ASK DR. ROBERT NEIMEYER

Dr. Neimeyer answers this question:

Editor's note:  this is a re-publication of a question to Dr. Neimeyer from longtime AfterTalk columnist Caitlin Dorman.
Caitlin
Dear Dr. Neimeyer,
I assumed I would always know what my dad would say if he were here today. We were best friends, and he was very, very outspoken. Without blinking, I feel in sync with his priorities. Yet lately, I've been wondering how he would respond to something. I'm not the type for séances, so the question is on hold indefinitely, but maybe I can explain it to you.

Approximately 2 years after my father's death, I was diagnosed with depression. It took me months to communicate what I was feeling. I've been relatively articulate since I was a young child, but I had no words. Finally, I explained that the pain was so large; describing it was like trying to fathom the size of our planet - beyond my capacity.

I took that diagnosis seriously, and I worked really hard to be happy again. However, I always looked at this as short term. I mean to say: I thought that the whole depression thing would go away after some time passed. After all - this was because my dad died, right? It was tragic, I was traumatized, but we all move on.

When I got better, I really thought that I had been right, and this was over. Now, I see that I was just having a particularly good run of it.

Things changed sophomore year of college, when I got depressed again. It wasn't as bad as the first low point, but it hurt in a different way. I guess I thought I would never be in that place again.  I thought I was done staring off into the distance, hearing the faint muffle of a psychiatrist tell me, "Caitlin, it sounds like you're seriously depressed."

Returning to the present pondering, I am in a good spell, but I live in fear of its return: the private, ugly beast in my mind.

This summer, I've been thinking. If this depression will continue beyond the immediate aftermath of my dad's passing, is it possible that it was here before he was on his deathbed?

I am reminded of one afternoon in my freshman year of high school. I was schlumping in bed after school, as I tended to, when my parents walked in. My mom said she was concerned that I was lethargic. I didn't know what the word meant, so naturally, I thought it was a fatal disease. When explained to me as being chronically tired and lazy, I scoffed at it. I'm not lethargic - I'm a teenager!

Unbeknownst to me, earlier that day, my mother had expressed concern to my father that I was depressed. He scoffed at that. She's not depressed; she's just a Dorman!  Well, I can't argue with that one. I am certainly a Dorman. Now for the real inquiry: was my Dorman Dad depressed too?

He had told me stories of rough teenage years, times he was miserable, but he never made a big deal of it. He barely accepted psychiatric medication when he was fighting, and losing a battle with stage four Colon Cancer.  My mother knew my father since they were 12 and 15, respectively. I think if you asked her, she would say yes, my dad was depressed at times in his life.
It's hard to imagine how my dad would advise tackling a problem that he never acknowledged himself, but I often wonder if he could've helped me through this having, albeit unknowingly, been there before.

Caitlin

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Robert A. Neimeyer, Ph.D.
... is one of the foremost authorities on bereavement and grief. We are honored to host  a weekly question and answer column authored by Dr. Neimeyer.
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