When grief shows up in a diagnosis
It’s been a long 12 months. Last May, my beautiful, amazing wife was diagnosed with Stage 3 colon cancer and it rocked our entire world. I don’t think I understood the weight of the grief and loss I’ve been feeling since we learned, only a few weeks ago, that there were no signs of cancer. Having watched my Mom fight through surgery, radiation and chemotherapy for breast cancer as a teenager, being thrust back into cancer treatment as an adult, a mother of two children and the wife of someone battling such a scary disease, I have been through it emotionally and physically. The weight of it all was nothing short of crushing.
Here’s the thing that many of us don’t talk about when it comes to grief. It takes one accident, one diagnosis, one layoff or other major life event to thrust you back into a place where you feel helpless and out of control. Those feelings of being a teenager with no control over my Mom’s health or prognosis came flooding back in panic attacks and crying fits. There were times early in my wife’s diagnosis and treatment last summer that I felt like I could barely breathe. I would sob uncontrollably in the shower. I would go to my spin classes and during the dark track, cry my eyes out. I kept working and couldn’t focus. I was chastised by my bosses for “not being like myself”. The formerly high performing executive at work was a mess. By March, I was crying almost daily at work and had to take a week off. When I came back, I was told that my performance wasn’t up to their expectations and my boss was hopeful that my week off was the fix needed. I got no support, no encouragement and zero lee-way.
My wife’s health and my children’s wellbeing were the only things that mattered. Watching her struggle through recovering from surgery was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced since my Mom was sick. Even after my wife was hospitalized for five days after giving birth to our first daughter, I wasn’t so terrified.
It was a reminder that my grief is always with me, regardless of how much therapy I’ve done or time has past since my Mom died. My nervous system was on fire, every day. I was beyond stressed, I was completely checked out at work. I snapped at my children and felt horrible afterwards. I couldn’t focus on anything and tried to manage everything at once. It was truly the worst year of my adult life. I’m not in a place of having any perspective, gratitude or post-traumatic growth. I’m not interested in putting lipstick on this pig. I even feel guilty about not working on the Motherlove Project. I haven’t been able to devote any time to anything except for surviving. This past summer was the first time we had had a vacation in a year and we collectively exhaled for two weeks in one of our favourite places in the world.
The only thing I continued to tell myself is something I’ve written about here before: when you’re going through it, just keep going. Be gentle with yourself, you’re doing your best. Self-compassion is your best tool. Ask for help. Speak your truth and don’t hide your feelings. But more than anything, remember that grief shows up in a variety of ways, and that can be the biggest surprise of all.
