It wasn’t until a decade later and Dad had died that I recognized what I’d been going through. People expressed their sympathy about Dad’s death. “I’m so sorry your dad died,” they’d say.
At times, I wanted to ungraciously answer them with, “I’m not sorry! My real dad died ten years ago. He’s been suffering terrifying dementia for a decade. He finally was able to die, peacefully, in my arms and now the suffering is over.” Yet, I knew people meant well, so I bit my tongue.
Gradually, I recognized that I’d been grieving that whole decade. I’d been abusing myself by not giving myself some slack; by not recognizing that I had the needs of a grieving person. I did not treat myself as I would have treated a grieving friend.
I now speak to groups often, and remind caregivers that they are experiencing what I call early grief – that long, slow pain that weighs on our hearts as the years of caregiving pile up; as we watch the losses mount. It’s all a part of the long goodbye.