The Anatomy of Grief

Rena and Pepsi

Dear Pepsi,

Last night Rena called after reading the daily blog. She was sobbing, talking about her dread at losing you, how unfair it is that you are sick, and she also mentioned the death of her grandmother this summer, realizing she had not taken time to grieve. Your illness triggered her sorrow. She sounded like I did when you got your diagnosis. I cried for days and at one point I wasn't sure if the source of my sadness was you or the loss of my mom. Or the loss of Frank Quan, my surrogate dad. I repeatedly said It's too much loss, I cannot take another one. I was so busy before my mom died and after, covering up the hole inside me that was too deep and painful to dive into. I painted a window and wrote two poems in a slight pause before moving on to teaching, working on the mural project, and the basement renovation. I have yet to write and send a card to Frank's cousin Georgette because it would mean confronting my profound sadness and devastation about his death. Anticipating another loss has all our heads and hearts in a tailspin.

It's just there is a landfill of sadness inside and I don't know how to paint it

Since my mom died I have been trying to get my arms around the enormity of grief. I thought about my conversation with Rena a good part of the day. I tried to explain to Papa how the sadness and aching grief comes in waves, pounding the shore and then receding, but only momentarily. I am still on high alert with you, in fact, this evening I had a slight panic attack and called Rena to share my concern that perhaps I couldn't tell anymore what your former "normal" looks like or when I should be concerned. Overall you seem to be doing quite well - tolerating the chemo, maintain your appetite, perky, and happy to be out with people. You always had low energy at night but now I read a potential pericardial effusion into it. However, I actually left you at home I went to the store and stopped by the mural to talk with Muhsana and Kansi. I felt guilty because it was nice to be out by myself. I rarely leave your side, and love having you with me, but taking a short break from the visual worry was relaxing. It is a momentary smoke screen to the underlying fear of loosing you that prevails at all times. 

Pepsi's car bed

There is an anatomy of grief that is complex and baffling. While I was pushing the cart through the grocery store I had an image of a grief skeletal system, similar to the human adult comprised of a network of tendons ligaments, and cartilage that connects 206 bones. The skeletal system performs our body's vital functions and is basically our internal framework. We know it's there but we go through our daily lives not seeing it. The anatomy of grief feels much the same to me, it's structure is part of our vital functioning, effecting all our systems, connecting a network of loss, and yet until it erupts, like your effusion, we pretend it doesn't exist. When I learned you had cancer, I could not determine where one loss ended and the other began. The overlap of my mom and Frank's death with your cancer had bled into a big pile of pain that was mounting faster than I could process. 

Birthday cookie

I have to remind myself that I am the not just the one who is dealing with your illness on my own everyday, I am also the one who gets to be with you, hold you, laugh with you and see you happy. Your family in California have to plan and schedule visits to see you. When they head home they will wonder if they will see you again. I don't envy them at all. While the days are good, and I hope they will be many, it can seem as if noting has changed; however, if it takes a turn then those who love you will clamor and plot and plan to get here. For us it will be part of a more seamless process. You and I are in a rhythm, two parts of a whole moving through time and space with a sense of destiny. Because of you I am writing daily, the house is quieter, the unessential has been eliminated and I am focused and present. When my mom had her stroke I had two choices, to let the bitterness of the past turn me away from her or to find my better and more compassionate self. I chose the later and I have no regrets.  The complex and confounding anatomy of grief may remain an unsolved mystery that lives and breathes in me with each loss; however, because of you I understand gratitude and being present like never before. Listening to Rena last night I realized despite my constant fear of your loss, I also feel a strange sense of calm. Being with you these past days has opened my eyes to living life with a different lens, we are lock step in our destiny and that is what is sustaining me. 

Love you,

Mom