Honoring Grief

Grief is a process not an event. The trick is to honor where I am in my grief. My grieving began with Glen’s diagnosis of lung cancer. I distanced myself from his experience of dying. This distancing begins with Glen’s first chemotherapy treatment. On April 26, 2008 I write:

I sit in the support person chair with my beading box on my lap...I weave a pattern - alternating yellow and orange dangles with green, orange, and yellow...I focus on my task...

After Glen died, I avoid feeling the pain of his loss by doing - anything to avoid feeling the pain. On May 19, 2009 I wrote:

I mostly kept busy - three loads of laundry, grocery shopping, a trip to the nursery to buy plants for the garden...I felt that I just had to keep moving, the same kind of nervous energy I had right after Glen died.

The pain keeps crashing down on me. I can not avoid the pain so I try to control it. I do this by choosing when I feel the pain. On November 13, 2009 I wrote:

Listening to the CDs that we both listened to through the years does help me have a “good cry” and to feel the loss and grief...I know it will be a very long time before I can move beyond my sadness and grief. But this is a place to start.

I now feel the pain when I write about my grief. I am prepared to feel the pain. I try to move into living. It is hard for me. I move forward with a life, then I am consumed by my grief. It is not an easy journey - this grieving process. I honor where my grief leads me.

Left Behind

When Glen was diagnosed with cancer, he told me the future would be harder for me than for him - he would eventually die and I would be left behind. I thought he was wrong, that dying was the more difficult role. On March 19, 2009 five days after he died I wrote:

The sadness spilled out into the room as we all felt him depart and were filled with grief at our loss. Tears flowed, hugs exchanged among us who were left behind...

I spent the next several months trying to avoid the pain of being left behind. Eventually I did begin the process of facing my aloneness . On August 29, 2009 I wrote:

Yesterday as I closed the blinds in the bay window at dusk, I saw an old man and woman from the neighborhood walking hand in hand slowly down the street and my heart ached because I knew this was lost to me.

As the months passed, I struggled with what the future held - would a life without Glen even be possible. On January 1, 2010 I wrote:

I must find a way to live a “me” life because the “we” part of my life has ended.

Today I continue to struggle with being left behind - to live in a world without Glen - this wise man who understood it is hard to be the one left behind.

Remembering

Today another wave of grief hit me. It was unexpected - grief and loss triggered below my conscious awareness. January 2008 is the month Glen was diagnosed with cancer. An x-ray uncovered a small spot on his left lung and by the end on January, the diagnosis of cancer was confirmed. Chemotherapy, treatment of last resort. I wrote:

So it has begun...After months of testing confirmed the location and size of the tumor, radiation and surgery ruled out...the only medical avenue left was chemotherapy.

January 2009 brought news the cancer had metastasized into his spine. Radiation treatment followed. I wrote:

Seven (radiation) treatments and increased pain medication, the pain has not diminished. I now assist Glen in all of his daily needs...home care assistance is the next thing I will investigate...I realize I cannot do all this by myself.

January 2010 marked Glen's first birthday since his death. It would have marked his 63rd birthday. Instead it marked another “first” event since Glen’s death. I wrote:

It disturbs me that I cannot remember his final birthday. I have no memory of that day...I have looked for a card I might have given him, but cannot seem to locate one...I wish I could cry but the physical pain that comes with grief is very intense right now and I can’t seem to let go of my tears...

Today, January 2011, is one of those days - I just can’t seem to let go of my tears. So I write in my blog to remember.

Denial

Three years ago, in late January 2008, Glen was diagnosed with lung cancer. Not an unexpected diagnosis - he was a smoker for most of his adult life; he'd had asthma since childhood, bronchitis infections throughout his adult life, and the diagnosis of COPD in later life. On February 26, 2008 I wrote the first entry in my journal:

With the diagnosis of lung cancer, you have the opportunity to know that the end (of life) is approaching. The trick is not to live in denial - but to face it full on.

Throughout 2008 I tried to do this, to live our life together full on, not letting denial that death was in the cards, cloud our experience. Glen elected to undergo chemotherapy treatments. On April 26, 2008 I wrote:

The only treatment available is chemotherapy. Success - stopping the growth or better yet, shrinking the tumor - somewhere between 20-35 percent. Not hopeless - a chance for more life together...I support whatever he wants to do.

The negative effects from the chemotherapy were immediate. The day of the treatment, Glen felt very tired. The next day he suffered flu like symptoms which lasted several days. On April 30, 2008 I wrote:

A lot has happened since (the first chemotherapy treatment) both with him physically and with me...the physical effects seem to last for 4-5 days...I had a panic attack on Sunday.

The next week Glen’s hair fell out. On May 7, 2008 I wrote:

Today Glen’s hair started falling out...he started brushing his long locks and hugh clumps began coming out in the brush...he was freaking out.

When I got home, he asked me to brush his hair; huge clumps continued to come out. We decided to use the clippers and buzz cut the rest off. I ended the journal entry with:

Losing your hair is preferable to losing your life.

So much for not living in denial. On March 14, 2009, less than a year after starting chemotherapy, Glen died and I was left to find a way to live my life without him.

Moving Towards

For the past year I have struggled with letting go and moving forward with my life. On January 1 , 2009 Glen was still alive, but it was clear to me that he was indeed dying. I struggled with the issue of quality of life when I wrote:

My wish and hope for 2009 is that Glen will move toward embracing a life supportive philosophy and away from the medical approach that is life destroying.

Glen would “live” for 2 1/2 months - never letting go of the idea that traditional medicine with its promise of a cure was his best hope. By January 1, 2010 Glen had been dead for over 9 months and I struggled with the notion of living without him. I wrote:

My hope for 2010 is that I will find a way to begin creating the rest of my life without the love of my life to share the adventure.

2010 was a year filled with struggle and self doubt. It was a year where I tried to move past the loss of my dear Glen - but without knowing where I would move on too. The year was marked by “letting go” of my life with Glen. It meant letting go of the adventure of living we had shared. Although I knew I would need to find a way to live without him, it was not clear to me what living without Glen would entail. Today, January 1, 2011 I wrote:

Now I move forward with a clear path toward where I know I am going in this new phase of my life journey. I am no longer moving away - from my grief and loss of the love of my life - but toward my new life as a writer.

Now I move toward my new life journey, knowing there will be many more struggles I will face, but with the knowledge I am moving into my life.