Crashing the Widowers' Breakfast

I'm not really a group kind of person. I half-heartedly sought a caregiver's support group when David was at his most ill, but was still stunned to discover very little in the way of this kind of organized group -- especially in a major medical center like the one in which he was under care. He would have eschewed any support group for himself -- after all, HE was the "face" of brain cancer survival. (Honestly and very sadly, I think he truly believed that to die was to fail everyone who looked to him for hope and courage.) But I, the care package, was interested in meeting others who were going through what I was going through. Still, to this day, I have never met anyone who has cared for a loved one through to the very bitter, ugly end of brain cancer. Many loved ones die from side-effects of the disease or of the treatment. I know there are some of us out there, but I don't know them. This makes me feel very isolated.

My sister is, for simplicity, a "war widow." She has an enormous network of like-experienced women -- many of whom have become dear friends. Though I certainly don't envy her tragic life event, I do envy her support system a good bit. She, too, has a loving church and many close friends, but her "widow friends" have insider knowledge, so they offer a unique empathy to each other. I "watched" her, from the great distance between us, with these special women. I have met just a few of them; I grieved with some of them graveside, but mostly she speaks of them: how they've blessed her, basically become like family to her, bolstered her as she loved and bolstered them. I sensed real beauty flourish out of great sorrow. But I couldn't even find an organized group of caregivers in a major cancer center, let alone brain tumor caregivers.

After David died, I attended a drop-in bereavement session. A dear friend accompanied me, as her father had died not too long before that. It was a very small group -- maybe one other "mourner" and the Bereavement Counselor. Not to sound haughty or anything, but I had more to offer than I had to gain. I mean, I'd been through this grief process before -- numerous times. I left feeling not just the same, but actually like something had been taken from me. It's not their fault -- it's just the way it was. I remember asking about young widow groups (yes, I still consider my self a young widow ;-) and was disappointed to learn that there really weren't any! There was a Men's Breakfast bereavement group. I thought, Cool! but men don't relate like women. Do they really talk and share their feelings? I hope they do! but womenfolk are the talkers -- the sharers -- the feelers. Women in grief needed a group! but there was none. Again. No group.

I tried again. Family Bereavement Sessions -- seven weeks' worth. I took my son, like a good mom. He didn't fight me on this and that perplexed me, but I didn't question it for fear that he might change his mind. We just went. We went to each and every session. Again, I felt like I offered more than I gained, but I expected that so it wasn't a surprise. There were only two other adults who had lost spouses -- one other woman and one man. They were both about my age, but we didn't have a connection. The other adults had lost parents or siblings -- that kind of grief is very different. I could not relate to the loss of a sister (thank you, God) but, of course, could closely relate to losing a parent. Well, two parents. Still, I hoped that my son might be finding an outlet for his own "stuff." I'm not sure that he did or that he did not. He claims he just went so I could get some support. Whether or not that's true, it's still so tender that I'll leave that one alone, too. We came out the other side not the worst for wear. All along, I felt remorse that my daughter was unable to experience this with us because I knew she was struggling so far away at school -- but knew that she had family and loving professors, the entire chapel staff! and a good church loving her right where she was.

A woman, whose husband also had a GBM and had been at the rehab hospital with David four or five months prior to his death, reached out to me. Her husband had also died. Many months later, we finally got together for lunch. I was really hoping that we would have closely-shared experiences, but her husband had also succumbed to something other than the brain cancer. I could relate to her deeply -- but ultimately, I still felt alone. Death from brain cancer is probably as variable as life with brain cancer, so nobody's story will be just like mine. I know that. Henry said that David would probably begin to sleep more than be awake. He would begin to eat and drink less and less. That the sleep would become unconsciousness and, therefore, shield him from pain. This was not how David died. He always was a square peg. Na -- something way more complicated and geometric with NO chance of fitting into ANY hole. He made that cancer work for it. He took it to the very end, as always, beating any odds. The day before he died, he was up in the wheelchair and we were downstairs in the kitchen at the Hospice House having lunch. Then incredible pain, fever and nausea took over. It was not gentle like a long, peaceful sleep. Is anybody out there who has lived through this? I'd like to talk to you.

The war widows have their own traumatic story, of which I am somewhat familiar. I'm going to have lunch with a few next week -- and I'm very much looking forward to hearing the songs of their hearts. We all know tragic death and the logistics of being widowed, but I don't understand fully the horribleness of what they know -- sudden, unexpected death; just as they don't understand what it means to witness a long, drawn-out illness robbing one's life. I will still tap into their wisdom and spirit and I will share mine with them.

But I continue to hunger for fellowship with others who know what I know. I wonder if some of the men who frequent the "men's breakfast" bereavement group share my experience. I really have considered dropping-in on them to find out. I wonder how that would turn out ... Then I am nagged by a thought that maybe I should start a "women's breakfast" bereavement group -- or lunch or tea time -- (something that wouldn't require a pre 8:30 am waking time?) instead of bemoaning the fact that one isn't already in place for me. Yeh, two years ago, it would have been a gift to have one in place. Today, am I "strong enough" to undertake the planning and implementation of this? Should I? These are questions to tumble back and forth in my mind and heart. Maybe it's time.