Grief’s Placeholder: Life with the Squatter

My father-in-law died in March, and he was the last of our parents to pass in the last 4 years.

We’ve been bracing for grief for a long time. It hurts the body to stay in a state of bracing for impact uninterrupted for so long.

The personality develops coping strategies. These strategies help it stay functional while dealing with care-taking responsibilities and familial duty. Life continues to move on, even when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

Off and on, over the last few years, I would take my emotional leave.

And The Squatter moved in.

She arrived during my father’s serious medical issues. She stayed and became more entrenched when my mother-in-law died suddenly.

She moved in and took over the house as my mother and father were dying of cancer. My body needed to be in two places at once. The Squatter managed it somehow.

The Squatter was in business and was entrenched.

Let’s see, there are doctor’s appointments, pharmacy runs, and insurance conversations with long wait times that need to be managed. Wound care considerations are important. Do you hire someone to clean out the wound daily or do you do it?

You never wanted to be a nurse, but you find yourself teaching the nurses how to do their job. No wait, The Squatter did that.

The Squatter loves Nitrile gloves. She teaches you that you can do anything that needs to be done with them on your hands. She can live in a mess. She knows how to cope.

Noted.

Additionally, calls to family members are necessary. They need to know how much time is left. This allows them to rearrange their schedules to say a final goodbye before time runs out. And all of this during COVID when the world went crazy about being around others.

Madness.

How do you want your remains to be taken care of? Memorial service or graveside? Cremation with ashes scattered over your favorite place to fish when we were young?

There are so many decisions to make. There is so little time to fully process the horror that they are leaving. And realizing they are leaving you behind to clean up the remains of what filled their days for decades.

No, I can’t do it.

Let The Squatter figure it out.

There are now conversations about what they are seeing. Their eyes can now see “more” on the ceiling. They can also see “more” in the air ducts and at the foot of their final bed.

Agitation is dealt with when you interrupt their gazing.

Let The Squatter take the heat.

Then come the unexpected guests. Unseen people arrive with messages that only the dying can hear. Finally, their eyes are open but can no longer see.

I momentarily returned at my mother’s deathbed. I cried as I held her hand, warm then cold.

But then The Squatter took care of the details.

She took over where I couldn’t. She could live with the mess, and she shared with me her secrets.

It’s a big business, dying.

My squatter is very loyal and protective. She’s stoic. She is functional and somewhat cold emotionally. She is clinical. She can discuss death and the dying process with precise clarity. This can be helpful for others in the beginning stages of caring for the dying. Her matter-of-fact delivery instills a knowing trust and truth in the receiver.

But it comes with a cost.

She can overstay her welcome and the gentle process of eviction can be painful.

I want to feel again, my feelings. I want to feel again, my joy.

I don’t want to be clinical anymore, I yearn for fun and an occasional frolic.

She was my protector but now that job is no longer needed.

My husband is home again, for good now.

They are all gone, Squatter. I need you to move on, too.

And now it’s time for me to return home.

I have work to do, feelings to process and a new life to live.

Thank you Squatter.

You were my placeholder, but now I need you to exit gracefully.

No drama.

And let me start to fill the space you occupied.

Until next time.