I started back into grief counseling yesterday after having taken the summer off. I almost didn't go because I've been doing pretty well and why would I want to talk about my grief when I can just not think about it? Within the first five minutes I realized that I absolutely needed to be there. As much as I want to be completely fine, I'm not. I am still struggling. I might still be struggling for a long time.
The act of starting over with a new counselor caused the need for me to tell my story from the beginning. It feels like it's a movie I've seen, or that I'm describing something I witnessed happening to somebody else. I was surprised at how much I cried.
But as I walked the now familiar path back to my car after the appointment, I realized that I am no longer rushing so nobody sees me break down. Instead I walked slowly, looked at the sky, counted the stairs as I walked down, found myself humming my newest favorite song.
I'm getting there. I can see actual progress in myself. I will never again be the person I was before Sue died. I'm working on becoming somebody even better.