Grief Copywriting

“I am not in control.

Freedom is on the other side of this truth.

The most important things to us are outside of our control. Maybe that is why they are so valuable to us — we know they are only ours because they have been given.”

— Dance Again, Nathan Peterson

When my therapist started recommending anti-depressants to help me ‘cope with grief,’ I was almost angry. As angry as you can be when you don’t feel anything, that is.

I kept thinking to myself:

“How could I ever take medication to numb this pain?”

“Why should I make myself feel better about my baby dying?”

“I’m not depressed, I’m grieving.”

Even admitting that I was grieving caused me to choke. How could this be true? How could I be grieving? How could it be true that Emerson didn’t survive when she had survived - against all odds - every. single. time. in the past?

I started to doubt that I had been a good mother.

I cried myself to sleep believing that Emerson had suffered. That she wasn’t happy. That her life was too hard for her. That she didn’t know that I loved her.

I convinced myself that she thought I was selfish for asking her to stay with me.

My mental health suffered.

I debated letting go of the wheel on my way home from work.

I thought about disappearing and never coming back. Never seeing or speaking to anyone I knew ever again.

I thought about all my friends. All the ways they had committed suicide.

I thought about dying.

I kept asking myself:

“So, when will I die?”

“So, how am I going to die?”

“Will I die soon?”

“Do I really have to wait another 60 years before I can hold my baby again?”

“So, when will I die?”

Mental health is like a breath.

Slow, steady, and strong for so long. Choppy, sputtering, and rasping the second you let it out of your site. & sometimes, completely non-existent.

Sometimes, I forget to breathe.

Sometimes, I forget I’m alive.

Sometimes, I can’t force my lungs open.

Sometimes, pain steals my breath and I am left choking and gasping.

Sometimes, I just hold my breath instead.

I found myself searching: “Can grief make you go insane?” online.

I learned that it can cause episodes of mania and psychotic breaks. I learned that grief can cause PTSD. I learned that grief changes your mind, body, and personality. Who you are is no longer who you once were.

Trying to be the person you were before is like stuffing your 90-lb husky into a Christmas sweater that fits a 20-lb beagle.

There’s gonna be a fight, someone’s getting bit, and you’re probably going to end up with a mouthful of dog hair.

Now that you’ve seen that, you can imagine me fighting myself. Wrestling my body to the ground, screaming, kicking, spitting, crying, puking, and spitting out the dog hair that’s on my floor. (We all have dog hair on our floor - we’re not perfect here.)

I kept thinking I could be myself again.

But, Emerson kept sitting on my chest every night. Reminding me that who I was before, never knew her. Never got to be her mom. Never held the most beautiful girl in the world and stared deep into her hazel grey eyes.

The person I was before never screamed death in his face the way I did.

Hands clenched into fists, arms spread, teeth bared and eyes wide, veins popping & vessels in my eyes flashing bright red as they ruptured and burst.

I see myself like this.

Standing in the doors of her hospital rooms. A sentry. No one made it by without permission. A sentry & a queen of an empty castle. A guard of the most precious treasure I’d ever seen. A valkyrie in the making. Weidling my blade & crashing it down on those who couldn’t see what I saw.

Emerson was a gift.

A miracle, a site to behold.

A rare chance to prove that miracles still happen.

& prove them wrong she did. So many times.

“Have a seat.”

“Exit stage left. Your scene has ended.”

I’d think in my head to those who thought she couldn’t beat one ailment or another.

“Get your shit together, this is not good enough.”

I actually said to a practitioner who never came back to our room.

I remember holding Emerson in my arms after a horrible episode of her struggling to breathe. I remember imagining myself holding her lifeless body. I remember looking at the three women in the room with me and apologizing.

I remember the panic pouring through my veins.

I remember locking eyes with my favorite practitioner, my friend, and losing my mind.

I remember her grabbing my arms and guiding me to a seat, I remember her asking me if I wanted her to take Emerson.

I remember shaking my head while struggling to breathe, thinking:

“Please don’t take my baby.”

“Please don’t take my baby. Please.”

My pleas fell on deaf ears & I remember screaming inside my mind. Falling to my knees with my fists clenched at my temples, tearing my clothes and spitting at death. Screaming until I couldn’t breathe, until I passed out.

But I didn’t actually do any of that.

I held you as you left. I felt you go.

I felt part of my soul leave with you. & I went cold. Numb. Felt my eyes go fuzzy. Had to remind myself to breathe. Struggling under the invisible weight on my chest.

I watched you go silently. Tears staining everything. My clothes, your clothes, your blankets, your stuffed animals, your daddy. A few nurses we loved. Doctors too.

If you had asked me if I thought about PTSD, I wouldn’t have answered. I wouldn’t have cared.

As it turns out, it’s pretty hard to distinguish between PTSD and bereavement.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder can be seen in these symptoms:

- Intense Flashbacks

- Unwelcome Thoughts

- Anxiety

- Paranoia & Fear

- Recurring Nightmares or Insomnia

- Sensory Experiences that Trigger Trauma - familiar sights, sounds & feelings

- Anger or Tension

- Feelings of Guilt

- Avoidance of Death & Emotions

PTSD can also prolong the symptoms of grief. & PTSD can predict the onset of complicated grief, but not the other way around.

According to Kristin Ave Glad, Ph.D.: “Complicated grief has been defined as a persistent, intense yearning, longing and sadness, usually accompanied by insistent thoughts or images of the deceased and a sense of disbelief or an inability to accept the painful reality of the person’s death.”

Care for people who suffer from PTSD or a grief disorder can be sought in therapy. Whether that be cognitive behavioral therapy, or speaking with a therapist or counselor, each therapy is specifically tailored to meet the needs of the bereaved. Since each individual’s mental health is unique and personal to the individual, the methods for healing and coping with mental health or grief disorders, are equally as unique and personalized, to meet the needs of the patient.

Please, do not suffer in silence.

You are not alone.