To medicate, or not to medicate. That is my question.

I have a serious issue with the idea of using medication as a crutch. Those that know me best know that I don't even keep tylenol in my purse for emergencies. I will literally wait until a headache turns to a migraine before thinking 'hmm maybe I should do something about this?' Its one of my faults. So on the evening of 8/9/13, the sheriff whispered to my dad (but not soft enough), "You should consider calling the doctor to get her something. She will need something to help her sleep." I don't know if it was because of the denial or just my stubbornness, but I remember looking at him through swollen bloodshot eyes thinking how crazy he was for suggesting that I medicate myself in order to cope with this. There were a few reasons. 1. I counsel people who use this excuse on a daily basis. For example, "I saw a balloon today. Can I see the psychiatrist? I think I need medication." 2. I'm proud (another fault). I'm strong enough to handle this without my judgement being clouded by some weird medication. 3. How does he know what I need? I have every right to be up crying for days if I choose to do so. That brings me to my first lesson I wish to add to my personal grief how-to manual. Let people give. It is not weak. It is not shameful. It is not humiliating.

When talking to my boss (who has experience coping with his own version of tragedy), the first thing he told me is to let people help. I remember thinking, 'I don't want people trying to clean my house,' 'I don't want people trying to take care of me,' 'I don't want people trying to help me 'move forward'. Again with the pride and stubbornness. Now I understand his advice in a different way: let people give. I was being selfish about my grieving (but I don't feel bad about it). Other people are grieving, and those people care about me. In our German-American culture here in the Effingham area, that means a lot of food. A lot of food here means a lot of love (look at the Lohman Christmas...). When I stopped to think about why people were coming out of the woodwork with flowers, food, gifts, money, cards, etc., I realized that this is their healing. I'm admitting that for a time, I became frustrated. Not with a single person but with people in general. I was frustrated that not only is my husband dead, but now I have a house full of shit that I can't take care of, a fridge full of food that is going to go bad, and a phone that won't stop ringing. I was frustrated that people were telling me every cliche' in the book. Using my logical thinking, I stepped back to look at the true meaning behind these actions. Food says: "Please take care of yourself. Let us help you take care of yourself." Flowers/plants say: "Please don't feel lonely. Look at this beauty that I'm trying to restore to your life." Cards say: "I don't know the right words or the right time, but I want to support you." Text/phone call says: "I'm struggling. Please let me know how you are so my own mind can have some peace." A cliche' says: "I have no idea what else to say, but I wanted to be here with something to say. Saying nothing was uncomfortable." Grief has many faces. If I don't let people give, their own grief journey won't be right.

Another interesting point shared by my supervisor, is that there is no how-to manual for how I'm supposed to react at any given moment. Sometimes I'm crying because I'm by myself. Sometimes I'm crying because I'm around people. Sometimes I'm pissed because I don't want to make any more decisions. Sometimes I'm pissed because I've run out of decisions to make. This confused me until he pointed out that no one is telling me that there's something wrong with how I'm reacting, but they have a difficult time matching my actions with my emotions. People get concerned that I'm not crying at any given moment, but then they are concerned when I start crying. Note to self: I can't please anybody, so I'm doing what I want, when I want it, and how I want to.

Even within the first 24 hours, I was frustrated because things weren't happening fast enough. I didn't have any answers, there were no plans made, and I was downright confused. No one, despite honorable efforts, was changing that about me. The first decision I remember making was to insist that John Monnet did the funeral. Steven would not be comfortable with a Catholic ceremony, and he was not involved with his family's church. John could tell the story. I prayed a lot. I knew there was no one else on the planet that could have satisfied. We met up just before the visitation to discuss a few details. He told me that he had been listening to a Kenny Chesney CD for the last several days and wanted to OK a song with me. He planned to use it as the theme for his sermon. I posted the link with this entry. Give it a listen. If I didn't let John give, I would not have this song practically memorized and playing over and over again in my mind when I have a difficult moment. I think I'm deeming this my theme song. I even named this blog after it! It carries so many meanings that are applicable to what I have already battled, what I am currently battling, and what my life will be when I continue to live with this battle. I am a storm when I'm upset. I'm a storm when I'm confused. I'm a storm when I'm feeling alone. But...I'm also a storm when I'm fighting, when I'm winning, and when I'm living.