Her name was Susan. Or Sue.
She died of a vicious type of breast cancer that metastasized – to her brain, to her lungs. She was diagnosed about three years ago.
She tried everything – so many tests and doctors’ visits, tons of chemo. Some of it worked for a little while, but nothing worked completely.
For the past few months things had been getting bad. Thankfully she knew when things were almost at their end, and Alex was able to go home to be with her mom. To say those things that need to be said. To just sit at her bedside and be with her.
I heart breaks with Alex’s. I feel her pain. I grieve with her. I cry for her, for her mom, and for her family. Of course my grief is not the same as hers, my pain is nowhere near as strong as hers, and my tears come less often than hers do. But as much as I can, I mourn with Alex.
And that “as much as I can” is probably more now than it was before my mom’s cancer. I feel Alex’s pain more deeply now because of my own pain. I grieve with Alex more ardently now because of my own grief. I cry more for Alex and her family now because of my own tears.
For awhile I felt guilty about this – about the fact that my own experience with my mom’s cancer and coming death has so impacted my experience with Alex and her mom’s cancer and death. I didn’t want Alex to feel like her grief isn’t unique, or important - because it is. I didn’t want to just be projecting my grief onto hers – because her experience is what should matter now.
But I realized that I can’t separate my experience from Alex’s – they’re too intertwined, too mirrored, too similar, even while being unique. So instead I sit more deeply in her mourning because of my own. Instead I feel the loss of her mother more strongly because of the coming loss of mine. And I know that Alex will do the same when my mom dies.
Sue, I honor your life, your love, and the part of you I know best – being Alex’s mom. And Alex, I sit with you in your grief, and feel your pain with you, as much as I can. I love you so very much.
For awhile I felt guilty about this – about the fact that my own experience with my mom’s cancer and coming death has so impacted my experience with Alex and her mom’s cancer and death. I didn’t want Alex to feel like her grief isn’t unique, or important - because it is. I didn’t want to just be projecting my grief onto hers – because her experience is what should matter now.
But I realized that I can’t separate my experience from Alex’s – they’re too intertwined, too mirrored, too similar, even while being unique. So instead I sit more deeply in her mourning because of my own. Instead I feel the loss of her mother more strongly because of the coming loss of mine. And I know that Alex will do the same when my mom dies.
Sue, I honor your life, your love, and the part of you I know best – being Alex’s mom. And Alex, I sit with you in your grief, and feel your pain with you, as much as I can. I love you so very much.
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