It’s How the Brain Deals

A while ago Lance and I were talking with our grief counselor. We were sharing our fear that Rory isn’t always going to be at the forefront of our brains. That there may come a time that we won’t think of her as often.

He told us it’s going to happen.

This is our brain’s coping mechanism.

There will be nothing new with Rory.

No new events.

No doctors appointments.

No homework.

No tucking her in at night.

Nothing.

All that’s left is memories.

And that’s how our brain will treat it.

Memories.

Instead our brains will focus on current events.

The boys’ homework.

Their dental appointments.

Their activities.

Their tuck ins.

Their worries.

That all moves to the forefront.

Rory memories aren’t gone. But they’re filed away.

I can’t resent my brain. It’s helping me cope and function.

But I hate that there’s nothing new.

I wish there was a new event. A new memory I can create with Rory.

6 thoughts on “It’s How the Brain Deals”

  1. Maybe you can create a new memory by volunteering somewhere Rory would have loved to go and volunteer with you–a no-kill animal shelter or farm, or a place where people are planting trees to reforest a burned-out hill, or maybe a pediatrics ward in a nearby hospital. You might just feel her right there with you, especially as you sing songs in your head that she loved.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. That’s my hope with the service projects I’m planning on doing every year leading up to her birthday. I’m trying to find ways to keep her alive in my life. But you just gave me more ideas. Thank you so much, Joyce! 💜💜💜

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  2. As I read your post, I thought Of A dear friend of mine who had someone suggest to her – shopping for her child’s birthday and/or Christmas and getting the things her daughter would have loved at that age and then donating them to a child in need. My friend loved that idea and has started doing that.
    Your posts are so beautiful and heartbreaking. I’m grateful you’re willing to share your thoughts and hope you are feeling strength and love and comfort. You’re in my prayers. 💗

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  3. Even tho my daughter Mellissa was 39 yr. old. She passed 9 yrs ago. I thought I was being unfair to her memory. By not remember ing her every day. This year on her B. Day. Aug.6. I was going Thu my mothers button tin for a craft. I found 2 tiny pink bottom pigs Mellissa colected pigs. I called my oldest Dr Kathy.she had a dream about Melissa. But didn’t tell me because she thought I might be mad. My ❤ still has a hole in it. From your story I realize this is normal thing. Bless you and Thanks. Aunt Linda.

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