Denial, Not A River In Egypt

Denial helps us to pace our feelings of grief. There is a grace in denial. Its natures way of letting in only as much as we can handle.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

It’s 10:17pm on a chilly April evening and, thanks to the morphine, Craig is finally able to rest. It has been a very long busy day for us. I’m settled into the large comfy recliner next to his bed, my left hand rests lightly on his right shoulder.

I know the end, the moment I have been resisting, the time I have been denying, is happening.

This morning his nurse Elizabeth and Chaplain David sit with me while Vivian, his aide, gently, lovingly bathed him one last time. We talked, them explaining what was going to happen as his body shut down. Tears stinging. Numb. Their voices are filled with deep compassionate love. They talk slow, occasionally glancing at each other and back to me. I feel bathed in loving support.

Where the hell is denial when you really need it, my ego screamed!

Daughter Erica comes in–sunshine! Our eyes meet and she knows, immediately. Uncontrollable tears roll down her face as she drops her coat and handbag. We hug, words stuck in our throats, and move down the hall to his room. As the aide prepares to leave she leans over to Craig and kisses him on the forehead. She whispers goodbye in his ear. Eyes closed, he smiles.

Upon hearing Erica, his eyes pop open and he looks directly at her, his smile turning to a sheepish grin. She caresses his toe and smiles back through her tears.

“Well, I’m goin’ to that dying place now,” he says rather matter-of-factly. We are all crying.

I know the end is very near but for some reason, maybe because I am so exhausted, I am at peace. Waiting. Waiting. Tick-tock. Nothing to do. My denial has left, we parted ways this morning. Up till now I desperately clung to the hope that he’d recover against all odds. But as the weeks ticked by it became clear, his body could no longer wait. When Craig and I would talk about the end, I’d cry and beg him and God to give me just one more day. He’d smile and simply say ok before drifting off to that world beyond the veil.

It is nearly midnight, everyone has left, the house is quiet. I sit, tired eyes closed, senseless thoughts dangle like tiny colorful fragments bouncing around. Sleep is impossible.

My phone rings. It is my dear friend Life. He speaks softly, slowly, deliberately choosing his words. He’s had a vision, it was time for me to let go. I knew this was true and probably because of the physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion, I didn’t resist.

Denial was no longer a luxury I had. Yes, was all I said.

I climbed up in the bed and whispered softly into his chest. I love you. I miss you already but it is time for both of us to let go. The light awaits you, don’t look back, I’m ok. He smiled, eyes still shut, took a deep breathe. Then another.

Denial is not a bad thing, it just has a bad rep. It is actually a defense mechanism that can be used when we are not ready to deal with our current reality. Over the months of doctors and tests and finally hospice, denial helped me to wake in the morning, put one foot in front of the other, and do what needed to be done.

But like everything in life, denial is only helpful when it is in balance. A parent who has just found out that their child has a crippling disease doesn’t need to jump in immediately to the center of that emotional tidal wave. Here, denial offers invaluable help by giving the parent emotional respite, enabling them to gather the needed strength to take the next step.

However, if we are constantly in denial it becomes an impediment and blocks us from being present. Unbalanced, it can make us feel like we are powerless victims.

Take time when emotional reactivity arises to feel into what is really going on. Give yourself a break when needed. Emotional work can be exhausting but it is also rewarding. Know that wherever you are in your process, you are ok, you’ve got this.

Be tender with yourself, find your pace, honor the process

Lee Byrd