THE WIND PHONE
We Learn To Grieve, So Parents — Watch Out
I nearly killed myself grieving after learning some bad habits
When my brother died, my mom gave up all hope and nearly stopped living. I followed suit but survived myself (eventually). I learned a lot about what not to do. And what not to say to others who grieve.
We learn to grieve from our parents
My parents were drinkers. It was the solution, so it’s how I coped.
I was nineteen when my brother Warren died in a single-car accident. My go-to remedy for grief, aside from dissociating or crying, was unhealthy behavior. I worked full-time and paid my bills, but on the weekends, I drank heavily. Dangerously.
One day, I drank with my friend Kelli. As I recall, we plowed through seven bottles of cheap cabernet sauvignon. I passed out and hit a curb with my head, more specifically, with my skull and chin.
It was a fall so bad it nearly killed me, and I got stitches on the top of my head. My long hair was shaved off the top, so I looked monstrous. Especially with two black eyes swollen shut. Around this time, my parents expressed concern — and this, to me, was helpful. They came to my apartment together.
