Sometime in late October I heard an inner voice that whispered reassuringly, “Come back to them”. I instantly knew what the voice was referring to. I was taking the rare shower alone (usually P. showers with me) because my husband noticed I needed some time to myself. “Go and take a shower alone. I will bathe him”. I had left P. all day with my parents so I could be alone but I continued to crave solitary time. I knew what the voice meant: I had been withdrawing subtly for some time. The first month hadn’t been so bad. There is something about the numbness of shock and the sting of the initial event that lights a fire under you. You resolve to live more intensely, to celebrate even the smallest of life’s moments. You think you can power your way through the grief, show everyone how healing is done. Then the energy fades away, the numbness wears out and the dull ache creeps in. By the second month, you are looking for distraction every minute of the day, you are too tired to truly pay attention to people in your life (even if you are good at faking it, you aren’t really attending to them). Events that you optimistically planned right after the event now take herculean effort to follow through with (such as a family photo shoot). The emotions of grief make even the most innocuously planned event blow up in your face (like the time H. and I had a huge fight at a pumpkin patch. A fight that was certainly fueled by grief). Now, I know I am a good wife and a good mother, but I was just too dang tired emotionally and physically to care for them the way that I used to. Instead of doing art projects with my son I just played an endless stream of cartoons for him while I spent hours on Pinterest and Facebook. I never asked my husband how his day was and wasn’t even remotely interested in his work life; wasn’t even going to pretend. Our routine evolved into this: My husband arrived home, ate dinner and went upstairs to sleep with my son. I stayed up watching mindless TV and then went to bed on my own. In the weekends I went out to run errands while he stayed with the kiddo and watched football.

I had little patience for P. We made little effort to discipline him, knowing we just didn’t have the desire or patience for it at the time. All we wanted to do was hug our surviving son, not punish him. Besides, it was just too much work. P’s requests to start using the potty fell on mostly deaf ears. We kept promising him we would bring out the potty, but neither of us had the energy or commitment for a task like potty training. I later found out that there is a term for what had happened to us as parents. It’s called “diminished capacity to parent”. It happens after a big life event that leaves the parent temporarily blindsided. It’s usually after a divorce but it can be a tragedy. It doesn’t mean I ever neglected my son. He was clean, fed, taken care of. But… I just wasn’t present the way I knew I should be. Small children need structure, attention and consistency. All things that are very hard to provide when you are struggling to stay afloat through the storm of grief. They take more effort and energy than you have at the time. But, I also knew what the voice meant. How long did I really want to keep doing this? How long was I going to foster a sub-par family dynamic?

I have learned that the secret to “returning” to my family is to do it a little bit at a time. If you try to jump in a and do it all at once you are just going exhaust yourself and feel like a failure. I first tackled dinner. They are not Michelin-start worthy meals but I make a true effort to cook dinner 4 times a week (we can eat out one night a week). Then I made sure to carve out fun time with P. after our bath. I make sure to give him complete undivided, pure-joy attention after dressing him in his pajamas. We play games, read books and make silly faces. I make a really big effort to be completely present, noticing every little special feature of my child. Husband and I are still working on getting our adult time back. It happens sporadically. We might get two good nights of conversation and then P. gets sick or Husband has to travel for work and our couple time gets interrupted all over again. I still use cartoons as a major crutch. I am hoping that after completing the licensing exam I will feel less mentally worn out. But I think the important thing is that I heeded the voice. I stopped and reversed the “withdrawal” trend. I am making the slow climb back to my family.

UPDATE 2 months later: Finishing all of my exams really did help with my energy level. I am fully enjoying time with my kiddo again. He is my ray of sunshine. The passing of time was an important part of getting back to being my old self; parentally. But I think it’s equally important to be aware of the changes in family patterns and be determined to alter them if you don’t like how it feels.