"Every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in"

Imagine if you will, an anguish so fierce, you can feel it from 10 feet away. There is quite an awesome amount of uncontrolled power in a grieving woman who has lost a child. It is almost akin to a wild animal.

Picture ear-piercing shrieks, breaking down in tears repeatedly, even threatening to quit: that was my day at work.

I started off on the wrong foot when my therapist had to cancel. I was, at first, ok with the missed appointment. As the feelings began to quickly overwhelm me, I should have focused my rage and blame on her- that could have been a healthy exercise. Instead, I chose to direct it to those I came into contact first: my boss, an employee, and a couple co-workers. I then found out that my reproductive endocrinologist will need me to wait another month, until October, to begin again. I will need to have some tests done prior to restarting fertility treatment and they want me to wait a month before doing this. I had my heart set on next month. It was like my happy red balloon was busted- here I am again with no control over my own life.

My husband called at a good stopping point in my rage to let me know he may need to take a leave of absence to get through this. Oh yeah- now I remember we are supposedly in this together. I keep forgetting and thinking it is all about me. At least that's what it feels like. How can he seem so calm and feel so bad?

I have come to realize tonight that the healing process is not a stepwise progression as I had thought it might be- and counted on to be. I imagined each day I would be slowly plugging away, taking one step in front of the other, feeling a little bit better and a little bit better. Then one day in the not too distant future I would be talking about how far I have come.

Rather than that, the process seems to be much more of a spiral. To be sure, there will be times when the hurt is less, when I actually feel happy (or at least calm). And then there be a point when I will circle back to a place of pain and trauma. The spiral, however, doesn't mean I am back at square one. I see it more like a tornado or a coil: I spiral back, but I now find myself in a new place, a slightly changed woman from the last time I was immersed in the grief.

I am grateful for the little things- like that the day is coming to a close. The anti-anxiety pills come in handy on a night like tonight. It may be a band aid, but it sure works in a pinch.