Grief is a murderous beast, yet silent as it stalks the living. I knew that the moment I found myself in it. That I had to survive it and somehow help my girls survive it also. It’s not really talked about in the mental health community and you cannot find a specific grief specialist to literally, save your life. In medical terms, I would say that I still “suffer” from it but I am in a kind of remission in the similar sense someone with certain viruses never are without the virus once they contract it, but they find ways for it to lay dormant only flaring up on occasions of stress or illness.
If you saw me yesterday, visiting the same eating disorder clinic I had wanted to send my daughter to, but ultimately was talked out of, you would not believe I was “in remission” of grief. Imagining how she might have been helped in her mental health struggles, before we lost her, was downright excruciatingly painful, but necessary to possibly help another daughter trying to survive Covid lockdown, grief and genetics.
I sat through the four hours of paperwork and questions and review. Sitting in the final stages of getting on the waitlist, I hear the doctor trying to cautiously make some sort of accusation as she reviews everything myopically. “Did you know your daughter keeps track of how old her sister would be now?” I can see she is bothered by this notion. She then adds, “do you know that she feels her sister reaches out to her?” I can also see clearly how my ways of helping my girls through grief have a different look to a black and white scientist. She is skimming the surface of wondering about schizophrenia and I have to explain these things are accepted and normal in my family.
The doctor I have known for many years, she treated my oldest. Still to this day I regard her as one of the smartest women that I have ever met. She spends hours going over health, medications, genetics, family histories, birth and development to help understand the best treatment options for your child. In that moment I realized there is no room for spiritualism, ritualism, and belief outside the world of atoms, cells and basic biology.
I explained that our family celebrates her birthday, with a walk in her honor. She would know how old her sister would be because of it. I mumbled something about our family having a small non-profit, an outreach for suicide prevention and depression awareness and we raise fund for AFSP during that birthday walk. She would know that her sister would be 22 right now. It was one of those moments I doubted myself, just for a second, but I have to hold true what I know. It has helped my family, walking, feeling the love and support, bringing the hidden feelings out into the light to talk about. Why has science not caught up yet?
The second point she made was a bit harder to explain. I believe in signs, I believe that God allows us to be comforted in whatever way He sees fit. If my daughter imagines her sister reaching out to her to tell her she loves her, why would I want to take that away from her. How can I explain that it takes someone with belief in a spiritual world first of all and that believing in that comfort is not potential schizophrenia, but a coping mechanism and of course, I also believe is a gift to help us not feel so alone.
The truth is, no one can understand the full extent of comfort a sign or message from our loved ones gives except the person it was meant for. When I read about other people’s signs I think it’s nice but the impact is lost on me. It is the same for when I get a feeling of comfort or sign. I know that others think, “isn’t that nice” and “whatever you need to tell yourself to cope”…. For example, last week was my birthday and I believe I was sent a Happy Birthday from my daughter. Birthdays are a big deal in our house. I’ve always made a fuss over them. It’s been awhile since I was given a sign and I remember thinking a few days before my birthday, “I wonder if I’ll get a sign from Mikenna?” I didn’t think about it on the actual day though. We were in an ice storm and without heat, a lot was going on. My oldest daughter was taking me wine tasting and I was looking forward to it. We sat down and the sommelier explained she had put together her own list for us to taste. These wines were of her own choosing. The first wine she brought out for the night was my sign, my birthday gift from my daughter. It was a wine called “Mamacita” actually not a wine, a sparkling champagne-like wine, a specialty bottle. In my daughter’s phone I was never mom, I was Mamacita, she would call me that usually in private with a giggle because even with years of Spanish she could not speak a word of it but somehow loved this one word. No one picking the wines could have known, and I cherished the moment and the bottle. I of course had to buy it.
No Dr. M, my daughter is not schizophrenic, we are a family that believes in signs, a family of faith and I believe it to be healing. If after my daughter died I had been left in a black and white world where there was only science, I’m not sure I would be doing as well as I am. Why do we dismiss the grief stricken? Why is there no real help for people barely hanging on to daily life? It ruins marriages, careers, families but we cannot easily explain it by science, there is no magic pill so we ignore it and hope somehow the grief stricken come out the other side. Cheers to signs.