An "Anticipated" Goodbye
Anticipatory Grief.
“The normal mourning that occurs when a patient or family is expecting a death. Anticipatory grief gives family and friends more time to slowly get used to the reality of the loss.
Grief that follows an unplanned death is different from anticipatory grief. Unplanned loss may overwhelm the coping abilities of a person, making normal functioning impossible. Mourners may not be able to realize the total impact of their loss. He or she may not be able to accept the loss mentally and emotionally … Following an unexpected death, the mourner may feel the world no longer has order and does not make sense.” (MedicineNet)
On the surface, this sounds valid. Clinical. Correct. And it is … but about grief in general (with all circumstances surrounding that grief removed). To assume the word “anticipatory” has the power to make the aftermath any less traumatic, is very misleading and flat out false. To assume one little word has the ability to “get someone used to the reality of loss,” is completely ridiculous.
Grief is as unique as a fingerprint and attempting to put it in circumstantial boxes is unfair to every person who was “prepared” (insert eye roll) for it to completely consume them.
The same article eventually went on to say,
“Grief experienced before a death does not make the grief after the death last a shorter amount of time.” (MedicineNet)
This part is actually true. However, it only acknowledges the DURATION of grief after a loss as not being minimized by anticipation. It moments earlier implied the INTENSITY and individuals inability to cope as different. So overall, it still misses the mark. An expected loss has equal ability to cause ALL of the above reactions and even to those in its grasp … who yes … saw it coming. How do I know this to be true?
Because I have personally experienced it.
And I can promise you, there is absolutely no way to anticipate the death of a loved one and no amount preparation that can make the grieving process any easier. We unintentionally treat those, who have walked the long road of terminal sickness with a loved one, like they got a head start or an advantage on the journey of grief ahead. We treat them as though their hearts aren’t as badly wounded as those who were “caught off guard” by their loss.
Well, I am now in round two of anticipatory grief and I can tell you from personal experience, the perception that my family and I are, “one step ahead and ready for shattered hearts - that luckily for us - won’t be as painful as others,” is a load of crap.
Sorry. That was a bit blunt. But not sorry … because it’s the truth.
I first learned of anticipatory grief seven years ago. I sat all alone on my couch, early enough in the morning that the sun's rays had just started to peak through the big window behind me. This was just days after learning the beautiful boy growing in me would never have the chance to grow in this world. With both hands on my belly and tears pouring down my cheeks, I told myself over and over that at least it would be easier for me because I knew it was coming and I could “prepare.”
I look back at that much younger and much more naive version of myself and shake my head. I look back and wish I could warn her. I wish I could have held her shaking hands, looked into her puffy eyes and gently told her, “I’m sorry but there is no way to prepare for what you are about to endure. Hope and joy are NOT forever lost … but … this will be the worst pain you have ever endured.”
Would that have actually been helpful to Jamie, circa 2012? No, most likely not.
But it would have, however, squashed the false and misleading premise that I was one step further along in the process of grief; that I, unlike many, was lucky to have a head start. That lie was something I held on to with a white-knuckled grip in those days.
Problem was, at the time, I didn’t know it was a lie.
We all do it, even if we don’t realize we are doing it. We hear a story of loss - a friend’s friend, a coworker’s husband, somebody’s somebody. We hear about these people who have unfortunately passed and IF that person’s passing was expected, we exhaled and justify the surviving family’s pain by saying, “Well at least they got to say goodbye … at least they knew it was coming … at least they had time together… at least they could prepare… at least he/she is no longer suffering… at least… at least… at least…”
I don’t believe the root of it to be malicious - I did it too.
I remember being, in some strange way, comforted knowing the family had a “heads up.” It took away a bit of the sting and knocked the trauma of it all down a few notches in my mind. I wish I could go back and tell THAT Jamie how incredibly naive and ignorant she was.
Now, in contrast, let’s pretend the loss was instantaneous. A heart attack. A car accident. Something quick and unexpected. A shooting. A plane crash. Now THOSE losses shake us to the core because no one saw them coming and they cannot be rationally justified. We can all agree some tragedies are completely horrific and cause more of a visceral reaction than others. There certainly are stories we deem “more upsetting” than others. We get rattled by these stories, pull our families in tight, cower back into a corner and wrap ourselves up tightly in the false comfort that something like that could never happen to someone we love. Rightfully so, our bodies shudder and our hearts break for the families surrounding these awful stories.
However, NONE of that negates or lessens the feelings of sorrow produced by a “more acceptable or justifiable” loss.
My loss isn’t “ok” because someone else’s loss was “worse.”
I wonder why our knee-jerk reaction in the news of tragedy is the need to take said story and internally place it somewhere on a scale between “not too bad” and “awful?” Why do we feel like we have the right to judge such things?
When it came to Logan my pain was often minimized from those around me. Because I interacted daily with numerous people, I heard it more often than not. “What you went through was SAD but oh my gosh, listen to this story … now this story is AWFUL. At least THAT didn’t happen to you. At least you didn’t have time to get attached. At least you can have more kids.”
I think in my situation, the justifying was solely for the comfort of the justifier.
It did nothing to help my bruised and bleeding heart. Absolutely nothing.
It is near impossible for most to grasp or understand what my family is enduring. However, in an attempt to try, I am going to use a - yes ridiculous - scenario to put you in my shoes. I’m hoping this example will help clarify and demonstrate how it feels every time someone attempts to justify the tension we are walking in. I’m hoping it will remove some of the “at least” statements that will inevitably follow my father’s passing. So here goes …
“Sometime in the next 1-3 years you will be in a severe car accident. Your spouse will not survive.”
Now, does anticipating this horrible event make it any less horrible? Are you at peace now because you know it’s coming and have time to prepare? Are you at peace anytime you are driving or are you looking around every corner for the semi that is going to destroy your family?
Which side will it hit? Will we see it coming?
With every close call, you lose a bit of yourself as your anxiety and fear continue to grow.
Is this it? Am I about watch them die? How bad is it going to hurt? Oh thank goodness … just a close call. Deep breath. All is ok … for now.
You make sure your spouse’s seatbelt is ALWAYS fastened. You obey all traffic laws and try your best to be as careful as humanly possible. You drive slow. You look every direction before moving forward. Occasionally, you even pull out the “Mom Bar,” in a feeble attempt to protect them with your outstretched right arm. But none of it matters. None of it will stop the inevitable. None of it will save them.
Are there still beautiful moments? Yes, of course. Sometimes as you drive you can’t help but notice the incredible sunset. In these moments, you look at the person you love so much and know, even in the darkest hour, God is still there.
Are you “enjoying” the ride? Taking advantage of the time you have together? Or are you so afraid about what's to come that you feel paralyzed? Tense? Bracing for impact at any moment but having no idea when that moment will be?
This dance goes on and on. Week after week. Year after year. As more time passes the anticipation only grows.
BUT … at least you know it’s coming, right? You have time to say goodbye, right? So just prepare yourself for it … right?
This logic makes no sense … RIGHT?
This scenario doesn’t even portray the physical suffering that is endured (IN the car) or ON the path to a “planned death” … AND STILL … the reasoning is completely absurd.
I don’t know anyone who would choose to get in this car.
My dad is sitting on the fence of this life and the next, not knowing which side he belongs on.
I am immensely grateful for the last two and a half years that my dad has been here. I am grateful he said YES to the fight. I, selfishly, want him in this world, even though I know he is paying a high price to stay. I am grateful to have the opportunity to tell him all the things I would later regret having not said. My heart absolutely breaks for those who never got the opportunity and then live with the regret that inevitably follows.
However, it’s hard for me not to think of the pain my father could have been spared had we just lost him all those months ago. The shock to my family would have been devastating, life-shattering - but - he could have bypassed such a horrific road.
And now, the price of my dad’s freedom is our family’s broken hearts.
We are on the frontlines of this battle … we are in the trenches. My father lives in my home. He is a part of my morning and my night. His presence is in EVERY SINGLE DAY of my life. His death will change everything. It won’t be an absence that occasionally hits me when I was hoping to pick up the phone and give him a call.
It means having to explain to my kids why Papa’s chair is empty at the dinner table. It means my mom sleeping alone at night. It means no more running downstairs to kiss his forehead before he goes to bed. It means, so much I don’t even fully understand. And that’s because …
Right now, it’s IMPOSSIBLE to.
Anticipatory grief is absolutely real. I can attest to that because my family is smack-dab in the middle of it right now. What’s not real, is the premise that anticipatory grievers are any better off in the wake of their loss.
I remember, like yesterday, the feeling of helplessness and agony that accompanied Logan’s diagnosis. I remember the pain like an old, familiar and yet -very unwelcome- visitor. Someone I love is dying. Hurting. Suffering. Afraid. And I? I have no power to stop it.
I remember begging God to take me instead. I begged him to allow me to die in Logan’s place. And if we actually had the power to trade one’s life for another? I would not be writing this to you today.
So how do I “anticipate” saying goodbye to my father?
Don’t just breeze over that sentence. Let it sink in. Envision YOUR dad (or mom or loved one) as the person who is dying. Imagine they are hurting. So much so it’s hard to know what to pray for. Healing? Death? A miracle? A gentle passing?
The moment Logan was born alive, I didn’t ask for a miracle … I begged God to call him home. I’m not sure I ever shared that with anyone before this moment. How’s that for a punch in the gut?
It was the hardest prayer of my life and now I feel myself nearing another.
A few days ago I sat at a Christmas Eve service; arm linked with my Dad’s, head on his shoulder, my tears freely falling from cheek to shirt. Although we were nestled in the very back and protected by the surrounding music, I was trying desperately hard to keep my body’s physical heaving -because of those very tears- at a minimal. I could feel my dad attempting the same containment, except his tears, were able to immediately hide as they disappeared into the mask that covered his nose and mouth.
You see … we both knew.
We both knew it would be our last time at a Christmas Eve service together. My heart just can’t accept that today. My heart is not prepared for this at all. My heart is in denial.
My heart … needs my dad.
Planned death or unplanned death - it really doesn’t matter. What’s left in the aftermath is brokenness. Grief is grief. No scenario is “easier” than the other. No scenario is “better” than the other. ALL OF IT … is awful, heartbreaking and not ok. Period.
STILL say this path is somehow easier?
I say … sit in this tension for a week and then we can talk. Sit in it for thirty-plus months and we could probably be best friends.
As we walk into 2020, be kind - for everyone around you is fighting a battle.
Much Love,
Jamie
P.S. This is for you Mom and Dad. Let these words sink in, for despite what we see, THIS is the truth … watch
You are not hidden
There's never been a moment
You were forgotten
You are not hopeless
Though you have been broken
Your innocence stolenI hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOSI will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
It's true, I will rescue youThere is no distance
That cannot be covered
Over and over
You're not defenseless
I'll be your shelter
I'll be your armorI hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOSI will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
It's true, I will rescue you
I will never stop marching to reach you
In the middle of the hardest fight
It's true, I will rescue youI hear the whisper underneath your breath
I hear you whisper, you have nothing leftI will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
It's true, I will rescue you
I will never stop marching to reach you
In the middle of the hardest fight
It's true, I will rescue youOh, I will rescue you
- Lauren Daigle
