the waters. Even calm waters have the ability to sink a ship. So, what does all of this mean? It means none of us are immune to grief -it’s a part of the human experience. It can break us or shape us depending on how we navigate the waters, upkeep our vessel and what we’re open to learning along the journey.

I remember right after my brother died (as in, within that first month) some family and friends who didn’t know better asked me when “this” would be over. The meltdowns. The darkness. The feeling of being “stuck” and overall sadness and shock. The inability to work without having a breakdown. The “me” being gone. I was frustrated that they didn’t understand, even though I shouldn’t expect them to. Grief is different for everybody, and surely seeing somebody you care about going down a dark lonely road is enough to make those around them very concerned. This is when I realized that the people who were continuing to reach out, check in, offer advice, their own company or words of support and those “thinking about you” messages were the ones who had been shaped by grief in their own lives. They understood that this wasn’t just a season of life, but that life as I knew it wasn’t going to ever be the same. These people, some of whom I hadn’t talked to or seen in over a decade, knew something that the rest of the people who arguably “knew me better” didn’t understand: that the journey has only just begun after the dust settles on the funeral and other arrangements. When the overwhelming flood of texts and calls and cards and flowers and food and services and luncheons and get-togethers end, that’s when the reality sets in. Everybody that shows up to the funeral isn’t going to be along on this grief journey with us -but some will offer their company, their words of encouragement, their love and support, if we let them.

This is not to say that the darkest times will last forever. They don’t have to -God does not wish that upon us, nor does the loved one who’s passed on. But its ultimately up to us to determine how we’re going to be changed by this grief. How is the loss going to impact us? Are we going to let it completely immobilize us and stop us from living our own lives to the fullest? If so, for how long? Can we follow our dreams and make the most of our life while also honoring, remembering and learning from the loss we have experienced? This largely depends on our openness to change, how honest we are about our feelings, how patient we are with ourselves, and how willing we are to utilize tools available to us. Yeah, I’m talking therapy. The big T word that few people in my life are open to, but seem to all agree that I specifically need it. I’ve seen loved ones move through grief without professional help, and I’ve seen the foundation of my own life start to buckle and crumble because I was not receiving the help I needed. This ironically ties me back to the life of my brother, the person I mourn for the most. He was shaped by PTSD that he brought home from the war in Afghanistan, and this pain rippled through every part of his life for over 10 years. He tried to push through, as many men, especially military men, do -he tried to self-medicate, and went to dangerous extremes to try and numb the pain, ultimately costing him his life. How ironic would it be if I refused the help I needed in order to properly mourn the life of my brother, who also refused the help that he needed in order to mourn the loss of a dear friend he saw die in the war? God seems to love a good “full circle” moment, but I decided this is the part in the circle where I broke free, where I ventured into uncharted waters to try and break the cycle and heal myself. Losing Jon opened up wounds I didn’t know I had. But that’s the point of life, right? To constantly be learning, expanding, changing and evolving like the seasons. And so, I went off in a pursuit of the right kind of help because I found myself receiving the wrong kind of help.

Oh yeah, signing up for therapy didn’t happen following the death of Jon. Rather, I had started therapy for my “own shit” earlier that year. The first therapist was too expensive, but convenient and helpful. In July of 2023, I moved onto a therapist who was $10 a session through my insurance company’s Doctor On Demand App. Cool -cheap, convenient, excellent. I jived with this woman, Laura, for a while. Even though sometimes I felt piercing judgement from her, I thought she was the professional, and I the young grasshopper. Maybe I was the dramatic quack she made me feel like. Then, Jon died. Thank God I already have a therapist, right?! Let’s just add this to the tab and continue on this “healing journey” with somebody I already have a few months of rapport and background established with. Except, that is not at all what happened.

I had a therapy appointment scheduled for the day I was to drive back to Michigan. There was no way for me to communicate directly with Laura -only through the app, so I sent an SOS message to Regence’s Customer Service and told them I had a death in the family and would be unable to meet with my therapist today. I had weekly sessions scheduled out for a few months, so it would be no problem to just jump back into the swing of things next week… Even though this was arguably the time I needed some encouraging words the most. But at any rate, we got back to Michigan, the dog and pony show of funeral activities commenced, and the next week, I met with Laura. I was expecting to be met with grace, kindness, empathy and support. But, no. I’ve learned that our expectations are not necessarily what plays out for us.

 I would describe the way Laura met me with my fresh trauma and grief as cold, hostile, standoffish, suspicious, judgmental, belittling and disempowering. Wow, those are some big fighting words! But hold my beer, because it gets worse. Upon breaking the tragic news and describing to Laura everything that had happened that last week, Laura goes.. “Well, I haven’t ever heard you talk about your brother this much.” No shit. Dropping dead will kind of do that. She was admittedly suspicious that I was having such a heavy reaction, and she based this judgement off of the fact that I hadn’t talked about Jon that much in therapy, besides explaining the family tree and giving a brief overview of his story and whereabouts. But… I didn’t sign up for therapy that summer to talk about Jon. I signed up to deal with my own shit. I had 50 minutes a week, and even though I love my brother, I wasn’t there to talk about him. My main “shit” in life wasn’t involving him directly (up until his death). She totally downplayed the whole situation, and week after week, I would be more and more stuck, now struggling to show up in my relationships and at work.

A week or so after the funeral, my family stood around in the warehouse that Jon was to be cremated in. I watched my brother-in-law push the red button that set his body on fire, which was situated in a cardboard box with his name written in Sharpee, and we stared to smell the literal smell of his burning flesh (oh yeah, it was messed up) until we all scurried out of there. A few days later, I had a therapy session with Laura. I recalled this horrific event and the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was constantly in the crematorium in the back of my mind, I could smell Jon’s burning body and was dreaming about it every night. Laura agreed that this was pretty messed up, but as I brought it up week after week, she would tell me “we already discussed this, you’re not making progress, we’re talking about all of the same stuff that we did last week.” She also told me I was “over identifying” with my brother’s death.

As time went on, I got mad. Really f****ng  mad. I was watching my life start to crumble, my relationships were tanking, I was completely disassociated from life, checked out, back in New York but mentally at the crematorium with my burning brother, and my therapist was basically telling me to suck it up. Shortly after, I decided I needed to go back to Michigan to be around my family, to share this grief and to try and get help as I felt completely immobilized, as if reset to factory settings. I felt incapable of making decisions, of having any responsibilities, of doing anything other than suffocating in my grief and subsequent trauma. Bawling my eyes out in a friend’s spare room, I told Laura that I was really struggling and wanted to take a leave of absence from work utilizing FMLA. I had talked with HR and explained my situation, and they assured me this was something that I could take a leave of absence for to take care of myself. Laura told me that she does this paperwork and signs patients out for leave all of the time, but then said that she wasn’t going to do this for me. “I don’t want to see you take time off work for this. We need to get the old Ally back. You need to snap out of this and push through.” Push through? I’m in my friend’s spare room, mentally and emotionally drained, traumatized, sad, alone, forever changed, and you want me to “push through.” I cried on the video chat for about 30 minutes, unable to talk, as Laura blankly stared at me with her RBF (resting bitch face) seemingly annoyed at me for being depressed and traumatized. That is the last time I spoke with Laura.

I decided that, while it was noble of me to “get help” and try to utilize a convenient tool earlier this summer, this woman was not my God and she was no longer making a positive impact on my life. In fact, its safe to say that she pushed me when I was already down. She had the opportunity to help and chose not to, for whatever reason. But that’s okay. Because its when I was at my lowest, my loneliest, my saddest, my most messed-up that I was able to realize I deserved and needed better. Other preexisting conditions, like Type 1 Diabetes and PMDD (Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder) (aka EXTREMELY SCARY PMS) were being severely exasperated by my stress and mental state, and it was time to really and truly get the help I know I needed. Once I was back in Michigan, I went onto Psychology Today and sent emails to 40-50 therapists, after carefully reading their bios. This was an exhausting task, as I copied and pasted my story to therapist upon therapist. Three people got back to me -two of which I went on to work with, and am convinced those were the people I needed in my life. God weeded the rest out after the shit show that happened with Laura. Debbie did and continues to do several rounds of EMDR with me -which is a truly fascinating type of therapy that helps you let go of trauma or anything that your mind is “stuck” on. Amanda also helped assure me that there were ways we could safely combat my truly scary PMDD, and after a lot of patience with me, I am now on a medication regiment that has me feeling more in control of my life and my impulses and emotions than ever before. I don’t feel numb, spacey, drugged, diluted, or anything like that…. I feel more like myself than I have my entire adult life.

Its not lost on me that EMDR, a method that ultimately saved my life as I knew it, was commonly used to treat veterans experiencing PTSD. Its not lost on me that I was pursing help for the grief and trauma surrounding losing my brother, and that his life ultimately ended because he was unable to seek out the right kind of help for his own traumas and pains…. While it’s ironic, I know that God had a plan, and I know with every fiber of my being that Jon is in a place better than we can fathom here on earth. It was his time -Jon had suffered for over 10 years, and God decided that it was time for him to truly rest in peace. While I still grapple with the “what ifs” and swing around on the grief pendulum, the heavy and dark weight has been lifted from my shoulders and the path ahead is not dark, scary or ominous anymore. I can breathe again. I am finding the light inside of me and mustering up all the courage I can to shine it for the world. I feel called to write, to share, to speak about my journey and remove some of the stigma around death, around grief, around therapy, around medication, around emotions, around being vulnerable and open and putting yourself out there and starting over…. I feel called to speak about the human experience. So, take it from me. Help is not “one size fits all.” Ultimately, you must be your own advocate in this life, and in order to do so, you have to really get honest with yourself about where you’re at, where you want to be and what you need. If you need help and seek it out, that doesn’t make you weak. It just might make you stronger. It just might save your life. Whether that’s a neighbor down the road coming over for coffee once a week, or a daily walk with a friend at the park, or a grief group meeting at a church, or a weekend FaceTime session with your long-distance best friend, or a weekly therapy session (just not with Laura). Ask, and you shall receive.

Now-a-days, the person I talk to the most might just be Jon himself. On the porch with a cup of coffee in the morning, on the trail as the sun peeks through the leaves, when I’m walking my dog before bed and look up at the night sky, when I’m driving down the road with the windows down -he’s there. He’s guiding me. And nobody can take that feeling away from me. The more I look for him, the more I see him and feel his presence. I cannot turn back time, I cannot change the outcome, but I can change how I am showing up today and ground myself in the present moment as much as possible. And just like that, the tide starts to flow peacefully behind the boat. No longer sinking, no longer engulfed by the waves, no longer struggling to stay afloat. Free to ride the waves of life. No longer afraid.