****THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN MOVED TO THE FRONT OF THE BOOK FOR THE MONTH OF MAY AND JUNE. IT CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE STORY.

Author's Note

Hello readers! I am so excited to be a part of Wattpad and Maybelline's #BraveTogether Mental Health Initiative in honor of Mental Health Awareness Month. Please enjoy this bonus chapter and read to the end to participate in a Write-a-thon. I have chosen NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Health) to receive the donations! This group is important to me because of the work they do every day to help our community and specifically because of the impact they have had on the population I work with as a therapist.

Wattpad and Maybelline have partnered up once again for MNY's Brave Together Mental Health Initiative. In May and June, for every comment submitted under this bonus chapter in response to my question at the end, Wattpad and Maybelline will donate $1, up to a total of $2,000 to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). Two other Bonus chapters will be participating in this same initiative, want to check them out? Visit wattpad.com/maybelline

Harper

            My drink is tepid at best and the cookies are stale, but we aren't here for a tea party so there is no point in complaining to anyone about it. I know for certain, the people in this room have far more important things to contemplate than whether the snacks on the white fold-out table are up to par. My eyes fall to the napkin precariously resting on my knee, and the crumbs trying to take the leap to the floor below us. The small store-bought sugar cookie rests there too, cracked from its journey here from the grocery store a few blocks down. Nothing is perfect. There is a crack in everything, but I have learned from attending this group, it's ok to not be ok.

            The meeting will start soon, but for now I will steady my gaze on the door to this small room on the third floor of the hospital where a sign tells other hurting people they are in the right place, "Grief Group. Tuesdays at 7:30pm." Val, a girl I met here last month enters. She carries her sweatshirt in her arms like a shield, and only takes her sunglasses off revealing her two healing black eyes once she's taken the seat next to me. Looking at her, many would know she suffered something traumatic and painful to her body. Bruises have a way of telling a story you might not want to share. What people won't be able to see is the way her most painful wounds are those left on her heart and in her head. It's been four weeks since she survived the accident that killed her sister.

            "Hi," she says softly.

            'Hey," I tell her.

            I point down to the tea at the bottom of her chair. Her smile is sweet and genuine as she reaches for it. I got here early and prepared one for her too. She has been an amazing support. I know we haven't known each other very long, but a group like this brings people close fast. I know all the details of the worst day of her life so far—and hopefully ever—and she knows all about mine. Val is the strongest person I know. She's beautiful on the inside and outside in a way that only time and experience can polish. She has known loss and felt the defeat of having to keep going when something so important in your life is missing and yet she found her way out of that darkness to come to this group and bring light.

            "How are you doing?" she asks. I

It's not the type of 'How are you doing?' the grocery clerk asks to be polite, it's the one that makes you think and feel safe answering honestly. Val is safe. This place is safe. This group is safe. The therapist that leads the group has taught us being able to be our true selves is one of the strongest components of good mental health. We can't get help if we aren't honest, and we won't heal wounds we insist on covering up out of shame, pain, or fear.

"I've had a few rough days," I say truthfully.

The small knowing nod lets me know I'm not alone. Val isn't the only person that makes me feel that way. Bob, the oldest of our group is so kind and wise. He lost his son to his mental health struggle a year ago. He's the veteran here, often helping with tips and tricks he's found to help get through his grief so he can keep moving forward. Ronnie lost her mother to cancer and often she finds comfort in just listening. I imagine it helps her to not feel alone especially when she has to leave here and return to the house where she cared for her mother for three long years while she fought hard to survive.

Val takes a sip of her tea and we both chuckle softly when she recoils slightly from the temperature. She leans in close to keep our conversation quiet until the group gets started.

"Did you meet with the psychiatrist?' she asks.

"I did," I tell her. "She gave me a lot of great information and told me to go home and think about which option I'd like if any. Some can't be taken while pregnant, so Asher and I will have to decide how much time we are going to wait to try again."

"That's tough," she says. "You guys had tried a while before the pregnancy, right?"

"Yea, and I don't know if I'll be ready to go through all the treatment again for a while," I say. Last group I had shared that I'd lost our baby. Asher and I had tried for two and a half years to get pregnant before we were able to conceive. Six months later the tiny heartbeat we had listened to like it was music, had stopped. I don't know if I've ever heard more difficult news. The world seemed to stop spinning and all the hopes and dreams we had been sharing fell right out of the clouds and to the floor at our feet.

"Whatever decision you make, it's the right one," Val tells me.

I know she's right. The decision to talk to my doctor about my grief had been extremely important. She was amazing and gave me the information for this meeting as well as the name of a psychiatrist and therapist. Loss can feel isolating in the worst kind of way, but what we need to remember is it's a universal experience. You can't make it through this life without it.

"Thank you," I tell her. "How was the memorial?"

"Hard," she answers. It's one word, but it says so much. Grief is hard. There isn't one stage of it that doesn't make you feel like you're fighting for your life to get through it. I nod.

The last few people trickle in and Olivia, the leader, starts the meeting.

"Hi everyone. Welcome. I'm glad the whole group is here. Today I thought we might start by sharing some ways we are coping. People sometimes call it self-care. What do you do to take care of yourself during this time? I know when I lost my partner, I found solace in taking long walks on the trail we used to hike together," she says.

The group is quiet only for a moment and then Ronnie speaks up. "I found an old pattern of my mother's she never finished. She loved knitting and taught me when I was young. Last night I stayed up late, laying on her bed finishing what she had started a while ago."

I find that beautiful. My throat clenches with unshed tears. I'm sad for Ronnie and I also grieve for the mother-daughter relationship I will not have the chance to experience with the baby I lost. Loss comes at you from all angles.

"She was lucky to have you," I tell her. I bet her mother would want her to know that.

"I was lucky to have her too. You know," she says, "my mother used to remind me all the time she was my mother from the day she began to plan for me." Ronnie offers a comforting smile. "I was lucky for every minute she was my mom. Your baby was lucky too."

"What about you, Harper? What have you done as self-care and to take care of your mental health?" Olivia asks.

"I came here," I tell everyone. "And Asher and I have decided to sit and eat a good dinner together every night no matter what. It gives us a chance to talk if we feel like it, or sometimes just sit in the quiet together. We realized it's been hard to remember to eat on the bad days."

"That was a very smart idea," Olivia says. "It's important to take care of each other. Mental health not only affects you, but it has an impact on those around you. In your case, both of you have suffered a loss. It's important to be aware of how each other and doing and how it's effecting you. Having a place and a time to talk about it is a great start to helping each other while also taking care of your own mental health."

"My wife and I used to share our meals while she were still here," Bob shares. "I miss that. My daughter invited me over to watch a movie and have dinner with her family. It felt nice. I'm happy you and Asher are starting this tradition. I hope you get to sit together in happiness more than you ever sit in grief." 

His words feel warm to my heart. I'm starting to be able to see the possibility of happiness again. It isn't often, but life has a way of continuing and forcing the passage of time. I smile at the thought of a happy dinner, maybe even one at a table with our children in the future.

"You've experienced a lot of loss, Bob. What advice would you share with someone struggling with their mental health?" Olivia asks.

Bob leans back in his chair and appears to contemplate the question. At first, his features are pinched in thought. His brows are drawn together, and his lips sit straight on his face, but they soften when he prepares to speak.

"You only have to get through the next minute. Then you can concur the minute after that. Many of us have survived the worst minute of our lives already, the rest is all healing in some way. Don't give up."

I take his advice to heart. I can do anything for sixty seconds—we all can.

What is one piece of advice you would offer to someone struggling with mental health? (In May and June, for every comment submitted under this bonus chapter in response to this question, Wattpad and Maybelline will donate $1, up to a total of $2,000 to NAMI)!