I have been seeing and reading a lot on the topic of grief and grieving lately. Today I got to thinking about grief and what it means to me and the journey that grief and I have shared. 

In my opinion, grief is something you feel when something doesn’t go back to the way it was after you’ve lost it. According to Dictionary.com, grief is the,”keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret” and this pretty much sums up how I feel about loss and grief I feel knowing I will never go back to the way I was. 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t really expect to feel grief. I don’t know if it’s because I’m young and naive or if it just didn’t hit me at first. It started slowly before I realized what was even happening, but when it finds me now, it comes out of nowhere with a sucker punch that takes my breath away. 

Grief initially started in the form of missing my life before cancer. The first time I really remember feeling grief in my diagnosis was when I was told that I couldn’t go back to work. The doctor explained treatment would be really hard on my body and I would have no immune system to fight off any sickness. I was absolutely devastated! I loved working, I loved my job, and I loved taking care of people. Going to work was my social life and where I had some of the best friends in the world. I loved to get to know the patients, doctors, and my co-workers. It was all taken away from me in a second. Looking back, I remember that it was the most devastating news I was given besides the diagnosis. Now, I wish I could go back to that moment and soak it in because my grief is so much bigger. 

Treatment started and I started to feel grief more and more. It crept up stealthily, like a lion hunting its prey. A feeling kind of like something was looking at me and stalking me but I couldn’t see what it was– until it attacked. I started to grieve everything. I started to grieve not being able to go out on Friday nights with my friends and eat Mexican food, sing karaoke and dance the night away in the backyard. I missed the random trips to the lake on my day off with my parents and friends. I missed NOT having to map out the closest hospital wherever I might be just in case something happened. I grieved for my body and what it was before diagnosis. My body used to not be weak and fragile, but strong and mighty. I used to feel energized and ready to take on the day. Now, I feel fatigued the moment I wake up and just pray that I can shower without having to take a break to catch my breath. 

I grieve the aspirations and goals that I had for life, my career, and hobbies because now they have changed to aspirations of more time. Through this journey I’ve learned that grief is not only feeling sorrow for losing something or someone. Grief is also for the future I will never have and for the people that I will leave with emptiness that can’t be filled. I grieve for the family I will never have. The spouse and kids that I won’t be able to take care of. I won’t have a wedding, honeymoon, kids, or any of the firsts that come with that. I won’t have the pleasure of coaching my kids’ T-ball team or basketball team. I won’t be able to teach my kids about God and His forgiving love. Those firsts won’t ever come. I try to play it off as, “I don’t want any of those things”, but I do! I won’t be needed and loved. It’s human nature to want those things and crave the love of family. 

I grieve for Bertie May, my golden retriever. One day I won’t be here and she won’t understand why. Knowing she is the last pup I’ll bring home makes me sad. I cherish every moment I have with her because she’s my baby. I grieve for my friends and family. The Friday night dinners and Sunday suppers will not stop after I’m gone, but my quirky and brutally honest opinions will. They’ll laugh at stuff I used to say or the stories I used to tell, but after the laughter leaves sadness will creep in like fog. My favorite karaoke song will come on and tears to Buckcherry will fall instead of the hardcore headbanging. 

I grieve for my parents because I know all they ever wanted was to be parents and it’s not natural for your kid to die before you. They’ll wake up one day and the nightmare will become reality. I grieve for my Momma because she’ll pick up the phone to call and check in with me and all she’ll get is dial tone. She will watch her friends become grandparents and my friends have babies, knowing she will never get that title of Weezer like we always planned! I grieve for my Dad because he will ask questions to my mom thinking she knows the answer, but in reality I was always the one who took on those specific tasks. I grieve for the first boat ride he takes and I’m not there to co-captain or drive. The lake was the spot we enjoyed together. 

I grieve for my body because it will soon not be able to keep up with the rest of the world. I know I won’t feel grief when I die because I will be with the LORD, but thinking about the grief my family and friends will feel breaks me to my core. I hope that grief will not stay around long but the happy memories, stories, and traditions will. All I ask of my family and friends is not to forget me. Still tell the stories, both the good and the bad. Don’t let my memory fade. 

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 “A time for Everything” 

Lamentations 3:32 “Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love.” 

Love,

Taylor