My first foray into grief was second hand. Sounds odd. But witnessing the pain of a loved one as a witness, as a caretaker, as a spectator who can only cheer or cry on the sidelines but cannot cross into the main arena is as brutal as it gets. Maybe the wound is fresh, maybe I love that deeply, and maybe the helplessness is gut wrenching.
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Caretaker grief is real. I thought it was clichéd to feel pain for something you’re not experiencing first hand. But part of the second hand grief you feel is the realization that what happened is permanent, and it’s changed your loved one forever. As they deal with what I can only describe from afar as the bottom giving out, all I can do is be there. This is the job. Be there, be there for them. Through the ups and downs. Through the good and bad. Through the forgetting, and the remembering, only to have the world crash around them all over again.
Being there is the single most important thing I can do. So this is what I do. Hold their hand and say I am here and not going anywhere.
I know my loved one is strong. They’ve always been the rock that holds our family together. But now it’s time for me to step in and be the anchor that holds them in place while the winds and rain batter relentlessly. The storm will pass and the sun will come out again but until then, my rock needs a safe harbor.
