Grief in Slow Motion: What Loss Feels Like After TBI

Intro:
Last weekend, my college roommate Vic lost his mother. She was a force—her attitude, her resilience, her ability to live beyond her doctors’ expectations was nothing short of inspiring. I want to extend my deepest condolences to Vic and his family. Her legacy reminds me of how powerful it is to defy the odds, and how grief often arrives with a strange mix of sorrow and gratitude.

Her passing stirred something in me. It brought back memories of the losses I’ve experienced during my own recovery from a traumatic brain injury. Grief, when layered on top of healing, doesn’t follow a straight path. It’s slow, quiet, sometimes delayed—and always complex.

The Neuropsychologist’s Prediction
In 2003, a neuropsychologist told my family that my progress would plateau after 18 months. That moment stuck with them. It shaped how they saw my future. But here I am—22 years later—still learning, still growing, still surprising even myself. I’ve come to realize that just as recovery doesn’t follow a fixed timeline, neither does grief.

Losses Along the Way
During this journey, I’ve lost people who meant the world to me. My cousin Micah passed away in 2011—unexpected and heartbreaking. In 2017, I lost my sister, also unexpectedly. Later that same year, my grandmother passed at the age of 94. Her death was anticipated, but no amount of preparation can soften the ache of saying goodbye to someone who’s been a constant presence your entire life.

Each loss felt different. Micah and my sister were sudden, jarring. My grandmother’s passing was gentler, but still deeply painful. What made it harder was how my brain processed these events. Sometimes the emotions didn’t hit right away. Sometimes they came in waves, years later, when I least expected them.

Grief in Slow Motion
Traumatic brain injury changes how you feel things. It can mute emotions, delay reactions, or make grief feel distant. I’ve had moments where I knew I should be devastated, but I couldn’t access the feeling. And then, months—or even years—later, it would surface. A photo. A memory. A quiet moment. That’s when the tears would come.

I used to wonder if something was wrong with me. But now I understand healing takes time and so does grieving. Especially when your brain is relearning how to process the world.

Living Beyond Expectations
Vic’s mom lived beyond what doctors predicted. So, have I. That parallel isn’t lost on me. It’s a reminder that we’re all writing our own stories, even when others try to define the ending. And while grief is part of my story, so is resilience.

Keep fighting survivors!