There is no good title for this

Afraid. I'm actually afraid to tell people this. Relive the night you saw your husband die, sure, no problem. But this. I don’t know if I have the courage to tell you this.  We are so afraid these days of what people will say about our parenting it might actually be easier to talk about death.

I have mentioned for awhile now (like ever since I started this blog) that Baby Girl is having a hard time with this whole grief thing. That's pretty much a huge understatement. Baby Girl is basically in denial of this whole grief thing. She doesn't want to have anything to do with it. I don't blame her, either do I, but someone has to be the grown up here and since she's only 9 I guess it's me.

I had a parent meeting with MTD about a month ago. MTD stands for Magic Therapy Dude. He is Baby Girls therapist. he specializes in children and he is awesome, some might say magic. Baby Girl has gone to therapy for two years now. We started going because her dad died. 

I sat down in MTD's office and he very gently told me he thought Baby Girl was depressed and that her anxiety is very bad and he would like to refer us to a specialist to be evaluated for medication. He looked concerned as I started to cry “what are you thinking” he asked. "Honestly I’m not surprised I’ve been wondering the same thing for awhile now. It just sucks that it's come to this" It's so much more then suck. This is not my life. This is not how it’s supposed to go. My nine year old won’t be depressed she will have no reason to be. Her biggest worry should be whether or not she gets ice cream after dinner.  She will be vibrant and healthy and happy. She won’t have a care in the world. She will be fearless. She will be something amazing when she grows up. Maybe bring about world peace for starters. We have a good home. She is loved tremendously. This is how we raised our daughter. 

O wait. Her dad died. Suddenly. In the middle of the night. No warning. No good bye. No explanation. Just gone. Just dead.

Two years of pretending and acting like she is just fine has caught up to her. She is not just fine. MTD was describing to me how depression is displayed in children. Anxiety, check. Afraid to do things, check. Easily irritable, double check. Easily angry, defiantly check. Plus she never wants to play with her friends. Plus she never wants to go do anything. She always wants to stay home.  She is not my happy on top of the world little girl. I didn’t expect her to be, daddy died, of course shes not the same. either am I. But this isn’t what I want for her either.

This is what it has come down to. I feel like I have failed. I couldn’t talk to her, I couldn’t get her to understand. I couldn’t get her to talk about her daddy. She closed herself off and her mommy couldn’t help her no matter how much she tried. We are at an impass. It seems like she gets worse by the day, more anxious, more angry, more sad. So we are going to “the special dr. that will give you medicine to help you feel better. Because we know you don’t feel good. Your sick from school a lot, your tummy always hurts, everything is scary, you get upset all the time. So were gonna go see this dr so we can feel better.” This is how MTD and I said it. Rather then telling a nine year old little girl shes depressed. Does she even know what that means, like really know and understand? What she understands is her tummy hurts every single time we leave the house.

So why am I afraid to tell you. It’s easy. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want you to think I’m a bad mother because I’m going to probably medicate my 9 year old child. I promise I work my ass off every single day solely for her. I am not good enough. She needs her mom and her DAD. He’s dead so that’s not going to happen. We need to do something. Something is not right. I know she looks fine on the outside but trust me she is not.

So we went to the specialist. She agreed with MTD and prescribed anti-depressants for my Baby Girl.  My Baby Girl who is no longer fearless, my Baby Girl who I used to say could conquer the world and now I wonder if we will make it through fourth grade much less high school. Baby Girl went to the Dr without a fight. Baby Girl takes her pill without a fight. Baby Girl knows something is not right too. It is too soon to see if they are helping but we are all hopeful.

I have been on anti-depressants myself for a year now. My husband died, I think if I weren't depressed there would be something wrong with me. So Now every night before bed I lay her pill and my pill beside each other on the bathroom counter. We each get a cup of water and then I say "GO" and we race to see who can sallow there pill first. So far she keeps winning. She thinks this is a great game.  I silently pray that it will help her. 

I wrote a book about my grief, you can read it here: Carry on Castle