Four years, four months since that horrible day.
On June 25, 2018, we got the shattering news of the death of our son Michael. He had taken his life the day before, on a Sunday morning. A friend of his, also a co-worker, went to check on him after work on Monday, because he hadn't shown up and wasn't answering his phone. We got the news soon after.
Every month since then, for four years, I've gone into a decided slump as those dates rolled around. This wasn't some private drama I invented but a pattern I noticed over time. The first time I realized this was happening came maybe seven or nine months after his death. My hubby Lee and I were
watching TV one evening and I suddenly felt like I was about to burst into tears. I turned to him and said, "I feel like I'm about to cry, but I don't know why."
Then we realized what date it was, and the time. It was the twenty-fifth of the month, and almost the time when the officer knocked on our door to deliver the news.
After that, I recognized the pattern. Every month, as the dates of his death and of our receiving the news rolled around again, my physical energy and emotional reserves would take a dive. I learned to build my schedule around this cycle, keeping my calendar clear around those dates. I learned to be extra gentle with my grieving self through those days. Even on the few months when I didn't realize the date, everything in me downshifted to a low, heavy idle. There's a saying, "The body keeps the score," and I've found that very true. Even when my conscious mind was not paying attention, my body and my emotions were very aware of and very affected by the return of those dates.
...until recently.
I didn't say anything for a while, even to my closest people, because I though it might be a fluke; a temporary reprieve.
It wasn't.
It has now been four months.
June of this year, the fourth anniversary of Michael's death, is the last time I got pulled into dark, clammy quicksand on those dates. I am...cautiously celebrating. After four years of living through that downward pull and the slow climb back to the light, I'm a little afraid to jump for joy quite yet.
Still...for four months now, those dates pass, and I am...okay. I'm actually fine.
Let me clarify: I am still, forever, intensely sad and miss our beautiful son deeply.
I'm not saying that I'm done grieving.
What I am saying is that the monthly cycle of exhaustion and depression has...lifted.
That bone-deep weariness has not hit me a single time since June.
I have not needed to retreat to my dark corner of our bedroom for two days straight, to sleep for hours and to stare bleakly at shadows as I did early on. I have not struggled (or failed) to carry out the most basic of tasks, like eating, taking a shower, and getting dressed. Though still a little more tired than usual on those days, I have had the physical and emotional energy to carry on with normal daily life. Rather than my sailboat of life nearly capsizing every single month, it has stayed upright and gently on course.
I am so grateful.
