When my dad died in late May, planning the funeral proved to be quite a logistical challenge. Given the time of year, it was a bit tricky to find a date when both the church and the pastors who would lead the service were available at the same time. Beyond that, several family members were overseas and not able to return immediately.

As a result, we had to wait more than two weeks for the service to take place. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked out OK. And in the end, the timing was such that the funeral was held on what would have been my parents’ 61st wedding anniversary.

I had a difficult time sleeping in those days leading up to the funeral. So many questions, details, plans and memories kept running through my head. Try as I might, I just couldn’t turn off the flow.

After several sleep-deprived nights, I once again found myself wakeful and restless in the wee hours of the morning. I tried the couch in the living room but eventually ended up in the basement guest room.

That’s where Randy found me some time later—when he woke up and realized I was no longer in our room. He sat on the edge of the bed, and we discussed my racing mind.

“You should think about talking to someone,” he said simply.

I had never been to counseling or therapy before. I have nothing against it, of course. I had even entertained the idea of going at some point—after the funeral, after things settled down, after all was said and done.

We’ve been married a long time, Randy and I. He knows me better than anyone else, but he doesn’t often flat-out tell me what to do.

When he said that, though, it was as if God was speaking through him right to me: “This is the way; walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:21)

Very clearly, I saw that I needed someone to help me process the events of the last few years, to help me unsnarl all the feelings and thoughts and emotions associated with losing both my parents within five weeks after months of declining health.

Yeah, I probably should talk to someone, I thought. Sooner rather than later.

I knew I probably would keep finding reasons to put it off if I didn’t do something right away. So before we left for Alaska in early July, I called a counseling office a friend had recommended and made an appointment for several days after we got back.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was actually pretty nervous, to tell you the truth.

Would I cry for an hour straight? What if I didn’t like the counselor? What if the whole thing was completely awkward or—worse yet—my problems were even bigger than I thought?

My fears were largely unfounded.

After multiple sessions, I haven’t had any huge revelations or earth-shattering epiphanies. Somehow, though, my conversations with the counselor often prompt helpful realizations in the quiet of my mind after I’ve gone home and resumed my regular tasks.

For me, processing out loud with a trained professional is kind of like stirring a pot of something simmering on the stove. It keeps all the bits and pieces from burning on the bottom and incorporates everything into one (somewhat) cohesive mental stew.

Turns out, my problems don’t appear to be bigger than I thought—at least not right now.  Initially, I was largely overwhelmed and unsure of how to work my way though the losses and the sadness. I still feel overwhelmed at times, but perhaps I’m also a bit better equipped to plow through it all.

I also realize I’m not necessarily moving toward an end point. The counseling sessions will stop, but “over it” will likely never be a box I will check when I think about this season of my life.

Healing is under way, though. In fact, I’m guessing it’s been going on much longer than I can even comprehend. And the God of all comfort is ever with me, gently guiding me through the tears, memories, questions and struggles.

My counselor has provided perspective on what grief entails, on what’s normal, on what to anticipate in the days ahead. Reporting back to him has helped me push forward on some activities I was dreading—like returning to my parents’ nursing home, signing up for a GriefShare group and following up on what I like to think of as “the headstone project.”

It’s one step at a time, this process. It’s about grief, yes, but it’s also about life.

Counseling won’t bring my parents back. It’s not a panacea for the sadness.

But Randy was right.

Talking to someone does help.

♥ Lois

This post is part of a collection called Help for Parent Loss. To read more, please click here.