Anticipatory Grief by Debbi Welch
Isn’t good old-fashioned grief enough? Loss, tears, the flooding of memories? I’ve grieved and am still grieving my mother, father, stepfather, and brother, as well as many other relatives and dear friends. I’ve sat with others through their losses. It’s a fact of life: if you love, you grieve.
But what I’m experiencing now is what my therapist calls anticipatory grief. My oldest brother, Mark, is in his 80s. He has always been an important part of my life – teaching me to ride my bike, keeping in touch even when he was far away, loving my husband, children, and grandchildren, showing his love by gifting us all with beautiful wood creations made entirely by his hand. Recently, he made treasure boxes for my grandchildren. When the boxes arrived, my sister-in-law said that they are probably some of the last things my brother will make. Mark has vascular dementia, an alteration of mental abilities which develops due to reduced blood flow to the brain. Memory, thinking, and reasoning are primarily affected and there may be mood or behavior changes. It all tends to get worse over time.
After time in the Navy and a variety of jobs, Mark finally found his dream job at the age of 70. He worked with a group of like-minded craftsmen building wood furniture for Tennessee cabins. Only a ten-minute walk from his house, his fellow craftsmen loved him and his work. To spend his days doing what he loved best with people who accepted him just as he was – that was heaven for him. Then came the day the boss had to tell Mark he could no longer work there. His dementia had made it dangerous for him and others and they couldn’t risk the liability. He shared the news with my son, and we all grieved with and for him.
I’m already receiving phone calls from Mark repeating the same information he told me the last time he called – and the time before that – and the time before that. This is a small thing, but it concerns me. When will he stop remembering teaching me how to ride that bike, doing endless jigsaw puzzles together, taking me tobogganing? When will he stop remembering our time in his boat on the lake, watching that red and white bobbin in the water, enjoying our comfortable silence together? When will he not recognize my voice on the phone? When will he not recognize or remember me? Now Mark has started having seizures and the medication for that means he can no longer take the medication that might slow the progression of his dementia. Every phone call I get from my sister-in-law with another report – he now needs oxygen 100% of the time, is having balance problems – just heightens that anticipation and the expectation of losing him much sooner than I’m willing.
I’ve come to realize that I’m going to lose my brother twice: first his being and then his body. I don’t think either one of them will be any easier than the other. I’m trying very hard to not let this anticipation of losing Mark obscure what I have with him now. I need to listen to his voice. I need to talk about our lives together and separately. I need to enjoy just being in touch with him.
My anticipatory grief is magnified when I remember that when Mark is gone for good, I will be the only one of my immediate family left. I was hit hard when my mother died, and I realized that I was now an orphan. But to be alone among the ghosts of my family? I keep trying to find the words to help me describe what that feels like when it hasn’t even happened yet.
Debbi Welch has been a performing storyteller and writer in Chicago for over 30 years. She has presented her personal essays in Chicago, Seattle, and London. Her essays can be found in Chicago Storytellers from Stage to Page and Storytellers’ True Stories About Love.