WHEN IT RAINS… (DISCUSSING ANTICIPATORY GRIEF)

If anyone has ever learned the meaning of “When it rains… it pours,” it’s me. I’ve been very scarce lately, and I apologize for that.  To be honest, I’m not in the greatest mental place right now.  Still functioning, still taking care of myself – just exhausted, overwhelmed, and sad, because it keeps effing raining.

What’s going on?  Well, for starters – it’s almost February.  Almost a year since Libby died.  I can’t seem to wrap my head around that, and the memories have been hitting me hard lately.  

Second, I’m a few months away from my younger son graduating, both sons moving out, and me being on my own for the first time in pretty much my entire life.  

Third, I’ve been finishing up my Grief Educator certification, working full-time, and planning LiveLikeLibby’s first big event — a basket bingo fundraiser. All of which are keeping me busy.

And lastly – what I’m focusing on in this blog post – my mom is on her third week in the hospital following her surgery to remove a pancreatic tumor.  It has been an insane ride of ups and downs, and it’s been pretty terrible.  One day we’re told to prepare ourselves for her not to make it more than a few days, and the next she miraculously rallies and they’re talking about rehab hospitals.   Taking turns with my brother, I’ve been driving back and forth an hour and 40 minutes each way after working a full day of teaching because she doesn’t like to be alone in her hospital room.  

My mom was diagnosed a year ago with pancreatic cancer and her tumor was wrapped around a large artery.  This whole past year, while I was grieving Libby, my mom was also going through endless chemotherapy and radiation treatments.  She was convinced that she needed surgery to try to remove the tumor.  I was the one who sat with her through visit after visit to different hospitals, each of them saying she was too weak and had too many underlying conditions that they didn’t feel comfortable performing the surgery, until we found a doctor at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore willing to give it a try. 

She jumped on that chance despite the risks, and the surgery itself actually went remarkably well.

And then things went downhill.  Because of her lifetime smoking habit, her COPD and emphysema wouldn’t allow enough air into her lungs, requiring her to be on continuous high-flow oxygen.  She became too weak to walk on her own, eat solid food, or do any of the things that promote healthy healing after a major surgery.  

It’s been three weeks since that surgery, and she is still in the hospital.  Three weeks of her hooked up to tubes that are keeping her alive, alternating between sleeping, crying out in pain, saying she doesn’t want to die, asking for help, and hallucinating.  

But sometimes, she’s totally coherent, and it’s my mom looking back at me.  Sometimes she’s laughing and joking, pretending a suction tube is a wand from Harry Potter and casting fake spells.  Other times, she’s scared and crying because she knows things aren’t going well.

 It’s a new kind of grief for me.  My sister, my dad, my stepmom, Libby – they were all sudden.  All of those people whom I loved  were ripped away from me unexpectedly.  I never saw them suffer.  I can only imagine what they went through in their last moments, but I don’t know for sure.

With my mom, I know.  I’m watching her death happen in real-time.   

This is anticipatory grief.  

At its core, anticipatory grief is caused by the knowledge of an impending loss. This can be the death of a family member or friend, or the loss of a job, home, or other valuable possession. The knowledge of the impending loss can cause a range of emotions, such as:

Sadness (Omg, my mom is dying.  I’m going to be an orphan.)

Anger (Why wouldn’t she quit smoking so much even though we begged her to from the time we were little?)

Guilt (Did I do enough to care for her this past year? Am I a horrible person that I’m looking forward to not having to spend my evenings at the hospital?)

Fear (Am I going to get cancer too?  Who’s next?)

Resentment (I told her this surgery was dangerous.  Why does she insist that someone visits her EVERY DAY?)

These emotions can be heightened by the uncertainty of the future and the feeling of helplessness in the face of an unavoidable loss.  The effects of anticipatory grief can be far-reaching. It can lead to depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues. It can also lead to physical health problems such as insomnia, headaches, and stomach issues.  

For me, it’s exacerbating the already overwhelming emotions that I’ve felt for the past year. 

My mom and I have a complicated relationship.  I didn’t rely on her for anything – I was one of five kids and I was always pretty self-sufficient and motivated.  As I turned into an adult, she never babysat my kids for me, she didn’t attend many of the large events in my or my kids’ lives because she wouldn’t be in the same location as my dad.  She worked long hours at a job she loved, insisted on her home being spotless, and, by her own admission, didn’t have the time or energy left over to be an involved mom or grandmother.  

But even though I don’t feel the “Oh-my-god-what-am-I-going-to-do-now-that-she’s-gone?” kind of sadness that people who speak to their moms every day might feel in my place – she’s still my mom.  It’s extremely difficult to watch her deteriorating in front of my eyes.  It’s gut-wrenching knowing that the only thing she wants to do is go home, and also knowing that I can’t give her that.  It’s so, so, awful listening to her ask me for help, and telling me she’s in pain, and hearing her say she doesn’t want to die.  

And her loss also leaves me with even more holes in my own future – what will I do for Christmas Eve now that she’s gone?  What am I going to do with all of my extra time now that I’m no longer helping her with things? How is it going to feel watching the house that I spent my entire childhood in - literally the most important thing in the world to my mom - being sold?  

My mom’s infamous Christmas Eve party — she’s had it every year for over 45 years. This was Libby’s last one, just a few weeks before she died. 💔

It’s a very, very, weird mix of emotions that I’m feeling.  And coupled with the other thoughts running through my brain, I’m just sort of on overload.  And tired.  Crazy, crazy, tired.  

So again, forgive me if I’m not as active as usual in the Grieving Mommy sphere – Hopefully the large waves will start to smooth out soon and I’ll feel a little more calm and have a little more direction.  I could use a break from all of these large life events.  ❤️