Just had my first appointment with my therapist. Grandma thought it would be a good idea to help me deal with the death of Mom and Dad. I’m not sold on it, but told her I would try. The therapist—Roberta, wants me to journal my thoughts, so here goes my first attempt.
I’m angry and devastated. My normal is gone. My heart is broken. My tears won’t stop, no matter how hard I try. I’m trying to be strong, but it’s exhausting. I resist the urge to run away every morning. I keep thinking it was a mistake and they really didn’t die.
December 31, 1981, will be forever etched on my heart. I barely remember the double funeral. Everyone from SSC, Mom and Dad’s company, came and tried to console me.
I’m putting on a brave face for Grandma and Grandpa, but I can only be myself with Max. He doesn’t freak out when I melt down and just lets me talk. Sometimes I still talk to them. It makes me feel better and Max says that’s really all that matters. I know I worry Grandma and Grandpa, so I try to be upbeat when they’re around.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish