Anticipatory Grief

Just in the last few days I've heard several people speak of anticipatory grief--the description of what people experience as they wait to lose someone. Dave's been on hospice for the last six months. Anticipatory grief fits.

We discovered in January that residual brain tumor tissue from Dave’s previous surgeries had grown, and rather rapidly. 

When the neurologist gave us the news of where the tumor was, next to the brain stem, he said "What on God's green earth are we going to do about it?" He suggested palliative care then hospice for comfort care. When pressed he said it would be months, not years.

Dave's first brain tumor occurred when he was 17. It was a life-changing event. He went from all-star athlete with full-ride scholarship offers to having to learn how to walk and talk again.

Dave’s always pressed on no matter what’s been thrown at him. Five brain and two spinal surgeries to remove meningiomas, rounds of radiation treatments, and spinal nerve damage that left him with debilitating pain for the last four years. If that wasn’t enough, a year ago he underwent what is called The Mother of All Surgeries to treat peritoneal mesothelioma. The procedure involves removing the lining from all the internal organs, pouring in heated chemo, and rocking the body back and forth to kill off any remaining malignant cells. Dave's suffered through more atrocities than one should have to endure. 

For the first time, Dave admitted he was tired. Enough is enough.

Thankfully, Dave isn't in a lot of pain and still has his dry wit. His balance and vision are progressively getting worse. He experiences extreme fatigue and naps through most of the day. His face is puffy from months of being on oral steroids to reduce swelling.

A happy benefit of the steroids is the pain that has sidelined him for the last four years has been reduced to "almost nothing" (probably something for the rest of us, but Dave's pain tolerance is that of a super hero's). He can now go on occasional drives with me, something we haven't been able to do together for a long time.

The steroids have also dramatically increased his appetite. Dave grazes throughout the day. I stock the pantry with the snacks he craves--Vanilla Wafers, Twizzlers, Lorna Doone's and Cheez Its. He's never been much of a drinker, but now he looks forward to Beer-Thirty every afternoon with one of his favorite craft beers. Dave says he doesn't give a rip about the weight gain. Can't blame him there. The trade off is good for not having to endure relentless pain. He said he'd like a t-shirt that reads "Steroids and Carbs Make Me Happy." Our friend, Sandy, had one made. Got it yesterday in the mail.

It's actually been a great summer. Our kids and grandchildren have been coming over for family dinners. Our little posse of friends show up and hang out with us regularly. We've reconnected with friends from years ago when we lived in California. Dave and I enjoy just the simple pleasures of drinking coffee on the deck, watching the antics of the hummingbirds at the feeders, listening to worship music, and recounting all the ups and downs we've had through the years. It's a season in our lives where we're not in a rush to be somewhere else. We can just sit and be. It's glorious really. 

Sometimes we need a break from each other. I hole up in my art room to paint. Dave's good buddy, Mark, comes to hang out with Dave on Thursday nights while I go to a support group. Every day I try to go on a walk or a bike ride.

There are cool perks with receiving hospice care. Weekly Dave gets either a massage or reflexology treatment. Caregivers get in on the reflexology treatments too (which is essentially an amazing foot massage). The reflexologist's name is Julie. When my treatment is done, Julie leaves me paralyzed in the recliner to mark the date she will be back on the fridge calendar. Then she quietly tip toes off. Bless her.

Moments of grief sneak up on us--Dave for what he has lost in this life. Me for what life will be like without my rock, the one who listens to me wail and then talks me off the emotional cliff I sometimes find myself.

Anticipatory grief, yes. But there is also the excited anticipation of what Dave will experience--whether it be weeks, months or a year from now. I imagine the voices of billions upon billions of believers throughout the generations joining with all creation to worship the amazing God of the universe. Sometimes I'm a little envious Dave will almost certainly beat me there. 

I've watched this video countless times since Pastor Ty shared it with us on one of his visits. I've shared it too with a number of friends. What awaits is beyond our comprehension. Anticipatory JOY!