I've had a lot of complicated feelings over the past year or so, and I didn't quite know how to put a name to them. I've watched as my mom slowly changed in physical ability, personality and mental acuity, and it saddened me, losing little pieces of who she is, yet she is still entirely here and present. It felt wrong, almost, and I felt sort of guilty, but couldn't put my finger on why.
Most of the time, she was almost the same. She still craved my time and attention, even making up reasons I had to run out to the farm in order to spend time with her. (She could have just asked me to come, I would have gladly done it, but I guess that felt too vulnerable or something. Ms. Independent.). She would text and call me many times a day, and if I went more than a few hours, she would be upset at not hearing from me, worrying something was wrong. Then she would forget we had talked just a couple of hours earlier, and upon being reminded, be annoyed with me for reminding her! She wanted to know about my day, what I was doing, and always wanted to help me with my work, or at home, or whatever I was doing. And she was still always there, ready to listen to whatever I wanted to talk about.
But her filter had changed. A lot.
And it changed her - who she is, who she was with me, and who we were together as mother and daughter. I wouldn't know from day to day who she would be - the mom I have always known, or this new, slightly cutting, more irritable person that was not quite happy with me, no matter what I did. And as her primary care person, I was often in the position of having to insist on things she didn't want to do, so there were plenty of opportunities for her to be annoyed with me.
I don't think anyone else really noticed the changes, although I may be wrong about that. But her temper was much sharper with me, and she was more willing to use it. Her words were less filtered with me, and she was less concerned about their impact. Her interpretation of events was sometimes wildly skewed from the reality of the situation, which I found confusing and sometimes hurtful. I would remind myself that she was aging, often in pain, especially her knee, she was slowing down and everything was harder for her which was frustrating, and not to take all this so personally, but it felt personal, because of course, ultimately, it is.
I just came across a term that really resonated, and I finally can put a name on the feelings I have had. I wish I had known it awhile ago, because it would have helped me come to grips with some of the emotions, so I'm sharing it here, in case other people are going through the same thing. It is called anticipatory grief. I have always thought of that as something you go through in the time immediately before a death; hours, or maybe a few days. I didn't realize it could start much sooner; that it began when you started to notice changes that profoundly change the person you love and the relationship you have always had with them, and which, even unconsciously, trigger the knowledge that death is coming, even if its a ways off.
Over the past year or so, as my mom reached the advanced age of 99, I obviously understood that death was inevitable and unavoidable. People just don't survive much past 100, and while I expected her to reach 100, I realized intellectually that her health probably would take a turn at some point and we would have to face life without her. But it was an intellectual exercise, not a reality for me at that point. Or so I thought. But deep inside me, I now realize I have been anticipating and preparing myself for what was inevitably coming, the loss of my mother, one of the foundational people of my life.
Today, I am watching her life in the closing chapter, knowing that she might not make 100 after all, and the anticipatory grief is different yet again. It is more present, more at the surface, and comes more readily as I realize we are doing this or that for likely the last time, or her health takes us for a roller coaster ride, and we don't know where we are heading next. But I'm not sure it is more raw, its just different. The realization surprises me, how raw the emotions have been, and I've been stuffing them, as I always do. Perhaps its a survival technique. It hasn't made it less painful.
Anyway, here is what I'm learning through all of this. If you are dealing with an elder (or someone with a terminal illness) and you feel things shifting, give yourself and them some grace. You aren't imagining things. They probably are changing, and you are, too. Its inevitable. Anticipatory grief is painful, and the wound cuts deep. No one likes change, especially to our most core relationships. Just lead with love, and find a couple of safe people who have been there and truly understand to vent to when you need it, and you will have the tools you need to manage. The feelings are real. And there are so many of them. You get to have them. (Your loved one gets to have them, too, BTW.) You aren't wrong to feel what you feel. (They aren't wrong to feel what they feel, either.) Overwhelming love. Sadness. Joy. Memories. Old hurts. New realizations. Happiness. Laughter. Fun moments. Tears. Sudden grief. Momentary irritation. Gratitude. Impatience. Tenderness. Guilt. Yearning. Wishes. You can hold all the feels at the same time, and they are ALL valid. Every single one of them.
That's what I'm telling myself, anyway. I'll let you know somewhere down the road if I'm right.
