Still Processing

Two years ago

Monday, May 4, was a very long day at the clinic. David started a new clinical trial of two experimental drugs, MEK-162 and BYL-719. They had given good results on solid tumors; this study was to see if they would have a similar effect on leukemic cells.
Except for the day of the bone marrow biopsy and initial blood draws, David could stay on hydroxyurea, which had become his only defense against uncontrolled growth of the blood cancer.

Early May 2017

Spring is coming slowly this year. We’ve had a few days of hot, summery weather, but now it’s back to 50-60 during the day, 39 at night.

I went to Compassionate Friends last Monday evening. We were in Florence, Italy, last month, so I missed it. I arrived first, after the facilitators, Elizabeth and Chris. I recounted our trip: the perfect AirBNB Jim found, the architecture, art, food, gelato. Eventually three more parents arrived and the conversation wove around many everyday topics, including death and loss. Mostly I listened quietly.

I thought of my Florence report as ‘my turn’, but 15 minutes before the end, Elizabeth turned to me and said she wanted to give me time. I didn’t know what to say, didn't really know how I felt, but plunged in. The pain isn’t debilitating; I function perfectly well. When a smell or sound or sight awakens the grief around other people, I’m anxious to not break down and sob while wishing I knew how to express my sadness more openly.

        I’m shocked when I hear myself say, “It will be two years in August.” It’s been less than two years? How can that be?

The other night I listened to Krista Tippet’s podcast interview with Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant. Sheryl’s 47-year-old husband, Dave, (there’s that name), died while on vacation in 2015. Adam is a psychologist and close friend who has helped Sheryl and her children after Dave's sudden death. Sheryl and Adam have written a book and started a non-profit, Option B,  "to help people build resilence and find meaning in the face of adversity." One video on the website addresses ‘the elephant in the room’, how hard it is to talk about grief.

Sheryl has realized that people often say nothing in the face of grief because they fear reminding the grief-stricken friend of her loss. That's not possible: grief is timeless; it doesn't go away. Life goes on; joy returns; but it's always there as well.

        I listened to this podcast alone, then played it for Jim last night. Afterwards we sat quietly. It's good to just sit.

Yes, speaking David's name, acknowledging the grief, doesn’t make it worse. David would have turned 30 this year. That haunted me in January, I've grown used to the idea.

The grass grows green.