Grief With a Side of Relief

It’s just days after Christmas and less than two weeks since my mom passed away.

I find myself in a dark room, lit only by the lights of the Christmas tree, sitting in her chair, emotions swirling in my heart while listening to her favorite cd of Il Divo at concert volume.

Grief is a familiar companion, yet the flavor I’m experiencing of it with my mom is new and feels more complex.

When I lost my dad in 2018, it was all so sudden, scary, traumatic and none of us were ready. He had been diagnosed with inoperable stage 4 Pancreatic cancer in January 2018 and by April, he was gone. That grief was deep and stabbing and still takes my breath at the most startling times.

My mom’s journey was slow, somewhat calm, prepared, thought out and welcomed in the end.

She was diagnosed with breast cancer in October 2023, 20 years after her first diagnosis. Given that it was an agressive form of cancer and that she had been dealing with progressive Parkinson’s Disease for over a decade, there wasn’t much hope of a cure.

After all the initial testing and discussions with the various doctors and surgeon, she sat with her options for several weeks. With the assurance that my brother and I would support any decision she made, she decided to get a lumpectomy in December 2023 and underwent surgery without any complications.

Despite two perfect surgical follow-ups, she found another lump, less than a week after her second follow-up, in April of this year.

Yet again, she faced a decision, after more tests and more discussions. But this time, the only two options she was given were to have a mastectomy with treatment to buy more time, or to go the route of hospice.

The discussion of quality of life vs quantity surfaced. My mom had already experienced chemo and radiation when she had cancer 20 years ago and swore she would never go through that again. And the surgery was a major one, with general anesthesia and possible complications with both physical and emotional ramifications.

Despite all that, we were in support of any decision she felt was right for her. In the end, she decided to allow the cancer to run it’s course and go the route of hospice care.

For as long as I can remember, she made it very clear that it was important to her to be able to remain in her home as long as possible and I’m so grateful we were able to honor all of her wishes.

She had a mostly wonderful year surrounded by her family, doing her daily routine, sleeping in her bed, sitting in her chair and eating anything she was craving.

If it was in our power to give her, we would give whatever she wanted. Sometimes that meant chocolate ice cream for breakfast and tonic water the rest of the day.

There was nothing left unsaid for us; there was a sense of peace, of gratitude, of knowing.

Hospice was set up in August and every single person that we encountered was incredible throughout the entire journey. It wasn’t always easy, as there were a few complications with her progression, but with my mom’s positive attitude and everyone’s willingness to help, we were able to give her the quality of life she wanted and deserved.

Now that she’s gone, I am both filled with relief and a terrible sadness.

She is at peace.

I was able to do my duty with love, and I feel so relieved I was able to hold it together this year. Being a caregiver to a dying family member, especially your mom, is a taxing journey emotionally, mentally and physically.

But as I sit here, in my mom’s house, sitting in her chair and thinking of what life will be like now that she’s gone, I am struck by how I am feeling both relief and deep sadness at the same time. They don’t contradict each other but are different facets of grief.

It’s fascinating how one person can feel grief in so many distinct ways and yet it’s still a universal experience felt by almost everyone in the world at some point in their lives.

The grief I feel for my mom is so familiar yet so distinguishable from my dad’s. I don’t feel relief when I think of him, just the pang of sadness and loss. It was too sudden and too traumatic with his illness and death.

With her, it was a slow and bittersweet year of saying goodbye, giving love and support, and taking it one day at a time.

With them both gone now, I feel different in a way I did not expect. I feel untethered. The foundation outside of myself, my soul anchors, my memory keepers— they are gone. There is a deep sadness that wells up within me as I process this.

But there is also a sense of freedom and relief knowing it’s all over. No more witnessing my parents, who have always been my rocks, suffer or fade away. It’s over.

And the deeper trauma-healing can begin now.

It’s all so messy, and it’s all a personal journey.

No one can go through it for you, but I also know I got through it in one piece because I had great support from my therapist and the select few I leaned on heavily throughout the year.

In the end, I’m grateful for it all: the sweet memories, valuable life lessons and the grief that reminds me I was lucky enough to have such deep love in my life.

There is no right or wrong way to experience grief.

It is all normal.

And it is all ok. 🥰