How I’m anticipating grief and preparing myself for heartache

When my daughter Austen passed away last summer, I honestly believed I wouldn’t be able to survive the pain. She was 9 years old, and I’d spent eight and a half of those years focused on keeping her healthy and alive through her Dravet syndrome. The pain was all-consuming; I couldn’t seem to breathe without her.

Eventually, slowly, days got a bit easier. I’m not sure whether that was because I was so busy with teaching and my other three children, or if time had started to heal the wounds left by Austen’s death. All I know is that the fog had lifted a bit. I could focus for more than a few seconds at a time, and I could even go a day or two between crying spells.

My day-to-day emotions were easier to handle until a special or big event would occur. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my birthday all brought back tsunamis of grief. Smaller things, like receiving a school yearbook or noticing that she was missing the annual state tests, would send me into a tailspin as well.

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I’d sit at my desk and wonder why I was crying over her missing a test, especially since I’d considered opting her out of it, anyway. But the test itself wasn’t the cause of my tears; it was just a reminder that she was missing another event, another day when she should’ve been with me.

At first, these days would catch me by surprise, as if I’d run face-first into a brick wall each time an unexpected swell of grief would pop out. As time has passed, though, I’ve been better at predicting when grief might hit — at least for the big things.

Preparing for this month

I already know, for example, that May will be a hard month for me. May is when we’ll finally lay Austen’s ashes to rest, as well as those of two of my grandfathers. We were waiting for their headstones to be finished and installed at the cemetery before we interred their ashes. Austen will be laid to rest between the two of them, where she’ll always be protected.

May will also bring my first Mother’s Day without Austen, as well as what would’ve been her 10th birthday.

I’m trying to prepare myself for how I’ll handle those days. What I can do is stay present with the members of my family, who are grieving alongside me, as I care for my own emotions. At least I know the obstacles ahead of me. I know they’ll still hurt, and I know the dam might be breached and the tears will then flow.

But I also know that sometimes the pain is dulled a bit when I’ve had time to plan and process my emotions. It’ll involve a few extra therapy sessions and a little self-care, but I’ll push through it once again. Moving forward is the only choice I have.

I’ve accepted that grief is not a linear process, but sometimes it does come with patterns. If I can spot the patterns, I can anticipate some of the grief. Then I can tackle it instead of letting it consume me.

Note: Dravet Syndrome News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Dravet Syndrome News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Dravet syndrome.

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