Recently, I was asked by my writer/author/podcaster friend, Lisa Appelo, to share some thoughts on grief with her readers. She knows the pain and storm of grief after suddenly losing her husband, leaving her with seven children ages 4 to 19. Lisa has over 30,000 followers on social media. You can find all about her at lisaappelo.com.
In her book, Life Can Be Good Again, she shares how to navigate life after losing someone you love.
While I have written before about anticipatory grief, I thought some may now be in the midst of it, so I would, again, share my thoughts with my readers.
The pain, sadness, and hard emotions that come from grieving a loss before it happens has a name: anticipatory grief. Janet Hart Leonard shares six lessons she learned about the valley of anticipatory grief in her mom’s final months this side of heaven.
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“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me; your rod and your staff they comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4-5, ESV)
For two years, I walked through that valley – a valley of anticipatory grief.
I never heard of anticipatory grief until I was thrown into the depths of it. The anticipatory grief got deeper as my mother began to struggle with her health and mobility.
I define anticipatory grief not as waves of grief but as an undertow. It is the current beneath the surface of every decision, health crisis, and holiday. That current is strong and flows away from the life you have always known with a loved one.
The valley of the shadow of death is long, lonely, and full of what-ifs and when. Here’s what I learned about the valley of anticipatory grief.
- Anticipatory grief starts slowly.
In the middle of the night, my phone rang. The voice was the “we have an emergency” operator with my mother’s life alert company. Mom had fallen again. The first responders were on their way to her house. I took off running, as she lived only three blocks from my house.
With every middle-of-the-night phone call, I knew we were approaching the day the calls would stop.
- Anticipatory grief worsens as our loved one’s health worsens.
We met with a social worker in the hospital who told my mother the doctors thought it was time she moved to an assisted living facility. My mom was silent, but I assured her we’d researched a wonderful place only 10 minutes from my home, and she reluctantly agreed.
On moving day, Mom, dressed in a new outfit, rose from her chair, moved from her recliner into her wheelchair, and slowly looked around. She knew. I knew. She would never be back.
I had just taken a deep dive into anticipatory grief. We got her moved into her cutely decorated apartment. After showing her around and meeting the residents and nursing staff, I got into my car, gripped the steering wheel, and wept. It was one of the most brutal cries I remember having since my dad passed some 14 years earlier. I was losing my mother.
God comfort her and keep her safe, I prayed. Please, Lord, help her to find friends who will love her well. And God, if it’s not too much to ask, could you comfort me, too?
- Anticipatory grief triggers guilt.
A few days after moving my mom to her assisted living facility, I got a call, “Janet, I want to go home.”
My heart felt like it was being stabbed, and the tears fell as I told her that wasn’t possible.
“Janet, your dad would be so disappointed in you that you would do this to me,” she said, then hung up. Anticipatory grief found a new level of brutality. I was drowning in guilt.
My daughter convinced her that I loved her enough to do this hard thing. She called me, apologized for what she said, and told me she would be okay. The question was, would I be okay?
- Anticipatory grief is a waiting game.
The anticipatory grief grew greater with each trip to the ER for recurring urinary tract infections. Her symptoms often included verbal salads where she would try to talk but would use words that made no sense. She was very confused and it was scary for both of us.
As she lost the ability to walk, the nursing staff suggested it was time to move her to a healthcare campus. We never used the word nursing home. Soon after their suggestion, Mom fell and broke a rib. I knew it was time to move her.
It was another difficult discussion, but she knew she needed more care. The problem was that she would have to share a room which meant sorting through more of the things she could not take. Every time I packed away something, it reminded me that someday I would be sorting for the last time. It wasn’t just stuff I was packing away, but memories.
My mind played mean games. Every holiday, is this the last one? Last Christmas, last Easter, and last Mother’s Day?
- Anticipatory grief involves a host of hard emotions.
Anticipatory grief is “a feeling of grief that occurs before a loss.” It’s an intense and overwhelming form of grief that includes a mix of emotions like numbness, disbelief, sadness, anger, fear, and shock.
I felt every one of those emotions during the two years before my mother’s death. It is said that anticipatory grief can be just as painful as the actual loss, but it also allows the family to prepare for the inevitable death.
During those years, I embraced the psalms. I wrote dates and thoughts in the margins of my Bible, which became my grief journal. Psalms 34:18 says, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
- Anticipatory grief doesn’t eliminate grief after our loved one passes.
In November 2020, I received a call that Mom had COVID. The facility let me know she would not recover as blood clots made their way throughout her body.
Dressed in safety gear, I was allowed to be with her in a private room for three hours daily. We sang her favorite hymns and talked about what heaven would be like. I read the Psalms to her. We shared memories and held hands, but most of all, we shared our love.
Photo provided by Janet Hart Leonard
That room was sacred ground. On December 16, I kissed her cheek and whispered, “I love you, Mom. I’ll see you in heaven.”
The next morning, my phone rang. I no longer felt the pain of anticipatory grief. The grief was now that of deep mourning. God was close to this brokenhearted daughter and had been faithful to both of us while in the valley. I knew as she gently fell into Jesus’ arms, her legacy of faith would live on in me.
Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.