Love and Grief

“Grief is the price we pay for love”*

This quotation has been on my mind a lot recently, let’s say I am currently paying my debts.

My Dad is ill; very ill, and the prospects are not good. He has been in hospital for over three weeks now and his decline has been swift. Though we hope to put things in place to get him home, we know that this is so that he can spend his final days in familiar surroundings with those who love him. It’s about all we can do for him now.

His health hasn’t been good for a while, Type 2, Alzheimer’s and Vascular Dementia have all played their part, but up until about two weeks before Christmas he was at least mobile enough to get himself round his house, and independent enough to feed himself.

These diseases have robbed him of so much now. That big man who sheltered me, who was always there, who if he said he would do something always came through, is now just a husk of what he was. No memory of anything over an hour earlier – if that, constantly tired, thirsty and in pain.

The man I knew as Dad is all but gone, except for old memories of childhood, and stories told over and over so many times they are tattooed on my and his shared consciousness.

My heart is howling. I can do nothing for him to ease this or make it better. Ease will only come with an ending and every time I think of that, I am overcome with wave after wave of crushing guilt.

Life continues around hospital visits in some surreal way, I have my feet in this world but my head is in his, just as he has a foot in this world but part of him seems to have already left for somewhere else. As conversations happen around me, phones ring, noise of our office seems disjointed and meaningless, I want to walk off and keep walking, I’m detaching from my anchor.

Reality pulls me back in, I’m not a rudderless ship even if it feels that way. I have to remember that I am an anchor myself, because the circle of life continues.

Just a few days ago, we took a family walk through a local park, and Cub Number 2 took my hand and said

“I love you more than anyone else on this planet”

“I love you too son” I said, “But someday I hope you find someone who you can love as much as you love me”

He smiled back at me and said

“Yeah… But I doubt it”

 

I don’t know how to bear this, someday when it’s my turn to go he’ll be left feeling the way I do now and I just don’t know how to spare him that. This weight of responsibility is bearing down hard.

 

*Love is the price we pay for grief – a quotation often attributed to Queen Elizabeth II but is part of a longer passage by British psychologist Dr Colin Murray Parks, in his book Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life

“The pain of grief is just as much part of life as the joy of love: it is perhaps the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment. To ignore this fact, or to pretend that it is not so, is to put on emotional blinkers which leave us unprepared for the losses that will inevitably occur in our own lives and unprepared to help others cope with losses in theirs”

 

38 comments

  1. The decline and eventual death of our parents is something we all have to go through, and yes, it hurts like hell. My dad died early aged only 48, but Mum lived until the age of 92. At the end of her life in 2017, the only times she cheered up was when we sang old songs from her younger days and when we looked at old photos and talked about the past. I still miss her.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Such a hard time Plot, much sympathy for you. We had similar with Mrs B’s mother going before she went as it were, so there’s pain in both the preparation and the final letting go. But, as you recognise here, there’s always other lives to be an important part of, so hopefully that’ll help.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m a little damp eyed after reading this. Reminding me of my own parents’ mortality and indeed my own and the impact it will have on my child. What a beautiful relationship you have with your son- bless him. Much love to you during this tough time xxx

    Liked by 2 people

    • It’s so hard. Watching the slow decline towards an inevitable darkness.
      My son idolises me and as much as I love him with every fibre of my being, it is scaring the life out of me.
      Xxx

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Oh Sonia, it is very hard to watch someone close to you dying. Les’s Dad took 3 weeks to eventually let go this last November. He like his wife had Alzheimers and died 3 months apart. I think for Les the grief started the day his parents no longer recognised him, and we had a good cry on that day leaving the Rest home. I do believe that the dying know that those who love them are near them.

    Here’s a funny story, we were discussing going for a cuppa and some fresh air while sitting with Les’s Dad, when he [who hadn’t talked for days] yelled out “Black no milk for me, thank you”. Made us all laugh and aware that he was hopefully enjoying our chatter with him xx

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Oh goodness, the way your little one just piped up with an “I love you” was beautiful. I am so sorry to hear about things going downhill with your Dad. This is something I can very much relate to and I know how painful the helplessness can be, only mine involved cancer instead of dementia. Sending you and your family lots of virtual hugs, and I’m always around if you ever need a rant x

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ah, he’s great. I’m very lucky to know I am so loved. He’s like a next gen Ferris Bueller… and now I’m wondering if you are too young for that reference….😬

      Liked by 1 person

  6. I hope things are well for you and your family. I had tears in my eyes while reading your post. Ever since I have grown up, I can’t wrap my head around the fact my parents are getting old too. It scares me toeven think about what I will do if I had to face this situation.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I understand completely. It’s something we all face, but that makes it no easier. It’s such a cruel disease Dad has, its so hard to watch.

      I hope, that despite age, your parents are in good health x

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s