Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #time

Time for the Bucket List

July 28, 2024 /

Jon and I had the honor of attending one of Zane’s closest friends’ wedding.  The bride was elegant in a silk white dress, the groom handsome in his blue suit. The floral arrangements were soft pastel colors, the venue was a place they enjoyed a beer together in earlier days. Friends and family gathered to watch them cut the cake and dance to their first song as Mr. and Mrs. All in all, as most weddings go, it was beautiful. The difference with their special day is that the groom is dying of a brain tumor.

Weeks before this day, the groom and I shared a booster juice when he told me the doctors had stopped treatment.  The tumor is growing and there is nothing left to try. We sat quietly sipping our drink, trying to accept this prognosis. I took a deep breath and said, “ok, where’s your bucket list?” He said he did not have one. I said, “well, you better start”. He said, “the doctors suggested there was not a lot of time left.”  I said, “I think that time is all you have now, sweetie.”

On our next visit he shared that he had a couple things he would like to do.  Get married and go to Oregon. I smiled. And as his energy lessened and the seizures began, that is what he did.  He has defied time by placing what is important and planning what he has always dreamed of regardless of how little time he may have left on this earth. And that is what makes him, his life and his wedding day remarkable.

I held his moms’ hand at the wedding. She was experiencing a truly bitter-sweet moment. She was fully aware of the gift this day held. This moment contained pictures and stories and emotions that she will carry in her heart for the rest of her life. And she was aware of the irony this day had. It should be all about happy new beginnings with a bright direction. It should not include a death sentence.

And yet, as you watched this young couple embrace each other on the dance floor, we witnessed the way he gazed into her face, their wedding was like any other wedding. Filled with love. This was the onset of their new path together. It will contain all the expected and unexpected elements that every marriage has. None of us truly know how much time we have together. That night, time was still for them. And as they left the party to go off to their hotel, they took with them the supportive cheers their reception party shouted out and the hope that time might be kind and extend his stay. We still have Oregon to do.

Time, the Complex Accomplice

June 16, 2024 /

I received a picture from my friends’ husband, of her tombstone. I replied how beautiful it was and, as I knew her urn was not yet placed, asked if he would be placing it soon. He said yes, and added what date that would be.  I stared at my phone. The date reminded me of what he said when she passed. “I’ll keep her with me for a year, and then lay her to rest, beside her son.” It will be a year this July.

In life, time is a friend and an enemy. They say time softens grief (to which I have yet to experience) and they say time reminds you of how fleeting this life is. I know she passed; I was there. But a year ago?  How can it be that already? Her family has gone through the ‘firsts’-first birthday, holiday, anniversary, and they are now coming up to their second year.  To which we all know when living with grief, is when time plays the enemy more often than not. I am so sad. This is life with grief.  A continuum of what we know, the pain of loss and the reality of traditions starting, ending or modified.

Sometimes grief is ignored around what is true because it muddies the happy moments. Then time prompts us it isn’t going away through a calendar of events now changed forever or added to because of our loss. Sometimes grief is faced with courage and strength because the counting of time tallies the days we have survived. Sometimes grief shows up unexpectedly and the struggle is real and time whispers, “breathe, this too shall pass.”  Time can be argued by science, whether it is real or not. But for sure, it is measurable. Grief warriors become experts at measuring time.

How fast time flies is a statement everyone understands.  Because everyone has, in one way or another, experienced this. In grief, time becomes more dimensional with more substance of how it controls you, and, oddly, how it supports you. Life gets divided into sections before loss, and after loss and then subdivided between the number of years. Time is very real.

Yet, we begin to see many signs that our loved ones are still here with us and that gives depth to the idea that time is only on our realm. The notion that our loved ones defy time and can stay with us for all time is a comforting belief.

In any case, time makes grief very complex, as with my friend. How has she been gone for a year when my heart still feels that a summer drink in her backyard is a possibility. Time reminds me I had that once, I can have it still, just that it will be different. The yin and yang of time is the same as grief. Bittersweet. And the only control we truly have with time is how we choose to value it.

The Sharpness of Anticipatory Grief

March 12, 2023 /

Our friends have chosen the day they wish to depart.  Through the assistance of MAID, they will be leaving this realm at the end of the month. We behave like they are planning to move. Which in essence they are. We tease as a distraction to what is happening by referring to it as ‘when you check out’.  The reality of their truth is only now starting to hit home.

The pre-planning of death has numerous facets. Wills need to be in place, utilities need to be notified, investments need to be transferred, accounts need to be closed. The house needs to be purged and sold. The cat needs to find a new home. It is demanding. We have spent a lot of time with our friends doing our best to minimize these stresses so that they may enjoy their last days here.

As family and friends are notified that there will be no more events attended by them as of this spring, emotions vary and are raw. Understanding their decision fluctuates with each person. I have had my moments. I wanted this year to be one with no more losses and their intentional planning messed that up. A reminder that life is rarely about oneself. I don’t want them to go.  We have had over thirty years of laughter and shared experiences. These two are more like family than friends.  They are aunt and uncle to my children. They are our go to for a martini and wine. And yet, they will be gone soon, and I know this. It is planned.

It is not a sudden death that throws you into grief.  It is anticipated which drags you, kicking and screaming to grief. And their decision is not about having a terminal illness or having endless pain, conditions that justify the desire to let your loved ones go. It is a personal decision they have made that their health and quality of life is not where they want to be, and it will only get worse. Thus, their choice. I get it. I am supporting them. It just doesn’t make it any easier.

The double edge sword of anticipatory grief is time. It is complicated because it holds promise and opportunity.  One has time to plan the remainder of life on earth and the hereafter with focus. One has time to have more. More conversations, more memories, more hugs, more dinners. This is the comforting side, knowing that death will soon be here we become more intentional. The other side is less friendly.

Anticipatory grief makes us anxious; it is the taunting knowledge that time will soon be gone. This type of grief makes it difficult to focus on daily tasks that now seem mundane but are necessary. It brings the anger and sorrow of loss to hang over the last memories you are cramming in before they go. It brings with it a different type of guilt, a nervousness of is there enough planned, what else can be done, said, experienced before they depart. Grief is exhausting. Anticipatory grief can be double exhausting because, although I am grateful that I do have more time with my friends, I carry with me the agony of knowing, with each minute, that there is coming a point where there will be no more time. Two more of my tribe will no longer be.  I can’t do anything about it.

I try to balance this madness by keeping busy doing little tasks for them that comfort them. I call them more often, visit them more often, ask more questions and share ideas of how we will honor them. We sort through photographs of past times and laugh at the “remember when…”

Our recent visit, my friend hugged me and tearfully said, “this is so hard, but I know that it is the right thing to do”. His strength found in his belief gives me the strength to keep showing up and to continue making memories with them that I will carry with me long after their final sunset.

The Gift of Time

January 22, 2023 /

While waiting for our plane to take off, I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a post that the husband of a colleague of mine had passed. I had no idea as we have not talked since 2020. I knew he was sick; he was sick when we met. So why I was shocked and now crying on the plane surprised me.

His unique obituary, a personal blog of his journey that he wrote to the world, has captured many people who have never met him but feel his spirit through his words. And he is inspiring.  Even after death.  His wife, who equals his grace, and his two children, join our community of grief.

Every grief journey is different.  Hers began with the diagnosis that her husband had only a few months to live. When I met my friend, she was a new hire to the organization I worked for. She had just started when the news of her future was given. We worked close together, and she balanced her demanding job in between his cancer treatments and raising two teenagers. She was an example of light, love and how to have it all.  I admired her. I enjoyed working with her.  And when I quit to move to another contract, we promised to continue supporting each other over our favorite glass of wine. Her husband was in remission then and somehow, I thought he would live forever.

Sitting and reading the beautiful summary of his life I was filled with remorse.  I was not there for her.  I did not keep in touch. She reached out when Zane was killed with the same sweet kindness, she shares with everyone. We promised, again, to keep in touch.  That did not happen. Life seems to blur what we want to do with what time there is to do it all.  And now, the opportunities to have been there with her, for her and her family, are gone.  Or are they?

True, we get busy with our own grief and life demands that we do not always get to where we want to go or be the person we want to be. However, we know that guilt has no room here and each day is a new day to make a difference. She has lots of family and friends to support her. And I can still be one of those. It is what we are taught in grief. That our community is one filled with those who are missing their loved one, and although their story and their pain will be different than our own, we understand loss.

I think that is what is important. Perhaps a lesson hiding. Time is so unrelated.  It promises nothing, it stands in front of us, empty and waiting for us to fill it in what way we choose. Each day is a new blank slate with the opportunities to do different, to do better. It is a gift that each of us receives, and my friends’ husband knew this well. The lesson, for me, knowing how he lived on this earth, is that time will tell and before it tells you, take it as a gift and make the most of it. As he did. As they all did.

To her husband, thank you. Thank you for being such a spirit of hope and optimism and an example of how each of us could be facing our own adversity. Your strength and courage are contagious. Your sense of humor had us all laughing, a lot. Your generosity was felt by so many, including me.  Your love of family, friends and of this life, encourages us all to be the best we can be.  And to relish in the time, we are given.

Bless you, Jim. Keep in touch. 

The Cloak of Grief is Anger

October 2, 2022 /

There is always supposed to be more time. I’ll see you soon. I’ll make that appointment. We will get to that tomorrow.  And then tomorrow never comes. Or it comes with a death sentence, and you are left having a list of things to be done before ‘times up’ and it leaves no room for what you wanted to do.

Our friend has brain cancer. And not a great prognosis even with his kick-ass 200% positivity. So, we, the recovery team as he calls us, are left to resolve a hundred things on his behalf and put into place care for now and for after. His two children, each with their own families and work commitments want to be with their dad and feel their grief. But the task list takes them away from that.  And replaces it with grief’s cloak. Anger.

Anger comes when your soul wants one thing, your heart needs one thing and life dictates another. I watch his children, worried about the unknown and scared for their father. They have stepped up.  Big time. Life doesn’t seem fair to them now.  And it isn’t. “We have so much to still share with Dad”. That won’t happen.  And they know this but between doctors and surgery and treatment and accommodations and paperwork, there is no time to feel this. Time. The elusive, non-refundable gift has been given to them, with an expiry date.

We sit with his children and the long list of what needs to be done.  We organize who can do what and pull in friends to support this. We talk with our friend about dying, about last wishes and we, together make a plan.  It brings a bit of relief to everyone. It gives us some control, some hope that we may be able to share a life, however short, that is filled with love and time together.

We now will go about implementing our strategy, with a plan b to create as we understand nothing goes according to the original ideals. We find comfort in the awareness that we are in this together and we have each other to lean on. All these things help. Yesterday, my friend told me his son said something profound. It was a short sentence that summed up our entire life.  It identified our anger. He said, “Dad, I’m just sad.”

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