My physical manifestation of grief

The human body is a curious thing. I felt that I had prepared for the inevitable in a measured and prepared way. The bills were being paid, the paperwork was getting done, appointments and phonecalls answered, my mother's belongings packed, sorted and ready to donate or sell or go through at a later date. All of the preparation was of course, to make the mourning process "easier". Why was it then, that my body forbade the measured and calculated preparation I had executed? Surely I would be more prepared in all ways, than I was when I lost my father at the age of 26 in 1999.

In the past month, I had gone from caregiving 4 nights a week, to every night at the hospital. I organized video calls with my mother's family in Vancouver and Japan. My visits were spent speaking to her soothingly, encouraging her to walk, to sit, to drink, to move. I clipped her nails, slathered her dehydrated skin with lotion, changed her, rubbed her back, stroked her hair, held her hand. I played Japanese music for her, showed her photos, chatted about anything she wanted to chat about even if it was a 1 minute conversation on a repeated loop, over and over. After arriving back home, I would read about caregiving, dementia, dehydration, dying... a readiness exercise in research could only benefit me, I thought. I bought all the books, read all the online articles, listened to podcasts by the experts. I was "prepared" for the worst.

And yet on Saturday April 01st, as if it were a cruel April Fool's joke, at 10 minutes before noon, I received a call from the hospital asking to please hurry to room 117 (visiting hours were from 1pm to 8pm and I had planned to be there for the entire 7 hours - it was a Saturday, after all). My husband (bless him) drove and we rushed to the hospital only to make it to her bedside minutes after she died. Her body was still warm. I put my hand on her cheek, stroked her hair, held her hand until it turned cold. I wept, told her I loved her, asked her to find and join Papa. I apologized that I couldn't make it to her side sooner. That is my only great regret: that I didn't make it in time. I didn't want her to die alone.

That same night, I told myself I was okay, that I just needed to decompress a bit over the weekend. My caregiving duties were over, and I should feel relief from releasing the caregiving burden upon myself, just as my mother's soul was freed from her suffering.

By Sunday evening, a curious thing happened. My jaw emitted a dull pain as I sat down to supper. I thought it was odd, nothing more. Later that night, as I tried to open my mouth to eat a piece of sushi, I couldn't even open my mouth wide enough without experiencing a sharp pain, and I could only chew while blotting tears from my eyes. "Strange indeed", I thought. I scheduled an emergency appointment with my osteopath for the following afternoon. "Let me sleep it off." By Monday morning, the pain was searing, and I could neither open my mouth nor clench it. The pain was progressing, not healing.  Surely my trusted osteopath could fix me! (And in case you're wondering, of course I went online to look for the link between TMJ and grief. I found absolutely nothing useful. Was this all in my head? They must not be linked, I reasoned.) For reference, this is the Temporomandibular Joint, for which I went through years of therapy in my 20's (but that's a whole other story, isn't it?):

What I thought would be a session of physical manipulation and healing was in fact the beginning of what I hope will be a true spiritual / emotional / physical healing journey. My osteopath (he is the best, by the way, and I'm happy to refer him to you if you live in or near Candiac) started with the most important step, which was giving me his undevoted attention and compassion. He didn't ask me questions and scribble notes while jotting down my symptoms. He looked me in the eyes, gave me his sincere condolences, and asked how I was. Me. Not my jaw. Not my accident history. How was I doing? How was I managing? Did I have a good support system? Was I taking time for myself? Did my job support my taking some time off? How was I sleeping? He then explained that every person is unique in their grief, in their management of it. Every person has a different avenue and timeframe for their healing. After several minutes of compassionate conversation, he decided to work mostly on my cranium (nervous system?), a bit on my TMJ (but honestly, he only worked on my jaw physically for a few minutes at most), and I don't know what else (it doesn't matter because I trust him and my body trusts him in my healing process). 24 hours later, my jaw is improving slowly, and I took one more day off from work to figure out the tools to get myself through the coming days, months, years without my mom.

I additionally came to realize that I would need to take that time to sort out my feelings, go through the grieving process in my own unique way, be that through additional therapy (I have a therapy session scheduled with my pychologist this weekend), meditation / mindfulness, going through the tears and the memories, spending time alone or with those who support me (and let's all agree that I have the best support system ever). 

Did you know that grief could manifest itself physically in this way? For me, it is a humbling lesson in the beginning of my journey of grief and healing.

And as you know, writing is therapy for me. Sharing my journey is healing for me. Knowing that I might help that one person who I talk to or who reads my stories, is both rewarding and a release for my spirit. I will continue to be an #AlzheimersDaughter and promote #DementiaAwareness. I will continue to advocate for support and resources for caregivers. And, I will wear Grief as a badge of honour, a rite of passage in my life.