A unique and solitary grieving process

Many of you have reached out to me to send condolences on the loss of my therapist.  As I am processing this tragedy I am struck by the uniqueness of this type of situation.  I am not a family member of Dr. Kirby, neither am I a friend or colleague.  There is no one that knew much about our relationship.  I can’t share memories and stories with others who were there - because there wasn’t anyone.  Our contact consisted of hours of sitting on a couch in her office (usually curled up in one corner) facing her in her armchair.  Over the course of 15 months I shared my innermost thoughts and feelings with her and while doing so she insisted I look her in the eyes.  Dr. Kirby and I had uninterrupted conversations.  When in our lives do we put away all the distractions (phones, food, tv, computers, even kids) and just speak about our fears and sorrows, our hopes and dreams and anything under the sun?  I had the opportunity to do this with Dr. Kirby.  She spent countless hours listening to me, whether I was crying, laughing or whining about how hard it is to recover.

And it was a relationship that’s purpose was to be all about me.  So although I gleaned little bits of information here and there about her life, for the most part she spoke to encourage me to express myself and guided me with tools and wisdom to help me recover.  Although I can talk until I am blue in the face, or type until my fingers fall off, it is impossible to explain the bond that is formed when you find a therapist that is a perfect fit for you.  I know that some of you will understand this connection.  It goes beyond the ties one has with other professionals and people you interact with on a regular basis.  Another doctor’s passing would be sad; I would pause for a moment, attend the funeral and probably be able to move on.  If I was struggling, I would probably reach out to my therapist to deal with the grief.  Unfortunately, not only is this loss deeper, she is not there to help guide me through the process.  I have had many others reach out to me, and luckily I have the professionals surrounding me at my program that have been amazing to sit and listen to me; but my gut instinct is still to pick up the phone and reach out to Dr Kirby.

Other than the text from her husband, I have no contact with people who are close to her. I have to grieve alone. I am letting go of the judgements I put on myself that tell me that it is weird to grieve as much as I am for someone in which I had solely a professional relationship.  I realize the impact she had on my life and the void she has left.  She spoiled me - as my first therapist she was a perfect fit.  And now, although I know she is irreplaceable I will have to find someone else with whom I can form a new and different relationship.  And like a toddler who wants what he can’t have, I only want to stomp my feet and scream “It’s not fair.”  Since Dr Kirby always encouraged me to get my anger out (something I’ve never really done) when the tears stop streaming maybe I’ll try that.

I want to work my hardest to recover and be the person that she believed I could be - authentic, open and able to take in all the love I deserve.  Now, I have an incentive that goes beyond myself, I want to make her proud.  And so I carry on.

1/19/2017 - It's been a year since Dr. Kirby has been gone.  It feels like much longer. My journey has taken me in many directions, with new therapists, new therapies, and much to talk about. Although I like the new therapists I am working with, and the groups I am involved in, there is still a void and today, the anniversary of her passing, will be difficult in a way that not many other people can imagine. This grieving process continues...