About a year after my mum passed away, I went to the cinema to watch a film called ‘A Monster Calls’. It tells the story of a twelve-year-old boy who encounters a tree monster who proceeds to help him cope with his mother’s terminal illness and being bullied at school. The tree asks Conor to bring himself to speak his truth. Conor feels very damaged, guilty, and angry because he is struggling at school with bullies, while his mother lies very sick at home. He has a very strict grandmother and an estranged father. The tree visits him one night and tells Conor stories that help him through his grief, confront his fear, and ultimately acceptance. In a very emotional moment, Conor shouts '“I want my mum to die”. He reveals that the pain of knowing she is going to die is too great to cope with and he just wants the illness to end, and the pain and waiting to stop. He admits he is terrified for having those thoughts and begs the monster to make everything stop. He is experiencing exhaustion, fear and unbearable anticipatory grief.
This part of the film resonated with me so much and I had tears pouring down my cheeks. I remember, in the final stages of my mum’s terminal illness, just wanting it all to stop. I couldn’t bear the waiting. The anticipation was exhausting and seemingly never ending. My mum was moved to a hospice and was there only four days before she passed away. I was with her on the bright and sunny Friday morning when it happened. I had been sleeping in the relatives room, my dad had slept in the room with her all night and I had just sent him home to have a shower. I was there to take over the shift. I picked up my mum’s hand and it was stone cold. There was a nurse in the room at the time and I just said ‘why is she freezing cold?’. And she calmly told me she was going to pass. I went into a blind panic. The nurse told me to phone my dad, which I managed to do. I remember saying ‘no, I’m not ready’ but I was also feeling relief that it was finally happening. I was so confused. It happened very silently and very quickly.
I will admit, despite the grief, that I was relieved. No more pain for her, no more awful quality of life, no more waiting, no more agonising anticipation.
Anticipatory grief can be felt in a child when they hear their parents arguing or fighting. ‘Are they going to separate or divorce?’ ‘What will happen to me?’ It can also be felt when an old pet becomes poorly. We anticipate they haven’t got much more time, as we do when we hear about a terminal illness. It can also be felt when changing schools - the anticipation of starting again, new friends, new teachers, new routines. Leaving old friends and familiarity behind and effectively starting all over again.
Anticipating loss can often get in the way of truly leaning in to joy - when something is going so good, it can as quickly be snatched away from us, right? Research Professor Brenè Brown refers to this as ‘dress-rehearsing tragedy’ - we put a strong arm out to stop the joy, because, ‘knowing my luck, it will all go wrong’. We do this for self-preservation so that when we are disappointed, it’s ok, because we were expecting disappointment. Anticipation can be agonising and unsettling, it can fuel anxiety and worries. It can consume thoughts. A gentle way to help is distraction - finding things that bring you joy and allow your mind to focus on something else. I was astonished to find, while watching the documentary ‘Friends: The Reunion’, a huge amount of people explaining how the TV show helped them through depression and other life changes. This links back to my post on Celebrity Death Loss - we anchor ourselves to something consistent and familiar, ideally comedic and lighthearted, something that lifts our spirits and reminds us that life is still beautiful and funny and filled with hope. Watching a TV show, or a favourite film, or absorbing a good book can be helpful distractions, as well as going for a walk, or creating something, even sharing a coffee with a friend who gives good hugs and has a compassionate ear.
Anticipating grief can feel sad and lonely, if you feel this way, be sure to seek support. We are not often very good at asking for help, but I’m sure there are lots of people you’ve helped in your lifetime who are waiting to reciprocate and give back to you what you have kindly afforded them - a smile, a hug, a squeeze of the arm, or a giggle in a safe space where you feel held in love.