There is no other side of grief (or cancer)
I find comfort in this. What about you?
Hello, Friend.
I’m so glad you’re here. If you are grieving for someone, I hope you find this article meaningful. I would love to hear your thoughts about it, so be sure to share them in the comments. I would also be honored if you shared about your person(s) — the one(s) you grieve for.
My dad died in 2016, and as some of you know, my mother died in 2008 from metastatic breast cancer. So, it’s been eight years since I became an adult orphan. It’s still a hard thing to get my head around — even at my age. Even though this sort of grief is in the natural order of things, it isn’t necessarily an easier grief to bear.
There isn’t, or shouldn’t be, a hierarchy of grief. Regardless of your situation, your grief matters. Your grief is valid. Please never forget that.
Thank you so much for reading today’s article.
There is no other side of grief (or cancer)
Do you prefer it when books and movies have neat and tidy endings?
I do.
I am not a fan of open-ended season finales for a TV series either. Remember The Sopranos final episode? Very unsatisfying for a lot of fans of the show. Including me. So much so, it’s still being talked about.
I don’t like books or movies that leave me hanging either. I want things finalized, zipped up. Over. I want an END that leaves no doubts. I don’t want to be left wondering what happened. I don’t want to choose my own ending either. Nope. Not me. It doesn’t even necessarily have to be a happy ending, though those are always nice. I just want clean endings.
What about you?
Wait, you might be thinking. Didn’t you author a book titled, EMERGING: Stories from the Other Side of a Cancer Diagnosis, Loss, and a Pandemic?
Why, yes. Yes, I did.
Other side — doesn’t that imply the trauma of cancer, loss, and a pandemic is over and done?
No. It doesn’t.
I purposefully titled it EMERGING: Stories from the Other Side of a Cancer Diagnosis...
Every Cancer Haver experiences the other side of her/his diagnosis date. The other side of cancer — now that’s a different thing entirely.
Do you hear that subtle difference?
It’s the same with loss. There is “the other side” of the actual loss date. But grief. Uh-uh. Not so. There is no other side of that.
That’s why this is one of my favorite grief quotes:
Death is a date on the calendar, but grief is the calendar.
—John Pavlovitz
I love this quote so much I included it in EMERGING. Within the harsh reality of those words, I also find comfort.
Why?
Because there is no other side of grief. There doesn’t have to be. Nor should there be.
Grief is not something you push through or finish up. It’s not something to get over.
No matter what society seems to want you to do or how you think you should be presenting yourself after a certain amount of time has passed following loss, there is no other side.
Of course, grief changes. There’s an ebb and flow to it. It evolves along with you.
But no matter how hard we feel pushed to finish the task of grieving, it’s not going to happen.
There is no other side to grief.
It’s the same with cancer.
Sure, there’s the date that gets etched into your mind. The day you hear those words, you have cancer. That date itself has an “other side”.
But cancer… even if you finish initial treatment, the experience never leaves you because again, there is no neat and tidy end date. Unless, of course, you’re talking about dying. Which in this case, I am not.
The collateral damage from cancer treatment is real and for some, me included, ongoing and life-altering. I’ve written about breast cancer treatment’s collateral damage many times. Here’s one piece, should you be interested: Breast Cancer Treatment’s Collateral Damage, Let’s Talk About It.
Society might want you to be done. Heck, your friends and family might want to be done. They might think you are done.
But your ongoing cancer pain (physical or emotional) is valid, too. Your short and long-term side effects matter. You don’t have to pretend you’re back to normal, stronger than ever, or a new and improved version of your former self. (Of course, if you feel you are all those things, that’s okay too.)
For most of us, cancer isn’t an over and done with deal. You don’t have to put it all behind you. You don’t have to be done.
Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, there’s a certain amount of comfort in that, too.
Grief, cancer, and for some of us, the pandemic experience, too, become part of our being — part of who we are. Sure, we adapt. We adjust. We carry on. We move forward (very different from moving on).
All our life experiences become elements of who we are. The good, the bad, and everything in-between.
The grief we carry becomes part of who we are, too. Forever.
There is no other side of grief. Nor should there be.
I find comfort in that — not sadness.
What about you?
Who do you grieve for?
Do you sometimes feel like you’re supposed to be done grieving (and/or done with cancer)?
Do you prefer neat and tidy endings to books, movies, and your favorite TV series?
Sunset at Salona Beach, CA
Visit my website to learn more about EMERGING: Stories from the Other Side of a Cancer Diagnosis, Loss, and a Pandemic and my other books, too.
Thank you for being here with me. I appreciate you.
As always, I see you. I hear you, and I care about what you have to say.
Until next time…
Take care of yourself, and be kind to someone.
Warmly and with gratitude,
Nancy
I don't think that grief has an end point. I grieve my dad who died when I was twenty-eight; my mom who died twenty-five years ago; my two siblings who died in the same year, just two years ago. There will always be love and tenderness for these people, my family, in my heart, and it will be snuggled up right against the grief. It takes both love and loss to texture the heart in order to grow compassion.
I like story endings that show transformation. Grief and love are the great transformative forces. I want to see that the heroine of the story has become a better person for experiencing the grit and the grace of living.
Since my own experience with breast cancer, I personally find it to be extremely difficult to process the grief I feel when a close friend dies of the disease. It's very hard for me to process. Each time I feel so torn and wonder why them and not me. I don't think there's any limit to the length of time we all suffer from grief - it comes and goes, sometimes in waves. It comes back when I hear a song we shared, or see an image of them, or just have a random rememberance of them pop up in my mind. I'm still learning how to process it while I try to also honor the spirit of the friend who's gone. It's very difficult and something I think anyone with cancer, will forever struggle with.