I went to a therapist for a few months. It was my official "therapy" stage. For months right after Miles died, I mostly wanted to be alone, thinking through everything on my own, writing a memoir of my time with Miles. That writing phase lasted three months. When I found out I was pregnant, I quickly realized it was time for the next phase: I needed someone to sit and listen to me for an hour--just listen to me talk for an hour, boiling down my thoughts, supporting my feelings. So I headed to a therapist who specialized in, among other things, parents who have lost children. It was like having a really insightful friend who never had issues of her own to talk about. I could be selfish without feeling like it. And then, after a couple of months, I decided it was time for that phase of "therapy" to transition into something else, too.
And so I go from one phase to another. It's all therapy, though, when I think about it--anything that allows me to find moments of peace in the madness, to be heard, to know that Miles is loved.
My forms of therapy, then, have been in phases, each one lasting at least a month or so:
1. writing a memoir of Miles' life (and mine)
2. reading every grief book I could find (written by PhDs and by bereaved parents)
3. meeting weekly with a therapist
4. attending a few group sessions with Angels Too Soon
5. reading blogs written by mothers who have lost children
6. starting this blog
And today I'm sending out one more query to find an agent for my book. It doesn't count as therapy at all. The most important part is that I wrote the story; Mitch and I have it, and in the end that's what matters. But I do want for people to know Miles' story so here goes one more query for an agent...