For several months after my dad died, I drank…a lot. Friday and Saturday (and sometimes Thursday and Sunday), I would go to this bar that has a cocktail whose main selling point is that it is like 30% ABV (they use ultra-distilled vodka; it is really cheap too) and order a double. Then another. Then I would go out to a club and just dance and laugh all night with my friends. To an outside observer, I must have seemed like I was fine. I wasn’t.
There is no right way to mourn, and there is nothing that one can say or do with respect to the dead that will mean anything to that person, because they are dead.
