It is perhaps the only silver lining of the long goodbye of dementia--our grief has a long time to settle in, and sometimes it can cushion the blow of death when it comes.
Hi Amy, Thank you - a deeply reflective piece in a poignant time for you. Thanks for sharing. I always take my time to read your reflections and comments from everyone.
I read your article yesterday and sat alongside it for a little while.
I think, for me, my grief around Dad (caregiving through palliative care from 2015 to 2019 and end-of-life symptoms from 2019 to 2020) is too messy to be definable as anticipatory grief. There are elements of absolute relief and release for him AND us. Peaceful for him, and perhaps for my mother but less so, for me.
There were too many traumatic events, falls, blue-light trips to ER, last gasp and a swift pivot to Mum's cancer surgeries & treatment. I think I was numb with sudden 'event' bursts of grief from 2019 until last year. Having to lead us through traumatic events may have robbed me of the anticipatory grief you describe. There was no gentle embrace in the pivot.
Dad's vascular dementia still allowed him many moments of absolute clarity, and in that, the disintegration of his spirit tore me so I empathise and can imagine how anticipatory grief could feel.
As many of your readers have said, we each walk our different paths with grief, mine is quite messy! I count my blessings and have deep gratitude that the days are much easier now.
Victoria, thank you for sharing your experience so vulnerably. How hard that sounds, very messy indeed and so I can see how your grief took its own trajectory given all the medical emergencies with your parents you were dealing with all at once! Sometimes when we are so busy as caregivers simply coping with our loved ones' care, there isn't the time to sit with our own feelings. Your caring loving work to lead your parents through traumatic events may have robbed you of the anticipatory grief but then again, it may have been there all along, just working subtly inside you, preparing you so that your spirit could rise again after your father's death so you could be there for your mom. Sending you a great big virtual hug for all the love you showered not only on your parents but your community of carers that you mentor so generously and tenderly--including me.
Thank you, Amy. As always, I really appreciate your warmth, kindness and soulful words. Aw, yes, I had no time to feel anything - numb and desensitised like an over-tapped nerve.
I don't think there was a resurgence, but I appreciate your lovely hypothesis - I rolled my rollercoaster cart straight onto a new track and held it together with brute strength and resolve. Thankfully, the tools, practices and my chosen-friends-family helped keep the cart on the rails, and moving, without completely falling apart! I've SO many blessings and deep gratitude. Now, I remain vigilant to allow whatever 'grief' happens, to happen without trying to control it because mine erupts unpredictably!
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share this.
From the time we become mature adults we know our parents will one day die - sometimes unexpectedly soon and sometimes much later but it always comes. I love the phrase "anticipatory grief". We Adults in our full adult years don't spend a lot of time dwelling in this anticipation of something we know will come 'one day'. Not until that day comes and we are forced to face what we long tried to put aside. All your essays of your mom's last years, Amy, bring back memories of my mom's last year, when she no longer could walk and was confined to either her bed or her electric wheelchair, neither of which she could transfer to without help. And especially, I remember her final month, as her kidneys shut down, slowly bringing her suffering to an end. After she took her last breath, I felt no grief. All my grief had expended itself in that final month prior to her passing. And instead a sort of gladness overwhelmed me, knowing that her pain was over and I could continue on, carrying memories of her with me.
Thank you Hilarie! I know you've walked this same path and it does help prepare us, as we witness the final weeks/months, when we know the end is near. It gives me comfort to know that you, too, felt your grief "had expended itself in that final month prior to her passing." Thanks for phrasing it so eloquently. And yes, there is relief for us and a kind of gladness, that they are out of their pain.
When we have that time to grieve a loss of life when our loved one is still living it does help us to move on quicker. People don't seem to understand that unless they have been through it.
My mother-in-law died from cancer and was mentally with it until the end. She was the strongest person I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know.
But unlike my MIL who was cognitively with it, my mom has dementia creeping in. It's heart breaking and leads to a slow death. And it is preparing me for what is to come.
Karen, thank you for sharing from your heart and that you have also experienced this anticipatory grief. As tragic as it must have been to lose your mother in law to cancer, the opportunity to speak to and hear from the dying loved ones when they are fully mentally present, is a very different kind of loss than the dementia. I am sorry you are seeing that with your mom. The dementia appears differently for every individual, it seems. My mother always knew who we were, her loved ones. Her conversations were fairly cogent, although she had little energy for them at the end. She got confused, and couldn't remember things, but she was always so very glad to see me and my sister, her loved ones. I am grateful that her sweet nature remained intact until the end.
Amy - this is such a beautiful essay. Your words always land right on my heart.
I’ve been thinking so much lately about grief - the myriad of ways and reasons we dance with it. I’ve noticed that it’s often a solo dance though. We’re conditioned to tuck our grief away lest we become “too much” or a self-perceived burden. Your words here feel like an invitation to join a dance. Open up the floor to more participants. Thank you 🙏🏼
These words you wrote are going to help so many (comments show they already have).
For me, I’m holding anticipatory grief right now. I’m watching my marriage whittle away and I’m not sure it’s salvageable. And oddly, I feel at peace with it.
Allison, thank you for describing this so beautifully, the dance of grief, and all the ways we can anticipate grief. So yes, I intended what I wrote as an invitation to connect with what I've shared and I'm glad it's been received that way. I can feel for your grief around your marriage and I witness that, the pain and anguish around an unraveling marriage. That you feel at peace with it is certainly something to sit with--another invitation, perhaps?
I am going through dementia grief now with my dad. With every new cognitive loss that I notice.
Last year I was a puddle of tears for different milestones. The cup of water intended for the microwave, placed in the toaster oven. Not knowing how to speak into the remote control. A response that did not go with the questions asked.
The cognitive decline seems to be slowing. Or maybe, I just don't notice as much now. I certainly don't feel the deep grief I felt my first year. The losses are already less heart wrenching.
I dare say, death may be relief. My dad would never want to live like this, yet he seems gleeful.
This is so beautifully observed, Nkeka, as a loving daughter, and yes, all these small losses do either make us a puddle of tears or at other times, in grim acceptance of the disease. That your dad is gleeful is a good sign, I’d say. It is us caregivers who feel these losses most deeply as the disease often spares our loved ones from really understanding what is happening.
It's ironic to me that my dad deeply desired to live in the moment. He was an avid meditator and steadfastly practiced being present long before Eckhart Tolle penned The Power of Now.
So, here I am, reading this newsletter with interest, as I have had several people assure me anticipatory grief will NOT make things easier. I am glad to hear you think otherwise, and your experience has born this out.
Anne, I think as you can see from all these comments here, that I am not alone in finding this grace and resilience in anticipatory grief. We all need to find our own path through grief and I can see how thoughtfully you are doing so, by writing so bravely about your husband.
Perhaps I’ve said it before but I always felt that losing a loved one to dementia is like losing them twice, once to the disease and once again in death. I lost my mother nearly thirty years ago to cancer. The feelings were similar. We both knew the end was coming. It took four years and I steeled my heart every day knowing what was coming. So I didn’t cry or grieve openly. Like you, I was prepared. But grief comes at odd moments. Little unexpected jolts and reminders. I think of my mother nearly every day and started to collect little memories about her. Those little memories turned into a book that I’ve printed for my children. I think she would’ve loved that, knowing there was some permanence to her existence here on earth.
Sallie, thank you so much for sharing this here. I remember how you suffered through your mom's years with cancer, how you grieved, how close you were. And yes, the grief does come at odd moments, doesn't it? Just the other day I came across one of my mom's handwritten recipe cards and my heart did a little flip, remembering how she used to make that dish for us. I just love how you collected these memories into a book for your children (which they can in turn share with their children). How beautifully you put it: "knowing there was some permanence to her existence here on earth." You inspire me to do the same!
Hi Amy, we met at this years Hawaii retreat with Michelle. Thank you for giving my feelings a name, anticipatory grief. Since the retreat where I was frustrated that my husband was not doing what he should to prolong his life while I was putting in the time, effort and sacrifice to do what I could to take care of him. Michelle said to me at the retreat "he wants to die". With that I have backed off so much effort for him to live. I have been grateful for the time we have together and I now know it is enough.
I have had these feelings and now I have a name, anticipatory grief. I am preparing myself when he is no longer here. I am starting to make plans without him and I'm ok with that. This is all a preparation for when he is gone. Maybe I need this time to prepare. Either way, thank you Amy for teaching me this day.
Oh Janet, I am so glad you shared your beautiful heart here. That is a tremendously difficult journey you have been on with your husband. I remember you sharing about it on our retreat. I am glad you have the peace to be in the present moment with him, to know it is enough. I can only imagine the inner work it took to get there. I am glad that sharing my experience of anticipatory grief could help you understand your own feelings better. This is what I most love about the writing I do here--connection with others. So thank you, for sharing, so vulnerably.
I am so sorry for the loss of your mother; your love for her (and her for you) is so evident in every word of this. Your words have me a little undone this morning, as I suddenly see I am wading through three different kinds of anticipatory grief right now. OK, a lot undone. But thank you. I knew, but I didn't *know* know. You sharing your grief is a generous gift.
Thank you Rita for sharing with me today that we have this connection over anticipatory grief which can show itself in so many ways at various points of our lives. We are certainly not alone in that experience, and there is comfort in that knowledge, isn't there?
I lost my beloved middle sister (I'm the youngest of three) to corticobasal degeneration in early June. Like you with your dear mother, I had been grieving her in stages for seven years. And yes, I was devastated the day she died — but in the aftermath, I too find that much of the work of grieving has already been done. It is a strange kind of grace.
Jan, thank you for sharing something so tender and sad, the loss of a sibling is a terrible thing--as is any loss of a loved one, I know, but a sibling...a special kind of pain, I am sure. I haven't experienced that yet so sending you a virtual hug. And the way you put this experience of slow grief, "a strange kind of grace," is so apt. Thank you for sharing.
Oh Amy, this brought tears to my eyes. You have such a way with words. Even that seems insufficient in describing what I mean. A true gift, my soul sister. I thank you for this. In just a few days, it will be one year since I lost my own mother and these last few weeks have been a slow building up of fresh new grief and a remembering of what her last few weeks were like. It’s heavy and sweet and heartbreaking and love, all rolled up.
Your letter from Love and Mom is something I will turn to over the next week to keep me steady and remind me of the truth. XO
Thank you, Deb, for sharing from your heart. The one year anniversary of a mother's death, I can imagine how hard that is, and I can also imagine the waves of grief that will come and go for me as well as time marches on, as it does. My mother lived her 87 years well, and I know she would want the same for me, as I am sure your mom wanted for you and your siblings. Knowing that doesn't completely take away the pain of the loss but I find it comforting, knowing how happy she'd be that I am moving on. "No guilt," she would say. "You go and live your life, Amy." And how happy it makes me that the letter from Love and Mom will help steady you. I firmly believe we all have these wise voices of love inside us, ever ready to steady us.
So much Love to you and your Mother, Amy. Kristin conveys so wisely the infinite faces and dances of grief. The letting go while hanging on so tightly is painful and raw. And so many of us want to get it right as if it’s part of life school curriculum and we are being graded!
Dear friend, tender with your own heart. ♥️ all emotions welcome.
Thank you for this wise and beautiful comment, Constellations. "The infinite faces and dances of grief," so beautifully described. And yes, how often we "grade" ourselves unnecessarily on life's curriculum. Love always gives us an A+, doesn't she?
Thank you for sharing. It pushed me to think about our years with my father-in-law and that slow process of separation. And it helps me think of the way I am processing the slow letting go of my sister. We can seem uncaring at times. But it is as you have written. We are grieving in a different way. 🙏🙏🙏❤️❤️🙏
Thank you Etta, for sharing your own experiences with grief. All the ways we grieve are perfectly okay, I have now come to know, and that is such a comfort. I think anyone who has ever grieved can understand that it won't look the same for any of us--but we don't often talk about it. I am so glad we are talking about it here.
First, I hear your journey & thank you for unpacking anticipatory grief.
Second, dear friend & to all your readers, to reiterate, and for anyone grieving:
there are as many ways and timeframes to grieve as there are people. There's no 'right' way or wrong way. There are millions of personal ways. ♡
Oh what a beautiful loving path you are sharing. A gorgeous love letter from you & your mom's teachings. Thank you! Thank you!
Some of us are also relieved when someone dies because then they are, and by extension, sometimes we are finally at peace. That was my experience with my dad.
What a wise and gracious and heartfelt response, Kristin. You are so right about not any single way to grieve "correctly." Whatever we feel in response to the loss of someone in our lives is okay. Perfectly okay. Our feelings are never wrong. They are simply what they are. We cause ourselves unnecessary anguish when we try to impose on ourselves a way to grieve that doesn't feel natural to us, that makes us question our own journey. I am learning that, and it is a beautiful lesson.
Hi Amy, Thank you - a deeply reflective piece in a poignant time for you. Thanks for sharing. I always take my time to read your reflections and comments from everyone.
I read your article yesterday and sat alongside it for a little while.
I think, for me, my grief around Dad (caregiving through palliative care from 2015 to 2019 and end-of-life symptoms from 2019 to 2020) is too messy to be definable as anticipatory grief. There are elements of absolute relief and release for him AND us. Peaceful for him, and perhaps for my mother but less so, for me.
There were too many traumatic events, falls, blue-light trips to ER, last gasp and a swift pivot to Mum's cancer surgeries & treatment. I think I was numb with sudden 'event' bursts of grief from 2019 until last year. Having to lead us through traumatic events may have robbed me of the anticipatory grief you describe. There was no gentle embrace in the pivot.
Dad's vascular dementia still allowed him many moments of absolute clarity, and in that, the disintegration of his spirit tore me so I empathise and can imagine how anticipatory grief could feel.
As many of your readers have said, we each walk our different paths with grief, mine is quite messy! I count my blessings and have deep gratitude that the days are much easier now.
Victoria, thank you for sharing your experience so vulnerably. How hard that sounds, very messy indeed and so I can see how your grief took its own trajectory given all the medical emergencies with your parents you were dealing with all at once! Sometimes when we are so busy as caregivers simply coping with our loved ones' care, there isn't the time to sit with our own feelings. Your caring loving work to lead your parents through traumatic events may have robbed you of the anticipatory grief but then again, it may have been there all along, just working subtly inside you, preparing you so that your spirit could rise again after your father's death so you could be there for your mom. Sending you a great big virtual hug for all the love you showered not only on your parents but your community of carers that you mentor so generously and tenderly--including me.
Thank you, Amy. As always, I really appreciate your warmth, kindness and soulful words. Aw, yes, I had no time to feel anything - numb and desensitised like an over-tapped nerve.
I don't think there was a resurgence, but I appreciate your lovely hypothesis - I rolled my rollercoaster cart straight onto a new track and held it together with brute strength and resolve. Thankfully, the tools, practices and my chosen-friends-family helped keep the cart on the rails, and moving, without completely falling apart! I've SO many blessings and deep gratitude. Now, I remain vigilant to allow whatever 'grief' happens, to happen without trying to control it because mine erupts unpredictably!
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share this.
Hi Amy
From the time we become mature adults we know our parents will one day die - sometimes unexpectedly soon and sometimes much later but it always comes. I love the phrase "anticipatory grief". We Adults in our full adult years don't spend a lot of time dwelling in this anticipation of something we know will come 'one day'. Not until that day comes and we are forced to face what we long tried to put aside. All your essays of your mom's last years, Amy, bring back memories of my mom's last year, when she no longer could walk and was confined to either her bed or her electric wheelchair, neither of which she could transfer to without help. And especially, I remember her final month, as her kidneys shut down, slowly bringing her suffering to an end. After she took her last breath, I felt no grief. All my grief had expended itself in that final month prior to her passing. And instead a sort of gladness overwhelmed me, knowing that her pain was over and I could continue on, carrying memories of her with me.
Hugs
Hilarie
Thank you Hilarie! I know you've walked this same path and it does help prepare us, as we witness the final weeks/months, when we know the end is near. It gives me comfort to know that you, too, felt your grief "had expended itself in that final month prior to her passing." Thanks for phrasing it so eloquently. And yes, there is relief for us and a kind of gladness, that they are out of their pain.
When we have that time to grieve a loss of life when our loved one is still living it does help us to move on quicker. People don't seem to understand that unless they have been through it.
My mother-in-law died from cancer and was mentally with it until the end. She was the strongest person I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know.
But unlike my MIL who was cognitively with it, my mom has dementia creeping in. It's heart breaking and leads to a slow death. And it is preparing me for what is to come.
Karen, thank you for sharing from your heart and that you have also experienced this anticipatory grief. As tragic as it must have been to lose your mother in law to cancer, the opportunity to speak to and hear from the dying loved ones when they are fully mentally present, is a very different kind of loss than the dementia. I am sorry you are seeing that with your mom. The dementia appears differently for every individual, it seems. My mother always knew who we were, her loved ones. Her conversations were fairly cogent, although she had little energy for them at the end. She got confused, and couldn't remember things, but she was always so very glad to see me and my sister, her loved ones. I am grateful that her sweet nature remained intact until the end.
Thanks for being a great resource for my struggles with my mother’s declining health.
Amy - this is such a beautiful essay. Your words always land right on my heart.
I’ve been thinking so much lately about grief - the myriad of ways and reasons we dance with it. I’ve noticed that it’s often a solo dance though. We’re conditioned to tuck our grief away lest we become “too much” or a self-perceived burden. Your words here feel like an invitation to join a dance. Open up the floor to more participants. Thank you 🙏🏼
These words you wrote are going to help so many (comments show they already have).
For me, I’m holding anticipatory grief right now. I’m watching my marriage whittle away and I’m not sure it’s salvageable. And oddly, I feel at peace with it.
Allison, thank you for describing this so beautifully, the dance of grief, and all the ways we can anticipate grief. So yes, I intended what I wrote as an invitation to connect with what I've shared and I'm glad it's been received that way. I can feel for your grief around your marriage and I witness that, the pain and anguish around an unraveling marriage. That you feel at peace with it is certainly something to sit with--another invitation, perhaps?
I am going through dementia grief now with my dad. With every new cognitive loss that I notice.
Last year I was a puddle of tears for different milestones. The cup of water intended for the microwave, placed in the toaster oven. Not knowing how to speak into the remote control. A response that did not go with the questions asked.
The cognitive decline seems to be slowing. Or maybe, I just don't notice as much now. I certainly don't feel the deep grief I felt my first year. The losses are already less heart wrenching.
I dare say, death may be relief. My dad would never want to live like this, yet he seems gleeful.
This is so beautifully observed, Nkeka, as a loving daughter, and yes, all these small losses do either make us a puddle of tears or at other times, in grim acceptance of the disease. That your dad is gleeful is a good sign, I’d say. It is us caregivers who feel these losses most deeply as the disease often spares our loved ones from really understanding what is happening.
It's ironic to me that my dad deeply desired to live in the moment. He was an avid meditator and steadfastly practiced being present long before Eckhart Tolle penned The Power of Now.
Now, he is completely in the moment.
My mom died with dementia in March. Good to hear from you.
My heartfelt condolences, Susie
Susie, I am so sorry about your Mom. We daughters of dementia know that particular grief. Sending you a big virtual hug. Glad you're here.
So, here I am, reading this newsletter with interest, as I have had several people assure me anticipatory grief will NOT make things easier. I am glad to hear you think otherwise, and your experience has born this out.
Anne, I think as you can see from all these comments here, that I am not alone in finding this grace and resilience in anticipatory grief. We all need to find our own path through grief and I can see how thoughtfully you are doing so, by writing so bravely about your husband.
Thank you.
Perhaps I’ve said it before but I always felt that losing a loved one to dementia is like losing them twice, once to the disease and once again in death. I lost my mother nearly thirty years ago to cancer. The feelings were similar. We both knew the end was coming. It took four years and I steeled my heart every day knowing what was coming. So I didn’t cry or grieve openly. Like you, I was prepared. But grief comes at odd moments. Little unexpected jolts and reminders. I think of my mother nearly every day and started to collect little memories about her. Those little memories turned into a book that I’ve printed for my children. I think she would’ve loved that, knowing there was some permanence to her existence here on earth.
Sallie, thank you so much for sharing this here. I remember how you suffered through your mom's years with cancer, how you grieved, how close you were. And yes, the grief does come at odd moments, doesn't it? Just the other day I came across one of my mom's handwritten recipe cards and my heart did a little flip, remembering how she used to make that dish for us. I just love how you collected these memories into a book for your children (which they can in turn share with their children). How beautifully you put it: "knowing there was some permanence to her existence here on earth." You inspire me to do the same!
Hi Amy, we met at this years Hawaii retreat with Michelle. Thank you for giving my feelings a name, anticipatory grief. Since the retreat where I was frustrated that my husband was not doing what he should to prolong his life while I was putting in the time, effort and sacrifice to do what I could to take care of him. Michelle said to me at the retreat "he wants to die". With that I have backed off so much effort for him to live. I have been grateful for the time we have together and I now know it is enough.
I have had these feelings and now I have a name, anticipatory grief. I am preparing myself when he is no longer here. I am starting to make plans without him and I'm ok with that. This is all a preparation for when he is gone. Maybe I need this time to prepare. Either way, thank you Amy for teaching me this day.
Oh Janet, I am so glad you shared your beautiful heart here. That is a tremendously difficult journey you have been on with your husband. I remember you sharing about it on our retreat. I am glad you have the peace to be in the present moment with him, to know it is enough. I can only imagine the inner work it took to get there. I am glad that sharing my experience of anticipatory grief could help you understand your own feelings better. This is what I most love about the writing I do here--connection with others. So thank you, for sharing, so vulnerably.
Amy,
I am so sorry for the loss of your mother; your love for her (and her for you) is so evident in every word of this. Your words have me a little undone this morning, as I suddenly see I am wading through three different kinds of anticipatory grief right now. OK, a lot undone. But thank you. I knew, but I didn't *know* know. You sharing your grief is a generous gift.
Thank you Rita for sharing with me today that we have this connection over anticipatory grief which can show itself in so many ways at various points of our lives. We are certainly not alone in that experience, and there is comfort in that knowledge, isn't there?
I lost my beloved middle sister (I'm the youngest of three) to corticobasal degeneration in early June. Like you with your dear mother, I had been grieving her in stages for seven years. And yes, I was devastated the day she died — but in the aftermath, I too find that much of the work of grieving has already been done. It is a strange kind of grace.
Jan, thank you for sharing something so tender and sad, the loss of a sibling is a terrible thing--as is any loss of a loved one, I know, but a sibling...a special kind of pain, I am sure. I haven't experienced that yet so sending you a virtual hug. And the way you put this experience of slow grief, "a strange kind of grace," is so apt. Thank you for sharing.
Oh Amy, this brought tears to my eyes. You have such a way with words. Even that seems insufficient in describing what I mean. A true gift, my soul sister. I thank you for this. In just a few days, it will be one year since I lost my own mother and these last few weeks have been a slow building up of fresh new grief and a remembering of what her last few weeks were like. It’s heavy and sweet and heartbreaking and love, all rolled up.
Your letter from Love and Mom is something I will turn to over the next week to keep me steady and remind me of the truth. XO
Thank you, Deb, for sharing from your heart. The one year anniversary of a mother's death, I can imagine how hard that is, and I can also imagine the waves of grief that will come and go for me as well as time marches on, as it does. My mother lived her 87 years well, and I know she would want the same for me, as I am sure your mom wanted for you and your siblings. Knowing that doesn't completely take away the pain of the loss but I find it comforting, knowing how happy she'd be that I am moving on. "No guilt," she would say. "You go and live your life, Amy." And how happy it makes me that the letter from Love and Mom will help steady you. I firmly believe we all have these wise voices of love inside us, ever ready to steady us.
So much Love to you and your Mother, Amy. Kristin conveys so wisely the infinite faces and dances of grief. The letting go while hanging on so tightly is painful and raw. And so many of us want to get it right as if it’s part of life school curriculum and we are being graded!
Dear friend, tender with your own heart. ♥️ all emotions welcome.
Thank you for this wise and beautiful comment, Constellations. "The infinite faces and dances of grief," so beautifully described. And yes, how often we "grade" ourselves unnecessarily on life's curriculum. Love always gives us an A+, doesn't she?
So glad the words bring you wisdom and beauty, Amy. I imagine Love gives stickers and stars in all sorts of glittery colors possible! 🌟♥️
Thank you for sharing. It pushed me to think about our years with my father-in-law and that slow process of separation. And it helps me think of the way I am processing the slow letting go of my sister. We can seem uncaring at times. But it is as you have written. We are grieving in a different way. 🙏🙏🙏❤️❤️🙏
Thank you Etta, for sharing your own experiences with grief. All the ways we grieve are perfectly okay, I have now come to know, and that is such a comfort. I think anyone who has ever grieved can understand that it won't look the same for any of us--but we don't often talk about it. I am so glad we are talking about it here.
Yes!
Dear lovable Amy,
First, I hear your journey & thank you for unpacking anticipatory grief.
Second, dear friend & to all your readers, to reiterate, and for anyone grieving:
there are as many ways and timeframes to grieve as there are people. There's no 'right' way or wrong way. There are millions of personal ways. ♡
Oh what a beautiful loving path you are sharing. A gorgeous love letter from you & your mom's teachings. Thank you! Thank you!
Some of us are also relieved when someone dies because then they are, and by extension, sometimes we are finally at peace. That was my experience with my dad.
So much love from my heart to yours.♡
What a wise and gracious and heartfelt response, Kristin. You are so right about not any single way to grieve "correctly." Whatever we feel in response to the loss of someone in our lives is okay. Perfectly okay. Our feelings are never wrong. They are simply what they are. We cause ourselves unnecessary anguish when we try to impose on ourselves a way to grieve that doesn't feel natural to us, that makes us question our own journey. I am learning that, and it is a beautiful lesson.
Love you friend ♡