Twice The Grief – Day 3

 

As I write this series, it is very important for me to explain I have no formal training in grief counseling. I am so grateful for the many people who have committed their life work to this. It is critical to our healing.

My intent here is to share my personal experiences from so many views of grief, hoping to encourage others who hurt and need a community of support and hope.

Growing up, I have many memories of attending funerals – of great aunts and uncles – even a great grandparent. As small children we would all get dressed up and go with mom and dad. It became the place where we saw our cousins and became familiar with our extended family tree. These were not sad funerals. I don’t remember tears. I remember stories being told and laughter at the memories they conjured up.

It seemed a normal part of life – and it was.

Until my cousin and aunt who lived closest to us growing up, died of cancer, none had been so close to our hearts – or died before they were ninety. I lived far away at that time, raising small children and was only involved from a distance.

In the mid nineties, dad was struggling after he retired. He began struggling with everyday tasks. He was in his early sixties.

As he became worse, we were met with the words, “it’s Alzheimer’s” – this was a new word – dementia had arrived on our own doorstep.

Thus began our up close and very personal journey into a unique challenge that would last until dad turned 70.

There was much less information available to us fifteen years ago.

One of the most comforting things a doctor ever said to me was when he explained there are two phases of grieving for families dealing with Alzheimer’s. The first occurs as the mental and emotional relationship fades. Losing the heart, soul and mind connection is tragic. The physical body is still present  and in dad’s case, strong and healthy, but the disease progresses.

It’s march, uninvited, into our lives, was relentless.

The last several years of dad’s life were in nursing homes then to Alzheimer’s units on lockdown because he loved to wander.  The last year or so he was moved from there because his body forgot how to walk.

The second phase of grieving came when he died. I found this to be a curious time for me. It was so hard knowing he was gone forever from this earth. I was with him when he died. As we realized the breath he just took was his last, as his dog jumped off the bed and crawled under it, I felt a joy fill my heart – one I had never experienced before. It seemed we had been holding our breath for a long time – not knowing what would happen next on his journey.

We stood in the makeshift bedroom at the house, full of family as dad lay in the hospital bed, waiting for the funeral home personnel to arrive. There was a peace in knowing he had been released  from what had been one of his greatest fears coming true. He had watched his own dad go through the same. Dad never wanted this to happen. NO ONE EVER DOES.

He was free now.

It was hard to grieve twice for dad.

For me – I only speak for myself here – grieving the loss of the emotional and spiritual part of my dad was the harder of the two.

Grief takes many faces in every – single – scenario. Every person in a family grieves loss differently. Respecting that we will never know how it is settling in the person standing next to us and giving them space to work in their own grief is essential to our own healing.

The most important is to work through our own.

Sharing stories and crying together is a beautiful part of healing.

Now, when we talk about dad, there are good memories.  This is the gift time gives to us.

Grieving in motion.

Always be willing to explore how it is settling in you. New pieces will show up every once in awhile. Many times taking you by surprise. Unexpectedly intruding – unwelcome. But can we learn to process it – let it speak and then as we invite God into the process – use it to draw us closer to God? Let’s decide before it even shows up that we will make peace with it with God’s help.

Until tomorrow . . .

“Lord, tonight, we rest. We rest in You. We rest in Your promises. We rest in peace. Your peace. Amen”