One year ago today I learned that a dear colleague had died. One month ago today I visited a dear friend whose memory is failing. One week ago today I was with my mother in her new assisted living residence, where many are still lively and active but where others are rapidly approaching a final passage. And sitting here tonight reflecting on aging and dementia and death, I have been reminded of a conclusion made years ago when I first encountered these realities working as a nurse: Grief is a mysterious process and, even with the best laid plans, loss catches us unawares.

The truth is we can never be adequately prepared for any of life's loss milestones, slow moving or sudden. And while a literature search would harvest numerous theories and road maps, even the authors of those guides remind readers that the journey of loss is unpredictable and rarely linear. Grief is singular and personal. Grief is raw and fluid. Grief can conjure gratitude and laughter just as readily as tears and regret. Grief takes our breath away, leaves us wondering if we will ever breath easily again. Grief opens our hearts, clears our vision, wake us up.

Grief need not be solitary however. Grief often appreciates company. Presence the only gift required. The holding of a hand. The bearing witness to pain. The willingness to listen and not judge. The courage to sit with powerlessness. The determination to see beauty in the full range of human age and functionality and decline.

I miss my colleague in ways never anticipated. I yearn for the rich and insightful conversations I once shared with my friend. I stumble in my attempts to offer useful support to my mother. But I am grateful for the years and the memories and the lessons learned. And I have come to accept the simple truth: Grief is a mysterious process and, even with the best laid plans, loss catches us unawares.

Resources:
Help Guide: Coping with Grief and Loss
Grief Net: Email Grief Support Groups
The Healing Center: A Seattle Grief Support Community

Linda J. Rohan, ARNP