Grief and Loss and Exhaustion -

One of my strengths is helping others as they deal with tough times; I do this full-time at the hospital as a chaplain, and then I spend typically 3 hours, 4 days a week, counseling others as they deal with life changes and the emotions that come with change, including grief. 

Ten days ago, a patient of mine for the past 4 years passed away after a terrible journey of cancer. She walked this path more graciously than many others who've had similar cancers. And she did not lose to cancer. And she did not fight cancer. She lived every moment she could; existing was not an option. Her husband helped her live, and while there was a touch of denial that living includes dying, they were incredible support to each other. 

Sadly, my patient hid her cancer from her daughter until just a few months ago. While parents had a chance to grieve and question and explore all the options, daughter was broad-sided, and was angry, and lost, and afraid, and grieved the not-knowing as well as the things-not-said that now would need to be said in a rush. And her grief, and then her parents grief at not sharing earlier, was so thick and heavy and dark. There was lots of reconciliation, yet their sorrow is a burden. 

Another patient and his wife and their family have been holding their breath and breathing, in tandem, as they try to live every day to its fullest, realizing it may be their last day. And now, ten years since diagnosis, that "last day" is coming quickly, and yet so very slowly. "Stop the hurt" is now their cry, "even if it means for him to go." I can't bear watching him," "I can't handle another hospitalization," and they are exhausted with their grief and the loss that's been a part of their lives for so long. 

And a beautiful athletic friend, with a young family, whose cancer is gone, cured, yet she is left with so many remnants, including slurred speech and unsteady hands and gait. And she grieves the loss of herself while also trying to figure out who she is now, as she continues to change, and accept, moment by moment. 

A friend I haven't spoken to in probably 5 years called, out of the blue, to share the news of the death of our friend two weeks ago, who I haven't seen in nearly 20 years - I'm grieving the lost friendship, grieving the days when our children played like siblings, and we lived like there was no tomorrow, in innocence and joy because we had hurt, we had lost, and we knew that what we had, for the moment, was spectacular and the gloriousness could change on a dime. And it did. And I'm sad that we didn't stay in touch, and I'm sad I couldn't help her in her last days, dying of breast cancer. 

Grief for the family whose father passed away 3 months ago, who have only a small template of what life forward looks like without husband, father, friend. And advice coming out of many mouths of what they could and should be doing, including feeling blessed, when all they want is to feel the loss, to linger in the spaces where his scent lingers. While also thinking about life going forward. 

I'm grateful for the times I've been able to grieve - and they've been plentiful, and there are plenty of losses that are recent, plenty of sores that I think are healed, until a friend, patient, client hurt, and my losses rise to the surface as I grieve with them, for them, for me.