Grief. My alter ego tries to hoist me out of bed in the morning

Alter Ego:  Morning. Time to get up. 

Me: I don’t want to. 

Alter Ego: You have to get up. 

Me: But I’m not ready. I have to face the fact he’s gone when I’m awake. 

Alter Ego: Are you going to spend all day in bed?  Won’t that totally depress you? 

Me: Yeah. It will. 

Alter Ego: What are you going to wear on your run? 

Me: My legs feel like lead. I don’t want to run. 

Alter Ego: You always feel better once you go. 

Me: Not always. Somedays my legs feel like lead the whole time. Somedays nothing works. 

Alter Ego: But you can’t give up. You have to live. You have to go because most the time it works.

Me: I know. But there are so many steps to getting dressed to go.  It’s overwhelming. Why does it feel like that?

Alter Ego: It’s grief. Grief makes you feel that way. 

Me: Grief makes me feel bad. But it also makes me feel close to him. 

Alter Ego: I know

Me: I don’t feel like being a grown up any more. I don’t. 

Alter Ego: Do something childish then

Me: Like what? 

Alter Ego: It has to be outside your routine

Me: OK, I got it. Charles would love this!

Alter Ego: Yeah I can hear your idea now

Me: Improv classes

Alter Ego: He would love that. Now get yourself up and get your @$$ on the running trail. Think about the view…

Me: Yes ma’m. Do I have to be fast?

Alter Ego: You’re never fast but who cares

running-route

Published by

Anne Moss Rogers

I am the mother of two boys and the owner of emotionally naked, a site that reached a quarter million people in its first 18 months. I am a writer and professional public speaker on the topics of suicide, addiction, mental illness, and grief and currently working on getting a book published. I lost my youngest son, Charles, 20, to suicide June 5, 2015. As talented and funny as Charles was, letting other people know they matter was his greatest gift. And now the legacy I try and carry forward in my son's memory.

3 thoughts on “Grief. My alter ego tries to hoist me out of bed in the morning”

  1. It’s interesting… In my work as a hospice social worker who took care of too many dying children (even as it was the greatest privilege of my time working) I noticed that many parents literally feared coming out of the active grieving “phase.” We know you never stop grieving, but at some point it becomes a part of you rather than all of you. The parents did not want to lose that closeness you so beautifully noted. It feels like losing the child (to an extent) all over again. The mother of one of my patients just celebrated her birthday yesterday. He died 5 years ago at 21 after 5 years in hospice (my longest patient ever–they became family to me). She noted that this was the first time in 5 years that she has felt happy on her birthday. That’s the reality of losing a child (by traumatic death or medical issues) — grief stays with you but it is good, when the time is right, to feel happy. I think the Improv class will be both wonderful and exhausting. 🙂 I’ll be praying that you feel an extra measure of closeness to and comfort from Charles as you do this. You are a wonderful role model in this world of complex grieving and loss. Hang in there.

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