Help for Healing

Bitter & Sweet, living daily with grief


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Purple Pills

September and October are tough months for me, or so my friends tell me. October 14 will be the third year marker of Tim’s passing. A couple of weeks ago, Matthew got married. We all knew it was going to be a very emotional day. His wife lost her mom so the two of them have a special bond. So this young 22 year old planned her wedding without a mom. It was stressful and emotional as anticipated, but it was beautiful and meaningful and wonderful. Matthew was finally able to open the long awaited wedding card his father left him. Big day.

I’ve noticed my mood shifting. Depression I’m used to. But I’ve also had an edge. I’ve been angrier than usual. I’ve been saying things and standing up for myself far than I usually do. Then one of my friends asked me about menopause. Oh crap. That could very well be. The fall + menopause = look out everybody!

So I’ve been realizing that three years sounds like a long time to me. And I guess without meaning to, I expected myself to be further along than I am. I don’t expect to crash for a few weeks and start crying over everything and anything. It’s been almost three years! I know you’re not supposed to do that yourself, but I guess I did. It has been three years and it still feels like yesterday sometimes.

Finally, dear Brigette says to me, “Why don’t you talk to your doc about getting something extra for awhile?” Sigh. It’s like admitting defeat. It’s like confessing a sin. But I know she’s right. I need help or I’m going to end up in jail. On Tuesday I went to the pharmacy and got my pills. Well, I thought I was going to but I found out my doc hadn’t called it in yet. I looked at them like I could go postal on them, even though it wasn’t their fault. When I came back later we laughed about it. I told them it’s October, and I think I’m menopausal. And they dared to not have my meds. Were they crazy? I said I was going for lunch and asked if I could have a Margarita with this pill. My loving pharmicist said, “Darcy, you should have whatever you want to drink.” And we chuckled.

So I met Brigette for lunch and we broke out the first pill. It was purple. Purple is my favorite color. I felt better already. How could a purple pill be anything but helpful?

I’m much better today. I’m sure you’ve heard of the placebo effect. It has probably kicked in. I don’t care. Not one bit. If it’s all psychological and in my head, I don’t care. I’m just glad I feel better. I’m still grieving October, but at least I’m not postal.

Thank you purple pill!