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When my mother's long-term partner died, suddenly during but not from a bout of terminal cancer, it didn't feel particularly desirable. I can only speak for myself on how it did feel, but I hope that might be in some way helpful.
The first thing I noticed, fairly quickly, was that I hadn't actually processed the leap from "dying" to "dead". Which sounds, I realise, very stupid indeed, but the death came so much sooner than expected that I had been successfully putting off thinking about the being-dead rather than the being-dying in my head. As a result, I shifted gears a little slowly, perhaps - I put the phone down and got back to work, and it took about half an hour before I broke down and was sent home.
I found that my emotional reactions after that were incoherent in their timing, if not their origin - sorrow switching to relief (that it had happened in a time of relative health and lack of pain), anger (often directed at the family, or the way the funeral was run), resentment (at the frustration of the expectation of having more time), guilt (at being relieved in the first place). It was pretty incoherent, though - and varied in intensity from absolutely dominating and debilitating to near-absent, which of course then led to guilt about not thinking about etc. Actually, something similar happened, but at a lower intensity, during the illness - my mind literally couldn't think about it all the time, so there would be long periods without, followed by guilt at not thhinking about it. I found it difficult but vital just to try to step off that wheel sometimes - to reassure myself/be reassured that thinking about it didn't change the situation either way, for better or worse.
Oh, another thing was that, again becauuse of the unexpected quickness, I felt a lot of things had been unsaid. It sounds morbid, but I would given the chance start treating the situation as immediately pressing earlier, and spent more time organising time together, talking, that sort of thing.
The second-order nature of the relationship, if you see what I mean, meant that different people reacted differently. I had been young enough still to live at home when my mother and her partner were together, so I was probably closer to it than other relatives, although abviously not as close as my mother herself. That created a sort of imbalance, not just in how much care people wanted or needed, but in how much people expected others to need. Sorting that out, I think, should have been more of a priority, but it would have involved some very difficult and emotional conversations, which perhaps would not have justified the positive return. I don't know.
I was fortunate that my workplace was sympathetic. I didn't take much time off, apart from the funeral, but they were very good aboout the days when I didn't really _do_ anything very much. And, over time, I got better at juggling priorities.
Little rituals helped with me - putting aside time to read a favourite book, listen to a song or spend time with a significant object, just thinking. By scheduling that time, I gave myself a bit more rhythm - but the plan was never to shut out the feelings, just to have a kind of scheduled release.
To answer your question - short of seeking out some form of counsellor, which may be a very good idea both before and after bereavement, and I might have profited from, I think you sort of just process. if you can find a modus operandi where you can maintain some sort of function - whether that's working or being with your family - but give yourself permission to be messy or weepy, that might be useful.
Oh, something else I found useful, which is a complete cliche, was forcing myself as much as possible to eat and sleep reasonably regularly. It was _very_ easy, I found, to lose that rhythm and just not get it back until you collapse. Friends who might not be able to be with you all the time were really useful for me when they helped me shop for food, or made food and brought it over. Really simple stuff, but I think it helped to make people aware that there was stuff they could do even if I wasn't crying on them - a lot of the time I wanted to be alone when I was feeling really wretched, but alone with soup was better than alone without soup. I think that, from my experience on both sides, friends often want to help but don't know how, and are afraid of making things worse - a bit of direction can be helpful for everyone. I was also fortunate that I found a partner during that period who was very caring and very able to deal with strong emotions - but people, whether partner, family or friends, often surprised me when I told them how I was feeling and what I thought I needed, whether that was a hug or to be left alone.
There are bits that don't leave, I think, and they might not be exact matches. Once a year I get drunk and have an impromptu memorial, and I've found myself being irrationally concerned about other people's safety - in particular my parents' health, but even people on long car journeys or plane flights, or who are late and do not call. But those are my own tiresomely logical takeaways, and other people have told me about other things.
So, if I was trying to universalise, I might say that caring for yourself is in part giving other people the credit and the information to care for you, which helps you to support your family. And processing, if my experience is anytihng to go by, has a steep curve but then just carries on happening, when and if it needs to - again, making other people aware of how I was feeling and what they could do was useful, and if I had a chance to give myself advice I think I'd say to do it more, and to do it in advance with close friends rather than when a wave hit in company. Again, for the period of illness, I should have trusted people more to be told what was going on and to be able to cope with it, I think - there was a strong temptation to make it my thing - my anxiety, my trepidation. I guess you're already reaching out here, and that might be a good model.
And, RetroChrome, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I don't know anything about your circumstances, but if you are feeling isolated, sometimes I've found that Barbelith can be a very understanding and caring place for contact-without-too-much-contact. All best wishes for you and your family. |
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