At the end of May, it will have been 2 years since my father passed. A year before that my grandmother had passed. It was at that same time that my grandmother was sick that my father fell ill, but we were so concerned with my grandmother dying that we didn't give my dad the attention that he needed. The doctors were just telling us my dad had a pneumonia. We had no idea how serious it was.
Four months later, we learned it was actually cancer. All I could think was that I hoped his heart was strong enough for him to have it removed because he'd had 3 heart attacks. The reality of it was that, by the time they found it, the cancer had spread throughout his body and there would be no removal. In fact, he was so far along that the doctors didn't even suggest chemo. I had never felt so helpless.
Still, I had great hope. I spoke to my dad about the blessings in his life. I told him that all we learned was that he wouldn't live forever and we knew that, but that he could have years left. I prayed every night and I visualized the cancer leaving his body. I actually convinced myself that if anyone could fight it, it would be my dad. He was, after all, the strongest person I know. In my mind he was invincible.
It was just as I'd learned with Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' 5 Stages of grief. After denial, there was an anger in me like nothing I'd experienced. I tried desperately to channel those feelings into something positive. I started painting my basement. We had planned on completely re-doing the walls before painting and so it wasn't a good idea and I knew it. I just needed to keep busy, to keep my mind off of what was happening. One day my husband questioned why I was doing it, and it sent me into an utter rage. I didn't want to tell him why. I didn't want to talk about it at all.
Bargaining came next. Once you realize the reality of the situation, there's a desperation. You start offering anything you can to try and persuade God to change the inevitable. It's a sad state of being. A different kind of sad than the next stage, "depression". Depression makes the most sense given the situation.
Acceptance, now that's the hard one. I'm still working on that one.
Labels: Grief, My history
