“He and I just weren’t compatible anymore… and that‟s the whole story,” Rachel tells me, timidly. Sadly.
“I guess he found it hard to love someone who was physically weak and not the same anymore. I mean, my memory is different. My energy levels are different. And I wanted to talk about all of that, but he didn’t.”
Rachel’s story saddens me. It makes me wish she weren’t alone in her journey. Her grieving phase has extended “perhaps longer than it should,” as she puts it. B
But everyone’s journey is different.
She expresses her wish for more social support. Lacking immediate (remember what I mean by “immediate”?) social support has been a challenge for her, and she mentions “feeling despaired” and “not hopeful like [she] used to be.”
When I ask about her involvement with SBIF, a seemingly suitable option for her situation, she laughs at the suggestion.
“Why would I want to go to those meetings?” She asks rhetorically before continuing. “Oh, I think I went to one, but those meetings aren’t for me. Those are for people who are really bad-off.”
I’m intrigued by Rachel’s answer and yet not surprised she feels that way. After all, every other participant has felt the same way.
Interestingly, although the participants of my study no longer involve themselves with SBIF, they all made the choice to respond to my request for a meeting and the chance talk about their brain injury.
I think all of us, brain injury or not, really just want to share our story.
That’s what it all comes down to, right? That’s why we’re writing blogs, reading blogs, sharing what we find with others.