Exhaustion hit hardest when I was finally forced to slow down. I retreated to the couch of the hospice waiting room, without a second thought as to who would see me lying there or what they might think. In the meantime, YaYa did his cursive homework and BoBo was in his group session. I succumbed to the silent screams of pain.
I knew that I was not alone in my suffering. On the outside, the hospice waiting room seems peaceful but, when you get quiet enough, you can hear the cries of sorrow of those seeking relief from the ongoing ache. I closed my eyes, listened, and let the thoughts come and go. I took deep breaths and let a little of the loneliness release. Then, I began to pray for my children, for myself, and for the many who are suffering a similar pain.
As I lie there, I could hear the janitor as he pushed past me with his cart of cleaning supplies. He slowed with curiosity, wondering what my story was. Why was I lying there, in the waiting room of a local hospice? Then it hit him. I could hear his cart speed up as the realization finally hit him. It was grief.
Grief is a pain that people both recognize and fear. They can deny it, but it sits beneath their noses where ever they go. It is all around us. You can even hear it if you listen. To acknowledge it, is to know that there is no immunity to losing someone that you love. That is a horrifying discovery.
• What do you do when you realize that you are not immune?
• Does that mean that you should spend more time with those who you love?
• Does it mean that you could give up a day out with the guys (or girls) to spend a little more time together?
• Perhaps, it means that you actually work 40-50 hours per week, instead of 60-80 hours.
• Perhaps it means that now is the time to take that family vacation.
• Maybe, it just means that you put your affairs in order – just in case.
The questions, or regrets, were floating in the air around me from people, just like myself, who thought it would never happen to them. Although the janitor was gone in a flash, I wondered was aware of the questions too.
I’m not advising you to live your in fear; no one will benefit from that. I’m just saying that there are no guarantees, so be sure that you have no regrets.
Juls,
I think if you listen, you will discover their are many kinds of grief. There is the grief of permanent loss that you are dealing with, there is the grief of betrayal and divorce, of lives that are on the wrong path, of many things. Some grief comes with hope – hope that a life will straighten out, that a love will come back. Some grief comes with no relief – a child in jail, a death, a final divorce. The thing is…you have to risk it to full live. Exactly as you said, living in fear won’t help, hiding from the possibility of grief won’t help, but full embracing life, preparing for the inevitable loss and sorrow – that makes life lived all the sweeter. Again, thanks for a thought provoking post.
Michelle,
I’ve written my response to your comment too many times. I’ll just say that I agree and leave it at that.
8 years ago as one of my friends fought a losing battle with cancer, I struggled not to be overwhelmed by it. I savoured my health and life freedoms more – I started running and even scuba dived in Mexico. I consciously worked to keep our friendship as normal as it ever was, because it was already good. I miss her, but remembering her life reminds me to live my the best way I can.
Shortly after Tom died, I received an email from a mutual friend. She apologized for not contacting me sooner. She said that Tom’s death had hit her hard and that it made her decide not to delay a trip to Europe any longer. At the time, I did not appreciate the statement but rather selfishly thought “Good for you. What about me?” I now get what she was saying (as I knew that I would someday).