Photo of my beautiful late Grandma Anne & my still living, but chronically ill Uncle. Photo by Unknown Family Member.
There will PROBABLY be a Part Two of this essay, because I've much active and anticipatory grief to process. Everyone who knows me at all knows I am a verbal processor.
Today's quote:
"People talk about grief as if it's kind of an unremittingly awful thing, and it is. It is painful, but it's a very, very interesting sort of thing to go through, and it really helps you out. At the end of the day, it gets you through because you have to reform your relationship, and you have to figure out a way of getting to the future."
~Kay Redfield Jamison
For me , the worst part about grieving my Grandmother is that I never got any closure-- due to travel restrictions during last year's first COVID wave. Vaccines were not yet available , and with a spouse who is still undergoing cancer treatment, a plane trip to Pittsburgh wasn't happening. We all knew that cancer would end Grandma's Earthly life, but we did not have any clear timetable. When Hospice took over, my family who lives in Pennsylvania got to visit Grandma in her home and share sweet, sacred time with her. The 8 McCarrens who live in the Southern United States had no such chance to sit by Grandma's bedside. Besides, since Grandma's career had been as an Emergency Room nurse, we knew she would not approve of us risking a deadly virus to come see her. I sent her photos of Brian and me, and our niece and nephew { when we saw them} on occasion, since Grandma refused to learn to use the internet She and I also exchanged weekly phone calls, until she was too weak to talk on the phone.
Grandma died in December, and it was still too risky for a crowded flight to Butler, Pennsylvania for her funeral Mass. We are grateful to a tech-savvy cousin who " Zoomed" the funeral Mass and burial for those of us in Florida and Georgia.
But to be honest, the Zoom did not offer me any sort of closing. It isn't my cousin's fault-- the church where Grandma had worshipped her entire adult life is not equipped for live-streaming. But we are grateful that at least we could see & hear the Mass.
Another grief that I am experiencing is apparently called " anticipatory grief". This is a grief that some people feel when a loved on is terminally ill. A dear friend of mine-- a woman I've known for over 20 years & who has played a big part in my development as a Christian-- is very ill. I vistied her a few days ago and the physical decline was marked { She's still beautiful, but she looks 20 years older than her actual age} To protect her privacy I cannot give out too many details, but I can say the visit was bittersweet. My visit { masked and a safe distance from her} brought her joy and did my heart some good to at least see her in-person. When I left { no hugs, as I don't want to be an unknowing carrier} I did not say " goodbye". To me, saying that word in this context during a pandemic was too loaded. Instead I told her : " I love you. I'll be in touch, okay?" She answered: "I love you, too. "
I know for a fact that I won't see Grandma this side of Eternity, and for that loss I am grieving. But not knowing if I will see my friend in person again carries with it a special , heavier grief. As with our in-person visit, I am allowing my friend to set the tone of our interactions. There are a few things on my heart that I'd like to resolve with her, but am being mindful that this is her time and I don't want her burden her with my own shit.
Grief after someone dies is hard , even harder right now.
Being present { not always in-person, but present nonetheless} for my ill friend and her family is harder. This is completely uncharted deep waters for me, and my main concern is not causing my friend stress. She and I have many fun, joy-full memories to discuss together , and she enjoys snapshots of my current life { such as my paintings, kayaking trips, ect. }
Its a tough, tiring road.
People, if you have not , PLEASE get the vaccine-- and wear masks until we get these case numbers under control. Love requires sacrifice, and I am learning that by reflecting on my experience sitting with my sick friend. She didn't see my smile, but she knew it was there.
Stay safe and well, friends....
~Sarah McCarren
13 August 2021
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