A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
For a moment, an hour, an evening, let's take a break from the contentious world of partisan politics and reflect on what has gone before for us, and what is yet to come for others...
When I spoke up to do this week's Grieving Room diary, my first thought was to write about The Call. You all know the one -- it's the expected call that comes at the most unexpected time...the call from doctor or relative to tell you that your loved one has died.
But since then, things have changed. I find myself this week, the third anniversary of my mother's death, awash in memories while attempting to guide another through the darkness.
I have a very good friend. This past week, he told me that his mother, who's been ill for quite some time, has probably just a couple of months left, maybe a bit more. And he's in the position of being an only child (he does have some step-siblings) and living in the same area as her, so the brunt of the care procedures have fallen on his shoulders. He's been at her house at night to take care of her, so his days have been filled with trying to figure out the next steps, being as productive as possible at work, and making sure his own family is coping with things.
Flashbacks: It was at Christmas of 2004 that I realized how ill my mother really was. Instead of her usual joyous participation in the events, hugging her great-grandchildren and crawling around on the floor to help them hand out gifts, she mainly stayed huddled on the couch in her robe, barely taking notice of what was going on around her.
A little over a week later, my oldest sister took a leave of absence from her job and moved in with Mom to take care of her; it was she who talked Mom into signing over the car to me and the spouse as it was obvious she would no longer be driving. (We still have her 1988 Toyota Camry -- we've put a lot of money into keeping it up but it's going to be tough to let it go in a couple of years.)
Another week went by, and it became too difficult for my sister to care for Mom -- by then her cancer had moved to her brain, making her disoriented; she began to get out of bed in the middle of the night and would fall. Sadly we decided to put her into an in-patient hospice, where there were people who could keep an eye on her 24/7. It didn't take long -- by the end of January, the phone call came early one morning from my sister, telling me that Mom had died in her sleep during the night.
My friend has said that he's beginning to understand the "emotional rollercoaster" that I've been through and shared with him. In a sense, when you deal with someone with an extended illness, as you approach the final months or weeks or days you do begin to "pre-mourn"; you know the end is coming but you don't know exactly how much time you have, and he's having a little trouble dealing with it. Sudden death is more of a shock, but at least you don't have the long drawn-out goodbyes.
Flashbacks: My mother was on her way home from the hospital that Sunday in 1970, where she made her regular trek to visit my father, lying in a coma after a massive heart attack in April. I was home, reading or playing, I don't exactly remember, when the phone rang. I picked it up.
Hello?
Hello, this is Doctor So-and-so. (after so many years, I don't remember his name) Is your mother home?
She's not home right now, may I take a message?
Is this (my name)?
Yes, it is!
That doctor spent the next 10 minutes or so on the phone with me, asking about school, what I liked to do, my favorite books, until my mom came home.
Hold on, Mom just got home...Mom! Doctor So-and-so is on the phone for you!
And that's when we learned that my father had finally died.
I've also been helping him with other "gems of wisdom" I've picked up -- some of which he'd already started on (not the first time we've been on the same wavelength) but he's appreciated my sharing of my family's experiences. But there's so many other little details that maybe neither of us have thought of, as well as some I have but don't know how to approach them delicately -- things like medical directives and such. He's confessed to being a bit of a wreck trying to get things back into balance -- I wish I could do more for him, but perhaps just being here for him is enough.
I've been through so many deaths of people close to me that I sometimes feel like my life has been just one big long f*cking funeral -- but perhaps it's been so I can guide others through the wilderness of loss. I know that the day will come when I'll have to be the rock when the spouse's parents take their walk through the Valley of the Shadow, even though I'll be grieving as much as him. I may be a bit emotionally removed from my friend's situation -- but my heart still hurts for him, and what I know he'll be facing in the weeks to come.
Mortality...it sucks...