New story

One of the things you’re supposed to do in therapy for prolonged grief is try to reframe the “death story” in a way that alleviates your feelings of guilt, anger and depression. That sounds sort of wishful and magical but I’m working on it.

As my long-time followers know I struggle with the fact that I was not home when Sarah died, and the belief that if I had been there she would somehow have been okay. That I would have saved her or helped her. That I should not have left her. That somehow I failed her. That I just suck as a mom.

In order to reframe this story, I guess I have to believe that Sarah’s death was in some way inevitable and I couldn’t have done anything about it. That it was destined to happened with or without my presence. Or, on the other hand, that Sarah’s death was somehow the best thing possible for her given the fact that she was in pain and had a neurodegenerative condition.

The first part of the “story” feels a little scary to believe because I always felt I could protect her and keep her safe. That I had the power to protect her. I guess every parent believes that. You are in control.

The second part of the “story” feels ableist somehow. Why would it be for the best that Sarah died? She was in pain, but she seemed happy. She wasn’t on her proverbial last legs. She hadn’t given up. This part of the “story” makes me thing of the people who say, She needed you to leave the house so she could go, and she wanted to spare me. Maybe I should start to believe that. Maybe it would help me.

So, I have to rewrite this story to believe that it was her time to go, that I had no control over that, there was nothing I could do about it, and it was for the best for her, and for the best that I not be there. Seems like a lot to swallow.