Having lost two brothers, I often consciously think if this is the last time I will see a person. How do I want them to remember our last time together? Then I change my behavior, reactions, and feelings accordingly.–CB
Every encounter impacts us. The casual passing of a stranger on a street who smiles or frowns affects us, even if we don’t think it does. We don’t always realize the impact someone else has on us, as the impact sits in our subconscious. Yet, we are acutely aware of how those we love impact us. Through our relationships with them, we are forever changed.
We mourn what we lost, celebrate what we gained, and dream about what our life would be like if they were still here. Even when sorrow bangs loudly from within, the growth we acquired through knowing them remains.
I think of my wife all the time, and while my overall outlook is positive, it is painful to experience life without her.–KH
Carter’s illness and death shifted my perspective about love and the importance of family. It reminds me that the fleeting moments I have with my girls are more precious, and that things can change on a dime. The value of relationships that still exist is greater to me now. I care very little about what car I drive or what we are doing on a weekend. Time with family is valued exponentially greater.–RR
Unexpected Reactions
No matter the circumstances of someone’s medical crisis or death, whether we are patients, loved ones, or caregivers, we aren’t truly prepared. Others can try to prepare us about the prognosis, risks of the procedure, chances of recovery, how long they have to live, or what caused the accident, but none of that matters when it happens. Our unpreparedness takes front stage and our brains kick into a bizarre spin.
At the moment of the crisis, our minds can be flooded with normal, everyday thoughts that defy the reality of the moment. When my friend came home from work, she entered the house and found her husband lying on the bathroom floor. As she looked at the scene, her mind settled in on the thought that the kitchen floor was an odd place for him to rest. In another flash, she realized he was dead.
Mea’s Experience No One Is Taking My Car
At 44 years old, my husband, Joe, died suddenly of a heart attack while playing volleyball with neighborhood friends. Receiving the call, the shock blurred my mind. Days, months, and more passed not quite believing it, particularly as I looked at my 8-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter. Somehow, we trudged through the changes.
Two years after he died, I left work on a drizzly early evening. Popping open my umbrella, I began to walk to the far end of the lot where I had parked. This was my custom because I didn’t want any door dings. While walking to my car, I noticed a car parked next to my car’s driver’s side. The other car’s windows were fogged up causing me to think someone was inside the car. I unlocked my front car door, opened it, and pushed the button unlocking the rest of the doors. I pushed my door closed a bit and then opened the back seat door on the driver’s side to put in my briefcase. Just as I did that, the front passenger door of the other car opened and a man with a stocking over his head brandishing a handgun got out demanding my car keys.
He grabbed at me and my purse. My mind triggered into fight mode and I batted at him with my umbrella. The gunman likely assessed by 5’2” frame and umbrella thinking this would be a fight he would win. He got a hold of my purse’s shoulder strap and fiercely jerked on it, attempting to get it away from me. He jerked it so hard that my purse was pulled from my hands, spinning me around, and causing me to fall down behind his car. He went through my purse but didn’t see my keys. The stocking likely hindering his vision.
At that point, he was joined by the driver both demanding where the keys were. I shrugged indicating I didn’t know and started to get up when he hit me with his handgun by my right eye. The driver turned to get back into their car while the gunman dropped my purse and looked for the key in my driver’s seat area. Seizing the moment, I got up, ran to the other side of my car. The gunman got into their car and they left with my keys safely in my purse.
Throughout the carjacking my mind sparked with strange thoughts. I knew I was bleeding from the hit with the handgun and I remember thinking, I really like this suit jacket and hope the blood won’t ruin it. A moment later, as I was getting up from the ground, it sunk in that hitting him with my umbrella and resisting wasn’t the smartest action. As they were driving away, I realized my high heels had come off when I was knocked down. I mentally debated whether I should go back to the other side of the car and get my heels, or immediately run to the office lobby to get help. I ran to the lobby.
In an ambulance on the way to the hospital, a medic gave me a tissue and very nicely said it was ok to cry if I wanted to. I remember thinking, I didn’t need to cry. I was grateful. Grateful that I hadn’t been shot. Grateful my kids still had a parent.
The police followed the ambulance to the hospital and interviewed me about the incident. The officer took notes and then said, “I hope there is never a next time, but if there is, let them take your car. It’s just a possession.” I turned to him and said, “No one is going to take away my car without a fight. It was the last thing my husband bought before he died.” I drove that car until it couldn’t go anymore.
We all make our own way when a loved one dies. There is no magic, no perfect solution, and no way to avoid feelings about the life that is lost. Lea’s son died of leukemia and she shares part of what her loss is like.
Lea’s Experience We Will Meet Again
Joey was so talented and determined to do things. He was compassionate. Through all the pain and suffering he went through, he never gave up. He remained strong until his last breath. I was at his bedside holding his hands when he died. It has been 14 years (the exact number of years he lived), and the pain I had that day is still the same. The pain never goes away. I’ve just learned to live with it. I must believe that he is in a better place and one day we will meet again.
Being a caregiver is challenging. We are forced to try to balance our own experiences while supporting our loved ones. Our feelings fluctuate and surprise us as we move through the ups and downs. Although we can’t take away pain, cure someone, or know what the future will bring, our efforts make a difference: we have offered love.
Featured image courtesy of ELG21 on Pixabay.
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