HJNO May/Jun 2022

EDITOR’S DESK When the man I loved for 30 years was given a terminal diagnosis, his healthcare team and I had the honor of caring for him for 2 1/2 more years. We were lucky, he was a wonderful patient. Always grate- ful. He showed amazing dignity on how to, in my opinion, face end life as beautifully as he lived it. In the very beginning, after realizing what was before us, I cried in his strong arms and told him, “I was scared.”He hugged me, gently tilted my head up, looked into my eyes and said, “Don’t be scared, it is just the Earth.”Those words gave me more courage than you can imagine as we walked forward on this journey. To extend his life, we had to move from the rural area we were living in to a city that could accommodate glioblastoma treat- ment. I found myself uprooted to a place I did not know, in the new role of caretaker, trying to balance work and his very caring social circle. Sometime early on, I read a suggestion to try “not to grieve before its time.”For me, that was great advice because it helped me stay present. “He is here, enjoy every second we have,”became my mantra. I think it also helped him, because while we certainly had our moments of tearful good- byes over that span, he did not find it ben- eficial to wallow. Plan — yes, address life’s details. Yes, enjoy life — absolutely. But wal- lowwas not in his nature. Plus, stress could cause a seizure, so staying calm and keeping a calm environment became an important part of caretaking. I often thought it was a mind game of trying not to panic when the unimaginable was happening in front of my eyes. Sometimes I was better at it than oth- ers. Having a “person” — mine was a sister, my parents, or a close friend — to always pick up when I needed to talk, cry, scream, was a humbling and important lifeline. I write this letter on grief, because as good as his care team was, and they were amaz- ing, they never offered me advice on grief. They prepared us, I thought rather well, for the progression of the disease and what the ending would most likely look like. But in 2 1/2 years, only three people really talked to me about what grief, itself, may look like. The first was Mareen Bagley Treese, a for- mer cheerleader frommy husband’s beloved Broadmoor High School, who was wid- owed young. The second, his college foot- ball coach, Jackie Sherrill, who became a strong, loving guide to us both and who has followed up once a week since Smith died, always asking, “What have you done for yourself today, girl?”The last was Smith himself, six weeks before he died. He had a moment of clarity, and he spoke in broken language, “When the time comes, I don’t want you to be all ‘boo hoo, boo hoo,’ for too long ... that is not good for you.” Cancer had taken a toll on his body, mind, and lan- guage skills, but his spirit continued to shine forth, and he was trying to prepare me for life A.D. So did those two other souls, nei- ther of whom I had known personally prior to them reaching out to help emotionally prepare this soon-to-be widow of someone they cared for deeply. We all should be so lucky to have folks step forward at that time. I realize now that I had no understanding of what people faced after losing someone they have loved dearly. I nowwalk the earth softer, with more compassion. I now realize I belong to a club that we all will eventually join, if we love. I can recognize the mem- bers now. They share it through their eyes if you really look. I guess grief is just the full spectrum of love. I actually had the audacity those first few months to think I would write a feature and title it “Good Grief.” Smith was ready to die when he did. I rejoiced with the release of his spirit — he was ready. I believe the spirit con- tinues on. It felt sad to me, but logically spir- itual. After his death, I did not cry. I felt very gentle, a little shaky — like a newborn kitten but supported — like the earth had shifted somehow and I had to trust humanity a bit more. I discovered what it was like to be a bit dingy and forgetful but also found people very compassionate, kind, and understand- ing. It was an interesting experience — one I certainly wouldn’t have chosen but just where I was in grief. The first powerful, dark grief wave hit me five months later. Grief knocked me to the ground, wailing in a heap on the floor on and off for days, an emptiness I didn’t think existed or thought I could exist through. After calling out to God to either kill me or make this awful darkness go away, I real- ized, I was not in control. Breaths kept filling my lungs, and I wasn’t the source of them. Then, an earlier suggestion from Coach to research grief came tomind. I started imme- diately. “There has to be a release button,” I thought. To my dismay, as I researched, I kept hearing, “You have to go through this.” This, apparently, is part of the human experience. In this issue, we asked several experts to speak on grief and bereavement in the hope this helps open a dialogue on what grief may look like to those experiencing or about to experience loss. Thanks to all of you who show love, tenderness, and mercy through the dying process, and the many who under- stand you may be needed as much or more, after. You are appreciated more than you will ever know. And providers, if you hap- pen to shed a tear while telling the wife of a patient you have cared for that death is imminent and there is nothing more you can do, that is not unprofessional. It may have been the most healing thing you did for her in the journey. Humbly, Dianne Marie Normand Hartley Chief Editor editor@healthcarejournalno.com “WhenI come totheendof theroad, itwill befilledwithtendermemories, and I shall walk humble in my grief for the only true freedom is love.” — Orbella Prada 8 MAY / JUN 2022 I  HEALTHCARE JOURNAL OF NEW ORLEANS