Anticipatory Grief: Navigating Life Before Loss
“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.” — John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
As an estate planning attorney, I work with families navigating the realities of mortality, planning for the inevitable, and deciding what to do in life’s most difficult moments. I help them prepare for the future while honoring the intensity of their present emotions. My role isn’t just about drafting wills and trusts — it’s about guiding clients through the legal steps needed to protect their assets and loved ones, all while acknowledging the feelings they may already be experiencing. By addressing both the practical and emotional aspects of end-of-life planning, I strive to provide peace of mind during times of uncertainty.
I love my job. I’m good at walking my clients through the process.
Here’s the thing, I had no idea what that process would look like for me personally — until now.
On Saturday, September 28th, I had a ticket to the American Cancer Society’s Hope Gala. I got up, went to work for a bit, then went to get my makeup done. I attended “High Tea” at the Thompson before getting ready for the Gala. I thought I’d be fine.
Sidebar: My mother was diagnosed with cancer this year, and my response was to go skydiving two days later, despite my intense fear of heights. I probably should have known the Hope Gala would be overwhelming for me. But I didn’t.
The event was elegant, beautiful. I met a striking woman with salt-and-pepper hair that reminded me of my mother. I approached her, complimented her, and we started talking. She asked what I did for a living, and I asked what brought her to the Gala. She explained her mother is a three-time cancer survivor, and she’s her mother’s caregiver — so the cause is very personal to her.
My throat tightened. Breathe in. Breathe out.
I told her about my mother’s diagnosis and how well she’s doing. She touched my arm, looked into my eyes, and said, “Find a caregiver’s community. Immediately.” I told her that my mother isn’t at the stage where she needs a caregiver. She shook her head and said, “It doesn’t matter what stage she’s in. Figure out how to take care of yourself.”
We started talking about anticipatory grief. I had never heard the term, but I knew something was stirring inside me. I didn’t know what it was, but I had been talking about it all day. Earlier, I spoke to two friends at High Tea — both had cared for their parents when they were ill. I asked them, “Is it normal to grieve for someone while they’re still alive?” I’d been breaking into tears unexpectedly — on my way to work, out of nowhere. Both friends gave me an emphatic yes.
This woman at the Gala gave it a name: anticipatory grief.
I sat at a beautiful table in the St. Regis Hotel, talking with other guests about wine, Atlanta, and Hurricane Helene. When the food arrived, I ate a little and passed out my business card to a couple of people. Then the program began. An executive from Delta spoke. At this point, my memory is blurry, but I believe he introduced a video presentation about Hope Lodge — a home away from home for cancer patients and their families during treatment. The video was full of survivors sharing their stories. And all I could think of was my mother, in the middle of hers.
When I tell you I ran out of there like Cinderella when the clock struck twelve — I was undone. I was overwhelmed, consumed by all the worst-case scenarios racing through my mind. I felt so much shame. Why was I here at this Gala, surrounded by cancer survivors, instead of spending time with my mother? Words can’t express the sorrow I felt. I called her as soon as I got in my car. She didn’t answer — thankfully. She’s the one I always call when I’m a mess, but I couldn’t call her for this. I didn’t want to burden her with my grief.
Some days, I sit at my desk and wonder, “What’s wrong with me?” She’s still here, and I should be savoring every moment. But instead, I’m drowning in these intense emotions. Here’s the thing though — anticipatory grief is real.
Anticipatory grief hasn’t changed me — it’s revealed me, just as John Green’s quote suggests. It’s shown me the depth of my love for my mother and the fragility of time. This emotion, while painful, is a testament to the profound connection we share.
So, if you’re like me — navigating a world where it feels like loss is on the horizon — know that it’s okay to feel what you feel.
You’re not alone. This grief is part of your story. It’s part of how you love, how you prepare, and ultimately, how you will carry on.
This article was published on Medium on October 23, 2024
