Lisette Lahana, LCSW
I have been thinking about my father’s death for months. Sometimes they are day dreams, sometimes they intrude on me. There is a little shame that comes with these thoughts. “How can I think about this?” And sometimes superstition: “Will thinking about this make it happen?” There’s nothing really imminently wrong with him. He’s still kicking around the house, reading crappy detective novels, staying updated on the news, and making memorable meals. It’s just that I am aware of the statistics. He’s outlived the average man by ten years. My fears are based on age and age alone. I know time is not on our side. Each time I visit, I see how aging impacts his body. I leave worried, and that has likely led to these dark thoughts.
I’ve planned out what I am going to say at his funeral and how people will react. I’ve wondered about details like how I would arrange dog and cat care if everything happened quickly. I wonder how I’d support my stepmom through it. I’ve thought through how much time I’d take off work. I’ve planned what I would say to my clients and whether I could do it without crying. I’ve cried. Sometimes when my clients talk about their parents’ illnesses or deaths, I find myself crying with them. Though it’s not usual for me to tear up with clients, this feels different. I pull myself together quickly and focus on them, but I am aware it’s there, like words on the tip of my tongue.
Perhaps this is not unusual when a parent gets to the age where every extra day beyond life expectancy is precious. I’ve heard it is called anticipatory grief and that the term was coined by German-American psychiatrist Erich Lindemann in 1944. It has been defined as an emotional response and preparation regarding the threat or impending occurrence of death, rather than a reaction to a death that has already happened. Dr. Therese Rando expanded on how we understand anticipatory grief to include the set of behavioral, emotional, and social reactions to an expected loss. Now, the concept includes our reactions to many different losses, including the loss of our own abilities or life due to illness. This all makes sense, and I’m feeling it. Put me in front of a TV show where someone dies, and I’m all tears.
It’s not that I haven’t experienced loss. However, the death of my mother due to a long illness seemed like a different animal. I saw how painful it was for her to realize what Alzheimer’s would take from her. I watched her as she lost touch with reality and really lost her mind. When I thought about losing her, I felt it would be a mercy. Sometimes, to be honest, I even hoped it would happen so she would be free from it.
This experience of loss is distinct. I’ve been surprised by it. Now, I am anticipating a blow, something that will come out of nowhere. A 12 a.m. call. A text in the middle of my workday. The need to fly out as quickly as I can. Weeks afterward spent helping sort through a life and making sense of it. And tears. And more tears.
My father seems to rarely talk about his own death. It is a taboo for him. I’ve asked about it. He’s pushed me off the topic quickly. Perhaps what helped me take the risk to talk about death was a class I took six years ago. It was a year-long class at Spirit Rock Meditation Center with Vinny Ferraro called “A Year to Live.” The course took place during the beginning of the pandemic. Death and the fragility of life was on all of our minds. We delved deeply into our own deaths. We used meditations, small discussion groups, the book A Year to Live, and visualizations to confront the reality. Each of us dies. I found the preparation soothing, including creating plans for my own cremation and burial. I’m glad to have focused on it and it changed my comfort with my own death.
The class helped me fear death less but it didn’t touch this piece around anticipatory loss. How I’m understanding all of this now is that my heart and brain are prepping, like the way I prepare for any natural disaster. I have no idea if anticipatory grief lessens the pain of the real loss of life. There’s probably a study out there that will tell me this is important. As a therapist it makes perfect sense. But right now I’m just thinking as a daughter. He’s still here now. I’ll relish his extravagant fruit salad and dinners made with random ingredients that turn out to be genius. And the long talks while kitties play with our hair. This preparation will exist alongside the moments I still have with my dad…I’m on my way to a visit now. I don’t have to turn that corner just yet.
If you are in your own process of anticipatory loss or experiencing grief, reach out to our team of therapists at Authentic-Alliance.com.
Photo credit: Point Normal on Unsplash
