My biological father died at the end of September from Lou Gehrig’s disease. If you read my earlier post about his death, you’ll know that our relationship was complex, to say the least. I wasn’t sure how I would react when he passed away. He was not a big part of my life in the way that my stepfather always has been. I did wonder if the grief would resemble depression at all, since the prevailing wisdom says that it can.
I didn’t cry a lot. Just a few minutes when I first heard about his death. I kept waiting for a big bout of tears to come, but it didn’t. So I thought, “Okay, I guess that’s it.” This may sound strange, or perhaps like I was blocking things. In part that was probably true initially, since he died when my husband was out of town, and I didn’t want to fall apart when I was the only one taking care of my son.
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