When grief fills the void after loss

A caregiver's busy life can suddenly become empty when a loved one dies, resulting in depression.
By JUDITH DULBERGER
VINDICATOR CORRESPONDENT
Hospice of the Valley bereavement counselors have been in touch with Judy Lorant since her sister's death Sept. 8.
But Lorant doesn't feel the need for that kind of support right now.
"I feel I can handle it myself, but I don't know. I don't think there is anything anybody can do for me."
Lorant's grieving is really just beginning. She tempers the sadness by keeping busy. "I'm gone all the time. I don't have time to grieve because I'm around other people. But when I'm home, then I notice that it comes."
Lorant cared for her sister, June Augustine, for nearly a year during the final months of June's battle with leukemia.
Lorant's husband, Julius, also needed care during this time. He was in the early stages of Alzheimer's, lucid at times, but plagued with incontinence and memory loss.
Sometimes he would sleep all day and be up half the night roaming around. Lorant was always busy cleaning up after him and preparing meals or snacks. He often forgot that he had just eaten.
Thinking back a bit regretfully, Lorant said she often told her husband, "Oh, we'll do things after June's gone. She doesn't have much more time …. We'll just spend our time with her.' And then [Julius] goes first."
Julius died unexpectedly of stroke and heart failure June 18, 2002, two and one-half months before June. She's had little time to mourn Julius until now.
"I just start crying. Some days I'm out, I miss him. Some days when I'm here [at home], I miss her."
Though Lorant remains stoic about the loss of her husband and sister, she feels that it just wasn't fair that she had to go through it twice in such a short time. And, she admitted, "I didn't think it would be this bad. It isn't that bad, but still it's there."
From grief to acceptance
Sue Holt of Austintown understands the feeling of unfairness when death strikes so close. But she also knows there is plenty that others can do for the grieving person.
She lost her husband, Jack, also to leukemia, just over one year ago.
Jack was diagnosed in 1999 with refractory anemia. A diagnosis of myelodysplasia came in March 2001, and a few months later, as with June Augustine, Jack's condition developed into acute myelogenous leukemia. He died a little over a year later Aug. 28, 2001 at age 54.
Jack and Sue were childhood friends, high school sweethearts, and they were married for 34 years. They had two children and four grandkids, with two on the way. Jack planned an early retirement from General Motors in October 2001, and he and Sue were going to go "wherever the winds took them."
"He was taken from me at a young age when we should be enjoying his retirement, and I felt cheated," Sue said.
Unlike June Augustine, Jack had no bone marrow donor match. So his chemotherapy treatments were tough and often debilitating.
After two lengthy rounds of chemotherapy and a clinical trial treatment, interspersed with 33 rounds of radiation for throat cancer, Jack finally told Sue, "I can't do any more. Let's go home."
They called Hospice of Northeastern Ohio, and within a week, Jack died.
Sue's broad smile faded into tears as she recounted Jack's last few hours. But then, her face brightened again as she remembered, "within 10 minutes the kids were here, [my] mom and dad came, and then the house filled with people."
Sue's grief began to sink in over the next few weeks. She said, "You go from wife to caregiver and you're never a wife again. It was so hard to make the transition. ... You were with him 24-7, and all of a sudden, you're nothing."
Sue was particularly struck by an emotion she hadn't really expected. "Each 'legal' thing you do," she said, "makes it seem that the loved one is being erased, whether it be changing the deed on your home, or something as small as changing utilities to your name."
Sue's acute grief began in the months after Jack's death. Even though there were people with her for two weeks afterwards, the house grew quiet.
"The nights were the worst," she said. "As soon as it would start getting dark, I was afraid. I think I was afraid to be alone."
Sometimes Sue would experience acute anxiety attacks. "I would go to Wal-Mart and would have a huge panic attack, and I would be afraid I could not make it home."
Psychiatric advice
At one point, Sue went to a psychiatrist. She thought she had dementia, the beginnings of Alzheimer's, or clinical depression.
"I wasn't sleeping. Maybe I'd get two to three hours a night, and then I'd be up wandering the house looking for whatever. I would hear my husband breathing. ... A couple of nights I thought I heard him calling me, 'Babe.' That's what he used to call me."
Sue asked the psychiatrist if she was nuts. He said no, that she was experiencing overwhelming grief.
By December, Sue was in the emergency room. "My blood pressure had gone through the roof. The doctor asked me, 'Are you under a great deal of stress?' 'Yes,'" I said. "'I just lost my husband.'"
Sue's daughter brought her home from the hospital. For two or three days, Sue lay on the couch because she was medicated. Everyone kept coming to check on her. That's when she thought, "You know what? My family is going to put me in the loony bin."
This was the turning point for Sue. "This isn't doing you any good," she told herself. "He's not coming back." And, it was then that she resolved to get back on her feet.
"I think grief can cause depression, but I couldn't let myself go that way," Sue said. "I struggled through all of that because he was so important to me, so very important. But his wishes were that I go on with my life." In fact, Jack often told her, "Don't stand at my grave and weep."
"I have gotten my life together," Sue said, smiling proudly. "I've become a very strong person. I was always Mrs. Holt. I just was Jack's wife. And all of a sudden, I have become Sue. It's been a struggle, but I did finally come to terms with things. Maybe I was very selfish. But I really needed to think about me. And I hadn't for two years."
Offering Consolation
At first, Sue got involved with some support groups for widows and widowers, but she chose not to continue with them. She did receive lots of support and comfort from family and friends, however.
One close neighborhood friend came over to visit Sue one day. She told Sue, "I'm not sure what to say to make you feel better. I want to, but I'll sit here. If you want to talk to me, you talk to me. If you don't want to talk to me, you just sit there. I'll be right here with you."
Sue said that this was just the kind of comfort she needed. Her children and others did the same, even though they too were grieving the loss of a father, a brother, a son or a friend.
Her advice to those who don't know what to say is this, "Don't say anything. But don't ignore me just because I might cry."
'Take the first step'
Marietta Ciavarella, bereavement coordinator at Hospice of the Valley, said that if you want to help the grieving person, "You take the first step. Don't just say, call if you need me."
Ciavarella stressed that if you say you're available for support, be sure that you make the first move. "Then just be a good listener, be open minded, and be willing just to be there."
In addition to family and friends, Hospice of Northeastern Ohio bereavement counselors have helped Sue Holt through her grief over the last year. "They sent me reading materials, sent me articles on grieving, called me, and when [the counselor] heard a tone in my voice, suggested coming to see me."
Sue learned with the help of hospice that each person handles grief in his or her own way. "No one can tell you how much time it takes to make it 'better,' or what you should do to 'go on' with your life."
Sue believes that "the absolute best way to go through any of this is to find someone who has walked in your shoes or who is walking in your shoes." She has connected with that support through her involvement with the Leukemia & amp; Lymphoma Society, where she has found friendship and mutual understanding.
"There is no time frame on your grief," Sue said. "Just take one day at a time. ... There is light at the end of the tunnel. I am in a good place now. I'm the happiest I've been in quite a while. I've become Sue. Not that my husband didn't allow me. But I just had to find a place just for me in the world."