The Long Goodbye

I have been keeping a journal, at the suggestion of my doctor. She also suggested that I share some or all of my journal entries to anybody I think might benefit or gain some insight into my experience. So I thought I would share today's journal entry with all of you. I feel that you will definitely relate.

MARCH 8, 2024: The Long Goodbye

My mother died in December 2022. My father died eight months later in August 2023. Both of them were in their late 80s when they died. I grieved, and then my grief eased to sadness, and now I just hold them in my memories. This is the way saying goodbye is supposed to be. 

Or so I thought.

My husband is dying. His self and spirit are all but gone. Dementia is killing him. I profoundly grieve this slow, painstaking loss of my too-young-to-die, 70-year-old husband. 

I take care of what is left of him.  I keep him comfortable, clean, and nourished. I try to keep him from being too isolated. When I see a rare smile or hear a rare chuckle from him, my heart soars. Somewhere inside that dying brain are embers of his spirit that still linger. 

They call it “The Long Goodbye”. Years of watching somebody you love disappear, while their heart still beats. Years of loneliness as you care for the shell that once was your soulmate.

You grieve, but instead of the grief easing into sadness, and then acceptance, the grief lingers like a dark cloud overhead that never lifts. You go about your days in spite of the grief, soldiering on as you are expected to do.  This can go on for years, as this disease is rarely quick.

None of us in this situation wants to live like this. We don’t want to grieve endlessly for years on end. But grief is a fickle beast. It’s very difficult to overcome. 

Besides my primary goal of keeping my husband safe and well (as well as he can be under the circumstances), I have a goal of moving through my grief and ultimately getting to acceptance. I think part of what makes it so hard to move beyond the grief is a sense of “survivor’s guilt”. I mean, why should I be okay when my husband is not? Shouldn’t I remain in solidarity with him by suffering along with him?

Of course, this is irrational and unsustainable. Not only would my husband not want me to suffer, but if I don’t get myself in a better place I won’t be able to care for him. As my doctor said, “An empty plate cannot nourish”. 

So as I say this long goodbye to my husband, I must also say goodbye to my grief. I cannot sustain this level of grief for years on end. I must make peace with all of this. But making peace with it does not make it okay. It will NEVER be okay.