Revelations and resolutions about living life with grief

Grief is a really weird thing. I can talk about Chip to a handyman at the house about how he passed away, but then break into tears when I pass a woman at the gym talking to a group of friends and overhear her say “Oh, yah, my husband said the same thing.” I can hear someone talk about their spouse on a training for fiduciaries, and then feel the tears well up when the instructor in my workout class uses the word “spouse” when she tells the group to “Stay in the moment...don’t think about the past or the future...don’t worry about the stress with your spouse, your job or your children.” I can look at Chip’s Gatorade on his nightstand and cry, but can look at his blue puffy jacket that he wore all spring, that has been hanging untouched on the hook next to mine in the foyer, and not feel much sadness at all. I can organize his record albums on new shelves I bought to house them (they were the last items still sitting in moving boxes since April 2018 when we bought the house), but then break down completely when opening his guitar case and seeing the crushed red velvet of its interior.

To manage “inopportune” moments of grief while living my life, my grief counselor Cheryl encouraged me last Tuesday in our phone session to set aside an hour each day to look through pictures, think about memories and let the feelings of grief flow unfettered. Or, she said, if an hour a day seems undoable with work, kids and the business of life, she suggested setting aside an hour every couple days or at least once a week. She told me that if I don’t grieve properly, the grief can come back to bite me in the “behind” when I least expect it. I agreed with her that the moments of grief do come at unexpected and, often, inopportune times (e.g., at the gym, several minutes before I am to provide telepractice to a client, in the grocery store, etc.) and that grieving at home on my “schedule” would serve me better. I am grateful for her and her wise advice as well as for her reminder during our recent session that Chip has only been gone 16 weeks. She said that saying “it’s been 4 months” sounds longer than when we say “it’s only been 16 weeks.” She reminded me that because 16 weeks is a very short time, I need to cut myself a break in my grieving process.

She’s right, of course, but it’s easier said than done for someone like me who prides herself on being a problem solver who is working on tomorrow's problems today so they don't become bigger problems. Similar to Chip, I am a firm believer in there being a solution to every problem, including world peace and gigantic problems in our own country like intergenerational poverty and failing schools. Throughout my life, I have always taken action and worked relentlessly to solve problems, no matter how big or small. The biggest problem for me, which is causing me some angst, is that grief is not really “solveable,” no matter how much research, writing, pretending, confronting or dealing with it that I do. I’m slowly realizing that the response (not the solution) to grieving Chip's loss is simply to manage the grief since it’s never, ever going to go away.

In an effort to designate time to grieve more frequently and deliberately, rather than storing it up and having it explode at not-so-great times, I will begin participating in two grief support groups this month. One, which begins today, is provided by the funeral home where we had Chip cremated. The other group is provided by the hospital where he died. I had participated in a caregiver support group associated with this hospital while he was alive and found it to be very helpful for dealing with the stress and trauma of watching Chip be so sick and watching him struggle. The group gave me the chance to listen to and share with others who were also going through the frustration, fear, and hope associated with caring for a loved one with cancer.

That same hospital offered groups for those living with cancer, and Chip tried one of the support groups. He didn’t find it terribly helpful since most of the people in the group had just been diagnosed with cancer (either with Stage 2 cancer or with a cancer that was “cureable” or easily put into remission, unlike pancreatic cancer) or their cancer was already solidly in remission. When Chip began losing hope and wondering what his future held sometime around mid-February of this year, he voiced that he didn’t want to try a support group again. Sensing that he was giving up hope since his path was different than those in the group he had tried on for size previously, I suggested he talk to a professional one-on-one. He immediately called Sibley Hospital, where he received his chemo treatments, to ask for a recommendation, and began seeing Michelle Bronzino soon after.

As it turns out, Michelle is the licensed professional counselor who will be running the hospital-associated grief support group that I will be attending beginning on October 14th. Due to the large number of people registering for the "Good Grief Series," the group was divided into two smaller groups. One group will now be for those who have lost a child or other loved one, and the other group will be for those who have lost a spouse/partner. Last week, after I confirmed my interest in participating in the group, Michelle sent me the following email:

“Hi Cindi—Thanks so much for letting me know. Can you confirm that you received the materials that were sent in the mail to you?

I so look forward to meeting the woman that I heard so much about from Chip in our time together. I know he really adored you. I think about Chip a lot—he was really a very special man.

See you soon,

Michelle”

After reading her email, grief and sadness came back to bite me in the “behind” big-time, and I accepted more fully that I had work to do in order to deal with my grief. I know that the deep grief reflects the deep love I had for Chip, but I surely cannot break into tears after reading kind words in an email or get choked up at a public event when words like “love,” “bravery,” and “freedom” are used (concepts that Chip and I valued so much and that bound us together deeply). I have to keep seeking a solution to the moments of grief that hit me at inopportune moments in order to do my job, raise my children and live my life with joy and acceptance of the fact that when it comes to death and evil diseases like cancer, life just isn’t fair.

I will try to take Cheryl’s advice to find a time every day or every week to look at photos, to feel the fabric of his shirts hanging in his closet, to smell his cologne (still sitting where he left it in the bathroom off the family room) and to think about his legacy and so much more. In those moments of grieving when it is an “opportune” time to grieve (that feels weird to say that...but I’ll give it a whirl), I will let the tears flow. I will allow them to be what they are in those controlled moments so that I can successfully do what I recently have resolved to do: to live life fully for both myself and Chip, to fulfill his legacy and honor his wishes, and to achieve his dreams that were dashed when his life was cut far, far, far too short.

Living life, surrounded by plant life, at Longwood Gardens, 08/10/2019