Tag Archives: grief

5 Tips for Living in Limbo

How to survive & thrive with an uncertain future during the COVID-19 pandemic

(Photo by Josh Wilburne on Unsplash.)

Many of us are staying home these days: abruptly working from home, or suddenly unemployed because of the COVID-19 global pandemic. We don’t know when this pandemic will end.

I listen to my friends try to describe this emotional unrest they’re feeling, and I know the word they’re reaching for: limbo.

Brock and I lived in limbo for three years after his terminal cancer diagnosis, not knowing how much time we had left together, and — in those final months — not knowing what he’d be capable of physically, hour by hour.

Those years taught me some basic survival skills that not only kept me sane, but also allowed me to grieve the pre-cancer life we’d lost, and even enjoy moments of our new life and be happy in the time we had left together.

Here’s what I learned:

Limbo tip #1: When the walls close in, push back

Living in limbo can be mentally overwhelming. The world may start to close in on you. Do what you can to push back by reaching out and connecting with other people, either by having a social-distancing friendly visit (if that’s still allowed in your community), on the phone or virtually.

Being restricted and staying home has made me realize how easy it is to reconnect with long-distance friends. Thanks to Facetime, Facebook messenger, Zoom, Skype, or any of the many online tools available to us, my friend in another time zone and my friend down the road are both just a video call away.

There are online fitness and yoga classes, live-streamed music concerts, conferences and workshops to help us connect, from home, with real-life people in real time.

Being outside also keeps your world from shrinking. Open a window, sit on the balcony, or go for a walk to get some vitamin D, breathe in fresh air and experience weather. You can watch the clouds drift or stare at the stars: these sky views remind us that life is bigger than the four walls of our homes.

Limbo tip #2: Keep track of the days

It’s the dungeon cliche: scratched lines on the walls, counting the days. If we don’t track time, our days blur together and the walls start closing in.

I started keeping a daily journal on March 16. My son woke up with a cough and fever, so we isolated ourselves at home for fourteen days. But I’m a writer, and writing is how I deal with life events.

If lengthy, detailed accounts of your days aren’t your style, try just writing down the date and the weather each day. Scribble daily notes on that now-useless calendar. Maybe list the people you connected with, or Netflix shows you watched. The food you ate. Your mood. Whatever the big news was locally or nationally.

Why do this? Tracking our days helps us feel in control of time passing. It also provides a historical record that you might be glad to have and look back on someday, or to pass on to your grandkids.

Limbo tip #3: Let yourself grieve the loss

This global pandemic is impacting our daily lives in breathtaking ways. Whatever we’d expected for 2020, this is not it. I gave up on my hard-copy calendar a week ago: I was tired of crossing off planned adventures.

My neighbour Juli was supposed to take her family to Disneyland for Alice’s birthday last weekend. My friend Laura’s new job may or may not start in two weeks. Some friends on Vancouver Island had scaled up their farm, preparing to exponentially increase their wholesale accounts this year: now they’re trading butchered livestock for groceries and gin.

It’s natural for us to grieve these upset plans and losses. Some of these dreams might just be postponed, while others will be forfeited.

As a widow, the best way I’ve found to process grief is to share stories, and let yourself cry about the loss. But it’s important to purge and move on, rather than wallow. So find a friend to trade stories with: your cancelled marathon, their kid’s prom fantasy. Swear and cry it out, if you need to. Then find a new topic for discussion.

When I was taking care of Brock in his final months, I found it hard to let out my grief. I was trying to be perky and brave for my family. But tears are cathartic, so I watched sad movies alone: Still Alice helped all those stifled tears flow, and I felt better afterward.

Limbo tip #4: Short-term pleasures vs. long-term projects

There’s pressure out there to use this time to finally learn that musical instrument, or attempt every recipe in the cookbook, et cetera.

There are also the memes about how we’re all drinking our way through this pandemic, lounging in our jamjams and binge-watching Netflix.

For my own time in caregiving limbo, I found it helpful to have a combination of short-term pleasures and long-term plans:

Give yourself a horizon to aim at

One day, when the denial lifted and I understood Brock would die relatively soon, I sat down with a pen and paper and listed what made me happy and what I wanted my future self to be doing.

Highlights included physical activity, and time with my sister and parents. I realized this “Plan B” life meant moving back to my hometown: I discussed the idea with Brock, and he agreed it was a good plan.

Then I stopped thinking about the long-term, and focused on making the most of our days together. When Brock died, I just shifted into autopilot and started packing.

I needed to have this long-term plan in place so that I could stop worrying about the future.

Our current future, post-pandemic, is uncertain. But we can still take a moment to assess what we’d like that future to include. If anything, living without simple luxuries like coffee shops and birthday parties might help us redefine what’s important to us.

Lego Heather has a campfire with Lego friend Dauna and Lego boyfriend Ryan.

And, when you know what you want your future to look like, you might choose to make small changes now.

… and/or, revel in the staycation

We’ve been asked/told to stay home. In Canada, our government is financially subsidizing this staycation. For those of us between adolescence and retirement, this is an incredible, mid-life opportunity to chill out.

So why not abandon the calendar and clock, and tap back into our circadian rhythm? Eat and sleep when we want to? Sit in the sunshine when it’s hot, or drink hot chocolate if it’s raining outside?

Why not binge-watch Netflix? Celebrate happy hour with friends online?

Maybe having this free time means we can immerse ourselves in that artistic project, or research and write up the business plan to take our passion to the next level. We can finally complete those online courses, to up our professional game. Teach the kid to pedal a bicycle. Learn to make lemon meringue pie from scratch.

This is a very extended long weekend. It’s okay to give ourselves a break.

Limbo tip #5: Most importantly: be kind to yourself

In limbo, our energy levels fluctuate dramatically. Some days, you might only have the energy to lift that remote: other days you’re doing push ups, updating your LinkedIn profile and downloading Duolingo so you can learn Welsh.

Trauma, change, loss and grief are challenging life experiences, and that is what we are dealing with now. Be kind to yourself.

Someday, this state of limbo will end. We’ll have a vaccine, or will somehow adapt to a new normal. We just have to get through this limbo stage.

(This story was published on Medium.com by Invisible Illness.)

More thoughts on the plague by Heather McLeod:

COVID-19 Has Changed How I Write My Book

Maybe This is a Different Kind of Adventure

I started recording our days on March 16, 2020. To read my Pandemic Diaries, click here.

“I’m Sorry for Your Loss”

What to say (and do) after a death

A friend’s father died a year ago. He told me the story over lunch at the pub, and I reached for a response. Some safe sentence to tell him I cared.

In the years of supporting my husband through his cancer, and now my two years as a widow, I’ve learned to be careful with this moment: there are so many WRONG things to say.

So I said the one safe sentence I’ve settled on:

HEATHER: “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I patted myself on the back for mastering this death-grief thing.

“Ugh,” he said. “I hate it when people say that. What does that even mean?”

Well, shit. I thought I was an expert at all this. If even I get it wrong sometimes, is there one right thing to say?

The Year of Magical Thinking

When my husband, Brock, was sick, I read all the books on grief and mourning I could find. At one point I picked up Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, a multi-award-winning book about the grieving process.

In the first part of the book, Didion surveys people about the responses they found helpful and unhelpful: are the cut flower bouquets thoughtful, or just a painful reminder of immortality and a chore to compost? Some said yes, some said no. I didn’t make it past the first few chapters: I was annoyed that her survey findings were all contradictory. I wanted concrete, useful advice as to how I could work through, and survive, my grief.

Then Brock got bed-bound sick, and then he died, and so many people reached out to us in such a variety of ways, all with loving intentions, and I had my big, two-part epiphany:

  1. Every illness and death and grief experience is different.
  2. People want and need different things.

(It appears Joan Didion was right.)

This is why I’ve always found “I’m sorry for your loss” to be a pleasant, loving, safe thing for people to say to me, while my friend had a negative reaction to those words. There is no single response that works for EVERYONE.

If someone you know is grieving (or dealing with a life crisis) and you want to show them you care, the number one best piece of advice I can offer is:

Customize your response

If you know the person well, you might know exactly what would help her, whether it’s meals or financial support or a hug.

One example of a customized, incredible gesture of love is the “Basket of Love” my friend Patti made for me when Brock was sick. It was a yellow container full of little items wrapped in yellow tissue paper, tied with yellow ribbons. (I love yellow. It makes me happy.) The little items included a yellow pencil crayon, yellow modelling clay, chocolate, trinkets from local stores, soap … Whenever I felt sad, I went to my basket and opened another little gift. The yellow plus the thoughtfulness of the tiny, surprise presents (and sometimes chocolate!) boosted me in those sad moments.

Over the year, I sometimes found a set of wrapped, “refill” items at my door to add to my basket. It’s been four years since Patti gave me that basket, and I still have some unopened gifts on-hand, to unwrap as needed.

If you don’t know your grieving person as well as Patti knew me, you can ask someone close to her what she (and her family) might need. Maybe it’s meals, maybe it’s financial help, maybe flower bouquets make her smile, or maybe she’s more of a potted plant kind of person.

If you feel comfortable just ASKING directly what she needs help with, that’s great, but she might not know herself. She might be too stricken to be able to respond properly. Asking one of her friends or family members is a nice workaround. Or: think of all the ways you are able to help, write a list, and give it to her so she can check the boxes.

Which brings us to:

Helpful responses vs. unhelpful responses

It’s our habit to respond in certain ways: we visit sick people, we drop off meals, we send flowers.

But sometimes people don’t want visitors, because visitors use up limited, precious energy and time, or because the person doesn’t want to be seen at their worst.

Maybe they’ve always been an introvert who likes their alone time: they haven’t magically transformed into a company-lover because of whatever they’re going through.

Sometimes meals aren’t eaten, maybe because of dietary restrictions, and get thrown out, and then the dishes have to be washed and returned.

Sometimes cut flowers litter the house with petals and pollen, or trigger allergies. Or they emphasize mortality and impermanence, and unsettle our blissful state of denial as we care for a dying loved one.

Projecting your own needs or desires onto the person you’re trying to help is interesting from a self-knowledge perspective, but it’s not always the most helpful response.

The most helpful response is one that is NEEDED and WANTED by the recipient. And the best way to identify these needs and wants is, as I’ve said, to ask someone close to the target family, or the person you want to help.

What can you give?

A gesture of love and support shouldn’t just be customized to the recipient: it should also be customized to you.

I was having a rough day emotionally one sunny day in 2015. It hit me all of a sudden when I was driving past our friends’ home. So I parked, rang the doorbell, and when John (the husband) answered I broke down.

John knew he was in difficult waters so he yelled upstairs to his wife: “Angie! We need you down here,” watching me the whole time, as if I were a wild animal at his door.

Even at the time, this made me laugh. John knew what he could give, and comforting a bawling woman at his front door was not his strength.

While John was not the guy to help with my temporary breakdown, he frequently visited my husband (who loved his visits and their conversations), and John’s landscaping company appeared every two weeks to mow our lawn for free. He wanted to help, and he gave what he could.

Lawn-care isn’t your typical response to a family in crisis, but wow — it was much appreciated.

Help outside the box

Sometimes you can help in unexpected ways.

Yes, maybe your person needs financial help (especially if they’ve lost an income-earner, or paused their own work), maybe they could use meals or food, maybe they want visitors or flowers.

But if your strength is cleaning houses, or handyman work, or landscaping, those skills might be exactly what they need/want to make their lives easier at this time.

If their kid(s) knows and trusts you, you can offer childcare, or chauffeur them to school or their activities, so the kid’s life isn’t disrupted even more.

Brock was very sick for Isaac’s 4th birthday. For the party, my sister-in-law brought the pizza and friends brought the cake, because I was a mess. (Brock died 8 days later.)

Helping can be as simple as sending a text: “I’m grocery shopping today. Send me a list of whatever you need and I’ll deliver it.” They’ll get cream for their coffee without having to face the public.

It’s the intention

For both the givers and the receivers, it should be the intention that counts. When someone drops off a meal of shepherd’s pie, and you’re vegetarian, it doesn’t matter: the point is, they wanted to help. It’s nice to know other people care.

Brock wasn’t, and I am not, spiritual in any way, but we still said yes when people asked for permission to pray for him. It was an emotional win-win.

The check-in

When someone dies, the gestures of support from the community fade away and eventually cease, although the family is still reeling from their loss. Grief can surface and cripple us months and years after the death.

You might want to check in on them, or send them a card, or leave another meal in a month or so, just to remind them that their community is still there for them. They might also have a better idea by then of what they need/want for support, and how you can help.

Maybe, by then, they’ll be ready to tell the story of what happened: they’ll have processed the death enough to be able to talk about it. You can say: “Would you like to talk to me about your husband? I can listen.” Listening quietly to their story, without judgement or interruption, is one of the best ways we can help grieving people. (Again, know yourself: you don’t have to offer this if listening and comforting sad people isn’t your super power.)

When does it end?

Two years later, I still get cards and messages from close friends and family on the anniversary of Brock’s death, his birthday, and when they’re reminded of Brock in some special way (e.g. elections). For me, these notes help keep him alive. It’s nice to know other people remember and love my husband, as I do.

Again, as I’ve learned, not everyone will feel like me. They might not want these reminders. It might be too painful. So use your best judgement, consider what your friend might most appreciate, and act with good intentions.

Even if you get it wrong, you’ve tried, and that’s what matters.

Brock, covered with love (i.e. cards and letters) from our friends and family on his last birthday, in 2017. People often worried about saying “the wrong thing” to my dying husband. I encouraged them to write whatever was in their hearts for these birthday notes, which I’ve kept to give to our son when he’s older.

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I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have you found a helpful thing to say or do to friends going through a hard time? What have you found helpful or unhelpful when people try to help you? Please post a comment, share this post online or read more posts on this website.

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