My husband’s grandfather was diagnosed with stage four cancer just weeks ago. It started in his bladder and spread at a rapid rate to his lungs and spine, which left him paralyzed from the chest down. The doctor said his cancer was aggressive and that it nearly doubled with each passing day. We arranged for my husband Steve to spend ten days helping his grandparents–who had raised him for a large portion of his childhood.
We knew his grandfather as Beepa, a name coined by Steve at a tender age. For my husband, it is one of the biggest losses of his life. The man who taught him how to swim and how to drive was gone. For me, I had known Beepa since I had started dating his grandson six years prior. He had a huge presence, but he was the sweetest person I’ve ever known. He was there during my engagement with Steve and cried happy tears as Steve bent down on one knee. I admired him for his ability to be strong and still cry. The difficulties in his life, including fighting for this country, had never hardened him. He was special.
I spent those ten days in the quiet of my house, staying behind to work and take care of our dogs. I tried to fill the unnerving silence with movies and music in the background, but my mind was elsewhere. Each night, I slept in the guest room–I’m still not sure why. I was in limbo waiting anxiously each day for a phone call. Reports of Beepa’s health fluctuated, but my husband told me he was glad to spend quality time with his family.
The day after my husband’s return, Steve and I received the dreaded phone call that Beepa had passed away. What followed had been a first for me: experiencing grief for and with my spouse. People cope in different ways; my husband throws himself into his work and spends hours outside just contemplating. I often find him lingering in the front yard by his truck observing nature, his face stoic and impossible to read. I cry a lot and struggle to do basic things when I’m sad, though I felt responsible for keeping the house clean to minimize any extra stress for my husband.
I found myself getting more and more upset as I tackled our endless chores alone. We were arguing over petty things and getting frustrated. The last couple of weeks have been a learning lesson for me–it makes things worse to give yourself any expectation to go above what is your normal for you when you’re grieving. It makes me think of a line uttered by a flight attendant every time I fly: “secure your mask on first and then assist the other person.”
It’s okay to take time for your own mental health. It’s also okay if you can’t do more than be there. Instead of frantically trying to remove every obstacle for the one you love, give them the opportunity to join you in something they enjoy–to eat their favorite meal or take a walk in the snow–with a gentle invitation. And take time to listen, not just to reply. It’s alright if you don’t know what to say. As Caitlin Doughty, best-selling author of death-positivity books and creator of the web series, “Ask a Mortician” says, “admit you don’t know what to do or what to say, but if they want you, you are going to be there to companion them in their grief.”
Sharing grief with someone you love can bring you closer as you go through something difficult together. Suffering is a part of life for every person. The protagonist of every good story goes through trials and tribulations so that anyone reading can relate to them. Be there for each other and acknowledge your own limitations when you are sad.
