26 November 2011

No, you are grieving.

"Am I crazy?" I asked my counselor recently.
"No," she replied. "You are grieving."

For two years straight, I daily shared on this blog my tears, fears, joys and frustrations of dealing with our new addition's diagnosis of Cystic Fibrosis.

And then, gradually, as things finally began to improve, my blog posts became less frequent.  I had less to share of our life revolved around Cystic Fibrosis.  And I had more of life to get out and live.

But I would be lying if I said Cystic Fibrosis didn't still consume just as much of my heart.

The reality is that dealing with the trauma of a new life-threatening diagnosis, a very sick baby, the revolving door of doctor offices and many significant life changes in a short period of time offered very little room to fully and deeply grieve. During the last two years, I was merely surviving.

Thankfully, my focus is changing from surviving to thriving.  But that doesn't mean pain isn't still involved.

Now that Bennett's (and Oliver's) needs are much less critical, I am beginning to deal with the parts of the grieving process that over the last two years buried themselves deep deep down inside me, the parts that found other unresolved parts of me to which to tightly intertwine.

I believe this is why I find myself no longer typing my intimate thoughts on a public blog.
It is because, now, I'm sharing my even more intimate thoughts in a private office.
Just me and the counselor.
And lots of processing.

I came in to deal with unresolved feelings.  Feelings about what it means to continue to battle Cystic Fibrosis for the rest of Bennett's life...and my desires/fears/hopes for the future.  But like counseling has always been for me, it is a process of learning about parts of myself I didn't even know existed.  And in that, I am grieving what Cystic Fibrosis has taken, does take and will take in the future.

Therapy is a good process.  A very painful one.  But a good one.  And I'm thankful for the amazing therapist I have who leads me on this journey.

But I find sharing this journey is hard.  Words don't come as readily as I like.  Or at least, when they do, they don't always make sense.

The feelings I am dealing with now are the deeper ones, the ones that are fragmented and confusing.  They are the ones that I didn't even know were there, much less understand.  But they are the ones that will eventually damage me if I don't address them.

I think that once I make sense of them and make peace with them, I will want to write about them.  I love writing.  It is a way to give my thoughts a home.

But for now, I like the safety I feel each week sitting across from a very kind and empathic listener as I nestle myself into the armrest of that white Ikea couch.  For now, my home for these thoughts are in a counselor's office.  And that feels good to me.

The best thing about grief is once it has been dealt with, it makes room for joy.
I think once joy fills up this space again, the words will come once more.


  1. So thankful you have found a safe place to process.

  2. Beautifullly written. I love your line, "The best thing about grief is once it has been dealt with, it makes room for joy." Beautiful...and true.

  3. I so appreciate your transparency, Breck. Thank you for sharing. I love reading about your sweet family and I continue to pray for you. I hope someday I get to meet your sweet boys. I've loved getting to see your parents in Sunday School when they have been in town recently.

  4. I, too, have a 2+ year old with CF. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings here. I often feel like what you write came from my thoughts and feelings. Its nice to know I'm not alone. Thank you for that.


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