Healing Side Of Grieving
Cover Story
Written with Love
By C.K. Kochis
I look in the mirror and most days I barely recognize myself. The eyes reflecting back at me are my father’s; the same empty stare he had as his dementia transformed into Alzehiemer’s. Lost, yet aware enough to know what’s going on.
The mascara I used to wear daily is applied maybe once a week; maybe. And only if I pretend to care what I look like.
The energy to exercise or move my body physically in order to feel good in my skin and stay in shape seems to have evaporated. It’s as though a piece of me no longer cares what I eat, or how I feel. This part of me seeks solace in comfort foods and withdraws to couch dwelling. For the first time in my life, my favorite blue jeans don’t fit.
I don’t feel motivated to reach out to family or friends. I’m convinced that no one wants to hear my sob story anyway. (Maybe that’s an illusion I hold. Who knows.) Maybe my retreat started when I was asked, ”when does this crying-thing end?” The response I gave was ”never”. I don’t want to burden my son Mason, who is also grieving the loss of his brother; his best friend, companion and the person who served as patriarch of our immediate family since we lost their dad in 2005. I feel like he has enough pain to endure.
Those were the words I used to begin a blog post I shared on August 11th titled ”Traversing Through Grief”. Normally, I think of myself as a