Grief is ugly, uncomfortable, and corrupt. I hate grief. I hate what it does. Hate. Hmmm...that word.
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After I lost my 22 year-old son to a tragic car accident, I was inundated with reading materials from well-meaning (and amazing) friends. Unfortunately, once I mustered the courage to open them and peer inside those pages, I realized I had little to no connection to any of the writings.
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Thank you for being you. Thank you for being a short-acting benzodiazepine anxiolytic, whatever the hoot that means. *I don't know science; I got that from Wiki.
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Dear Gentle Dentist,
The reason I am your patient in the first place is because of trauma I endured in my dentist's chair when I was 12-years-old. You know this, and for the last I don't-even-know-how-many-years you have been my dentist and well aware of the fact that I have severe Dental Phobia. As soon as I am in your chair, traumatic memories flood my brain.
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