My aunt is gone. Stage 4 cancer took her life suddenly last week. As I try to grasp this new reality, the thing that keeps popping into my head is that… she wasn’t supposed to die first…
You see, my aunt had one sister, my mom. My mom was diagnosed at eighteen with MS (multiple sclerosis) which over the last two decades has become progressive. During my lifetime, I have spent significant time grappling with my grief as I have endured witnessing how MS has wreaked havoc on my mom’s physical ability and her mind.
So, when I say my aunt wasn’t supposed to die first, it is because I always felt she would be there when the time came for my mom to take her last breath. When that happened, I thought my aunt would be there to hold my hand, to shed tears with me, and to share memories of those who passed. She would share stories and memories of everyone who passed before, including her parents (my grandparents).
I envisioned that she would be present, doing the activities with my boys, that MS has stopped my mom from being able to participate in. I imagined her seeing my new home in Arizona (a big relocation from Canada, a few days before she passed) and I also saw her with us when I brought my family to Finland to meet our extended families.
But, all this won’t happen because she is no longer here. I am beyond thankful that my mom still is. This past week, I struggled deeply, as I navigated feelings of what I thought the future would hold. Deep grief and shame and guilt – why would I wish my aunt here when my mom goes?
The thing is, I would never want my mom to go, but I have also had to face the reality that one day MS will have taken too much from her and that we all die one day. I have spent years navigating my loss of what I envisioned with my mom and I have had to build up alternative futures without my mom for a long time because when a person is navigating MS, it is visible. You can’t run away from it, because it is ever-present. There is still good but there is also a lot of bad.
So, now I sit with having to process that my aunt isn’t here and there will be no more time with her, physically. I also need to adjust what will be, as I have lost my aunt, but also one of the people in my support group.
As I sit here, trying to process this, I am also struck with a deep desire to remember. I need to remember all the moments I have cherished with her – I don’t want to forget. Like, visiting her at her light pink house on the Pacific Ocean, where she would set up her boat house as mine and my sister’s ultimate dress-up sanctuary. I want to keep her alive in memory, I want to share stories about her, and I want my children to remember her. Although, I know my “fun” aunt may not be here anymore, I am equally aware that she will always be with me.
I still wish I could have hugged her at least once more, but I also know deep down that she is happy where I am and with what I am doing. I also wished I wasn’t a plane ride away from my mom this week as I would love to hug her and tell her how much I love her too – a phone call right now will have to suffice to share how thankful I am to have her in my life.
As I wish, I grieve. I need to remember that it is okay to grieve. It is normal to feel loss. It is normal to have big feelings about navigating a new future, without a person you cherished so much.
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