Anticipatory grief: How to cope if you’re struggling to watch a loved one age

— Here, experts break down anticipatory grief, an under-talked-about and all-too-common experience of watching loved ones get older.

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It can creep up on you slowly or happen in a single moment, but anticipatory grief finds its way into the lives of most adult children or caregivers at some point. And the confusing part: Most people don’t know it when it hits them. Unlike grief after loss, which gets its fair share of air time, anticipatory grief is relatively unheard of, making it difficult for folks to recognize—  and process — when they’re experiencing it.

“Anticipatory grief is a process that occurs prior to an expected loss,” explains Alicea Ardito, a licensed clinical social worker in private practice with Loudoun Adult Counseling and Northern Virginia Older Adult Counseling. “Often, anticipatory grief is associated with the loss of a loved one to death, but the definition has expanded to include many other types of losses as well.” (Think: Cognitive decline.)

Whether you’re experiencing it now or want to be prepared, here’s what experts want you to know about anticipatory grief. 

What is anticipatory grief?

A viral tweet about anticipatory grief sparked a recent conversation, but the concept isn’t new — or rare. “Anticipatory grief is a very common experience for caregivers and/or adult children,” says Iris Waichler, a licensed clinical social worker in Chicago and author of “Role Reversal: How to Take Care of Yourself and Your Aging Parents.” “It references watching the physical, cognitive, behavioral and emotional changes you witness in a loved one. In a sense, you lose them twice. Once you have seen these changes over time, and the second time is at the moment of death.”

What triggers it?

While a concrete moment, such as a diagnosis or obvious cognitive or behavioral change, can set off feelings of anticipatory grief, there isn’t always one particular event that prompts it.

“Anticipatory grief can be triggered by many things,” explains Ardito. “It may be the realization that a loved one is nearing the end of their life, witnessing the process of a physical or cognitive decline or observing the progression of a life-limiting illness.”

This moment or phase then can then take you to a place where you begin to imagine life without them, Waichler notes. “It sometimes becomes an unconscious way to prepare for their death.”

What does it look like?

“Anticipatory grief involves complicated and complex feelings similar to those feelings associated with grief after a loss,” says Ardito. While each person will experience it differently, many will have some, or all, of the following feelings, according to Ardito and Waichler:

  • Depression.
  • Anxiety.
  • Anger.
  • Sadness.
  • Disbelief.
  • Denial.
  • Dread.
  • Fear.
  • Shock.
  • Guilt.
  • Helplessness.
  • Hopelessness.
  • Numbness.
  • Dissociation.
  • Confusion. 

“There also may be other emotions involved, such as gratitude or acceptance,” notes Ardito.

“While there may be empathy for the parent as they decline in health, there may be residual feelings, such as anger, abandonment, confusion or frustration. Luckily, there is space for all of these feelings.”
— ALICEA ARDITO, A LICENSED CLINICAL SOCIAL WORKER

For Carly Nguyen, a mom of two who runs the blog Little Voice, Big Matter, anticipatory grief presented in the form of wanting to make sure she provided closure for her father before he passed. “When I accepted that there was nothing else that could be done for my father, who was dying of cancer, I felt this great sense of urgency to let him know that we would all be OK,” she explains. “I wanted to be sure I eased any burdens he might be feeling and reassure him that he had done a fine job as a parent and a husband. I felt like I needed him to leave this world with that peace of mind.”

For adult children who have a contentious relationship with their parents, anticipatory grief can be even trickier. “It is not uncommon to feel conflicted about the relationship,” notes Ardito. “While there may be empathy and compassion for the parent as they decline in health, there may be residual feelings about the relationship, such as anger, abandonment, confusion or frustration. Luckily, there is space for all of these feelings. A person does not have to choose just one way to feel.”

Contending and actively dealing with anticipatory grief is a personal process, but here are a few ways to approach these unique and often confusing feelings, according to Ardito and Waichler:

Talk it out.

According to Waichler, regardless of whom you speak to, talking about your feelings regarding the impending loss is key. “If appropriate, and the person who is dying shares a willingness to discuss their feelings about their impending death, it can create an intimacy and environment to help both parties begin to cope,” she says, adding: “Many people feel regret for not saying all they wanted to a loved one that is dying.”

If a conversation with the aging or ill person isn’t on the table, Waichler recommends finding “another outlet to discuss tumultuous feelings.” She offers the suggestions of talking to a “therapist, trusted friend or family member, an online or in-person support group or a spiritual or faith-based leader.”

The main take-away: Don’t self-isolate and be alone. Says Waichler: “People tend to do this when depressed and it only makes healing more challenging.”

Get inquisitive.

Ardito notes that when a realization occurs that there may not be much time left, it’s a good time to inquire about their life (even if you already know). “It can be helpful to ask questions about family history or express interest in hearing a parent retell favorite stories,” she says.

This also was a recommendation when the topic of anticipatory grief recently came up on Twitter:

Get intentional with your time.

It sounds cliché, but it’s true: Quality is more important than quantity. “It can be very helpful to focus on the quality of time spent rather than the limited quantity of time left,” says Ardito. “Try to become fully present, even in difficult moments.”

In order to make the most of your time with a loved one, no matter how much is left, consider formulating a loose plan or general ideas. “Spend time thinking about how you want to spend your remaining time together,” Waichler suggests. “What can you do to help make this time more meaningful and bring quality and purpose to both of your lives?”

“Think along the lines of creating beautiful moments and memories together,” Waichler continues. “It may be a walk in a beautiful park, spending time in a garden, looking at photos of beloved family and friends and reminiscing or sharing favorite movies or music together.” 

Set boundaries, if need be.

“Anticipatory grief can jump-start long-delayed discussions about past unresolved conflicts due to the nature of the circumstances created by impending death,” notes Waichler — but this isn’t the case for everyone, and there’s no guarantee that conversations or interactions will end on a high note.

“If your relationship with the person dying is conflictual or strained and you see no room for healing, identify another person who can step in to be the primary caregiver, if you’re serving in that role,” Waichler says. “You may need to set limits on the frequency and nature of your contacts if you see them ending in conflict. Identify tasks that can be helpful to the person, but that won’t raise conflict. Examples may be helping with meals, helping with laundry or chores or helping to coordinate a caregiving team.”

“Some people experience anger or irritability towards the person who is dying. It is important to recognize and identify the source of these feelings.”
— IRIS WAICHLER, A LICENSED CLINICAL SOCIAL WORKER

Accept your feelings — no matter what.

One of the most important things you can do during such a fraught time is to “acknowledge and accept your feelings, whatever they are, without self-criticism or judgment,” according to Waichler, who notes that “journaling can be a good outlet to process your feelings.”

“Some people experience anger or irritability towards the person who is dying,” notes Waichler. “This may be because you are angry they are leaving you or because of the physical and emotional demands placed on you if you’re caregiving. It is important to recognize and identify the source of these feelings.”

Take care of yourself.

While your aging parent or loved one may be your number one priority, it’s important to “engage in self-care activities during this time,” says Waichler.

“Make time for yourself to get enough sleep, eat healthy meals and exercise,” she says. “Additionally, try mindfulness activities, such as yoga, meditating or praying to gain inner strength and calm. The stronger you are physically and emotionally, the more you can engage with a loved one in meaningful ways.”

Complete Article HERE!

End of Life Care for People with Developmental Disabilities

Why talking about this taboo subject with your loved one early on is important

Charlotte Woodward and her mom, Darcy Woodward

By Beth Baker

Planning for our own death or that of a loved one is difficult. According to a survey by The Conversation Project, 92% of us think it’s important to discuss our end-of-life wishes.Yet only one-third of us do so. 

For those with intellectual and developmental disabilities (IDD), those conversations happen even less frequently.

“Death in general is still a taboo subject,” says Dr. Kyle Sue, at the University of Alberta, who treats people with developmental disabilities of all ages. “For people with a disability, health practitioners don’t know how to bring it up, or they don’t know how much the person will understand. There’s a level of discomfort in trying to include them.”

IDD includes conditions that appear before the age of 18 that affect physical development, learning, language or behavior. Some conditions begin in utero, such as Down syndrome which is caused by an extra chromosome. Others are from a birth injury, such as cerebral palsy. One common disability, Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), likely has multiple causes and may not appear until after age one.

“I’ve thought about the end of my life. I know for a fact that I won’t be in denial of it… I would flat out accept it. Maybe I’ll give my body to science.”

An estimated 1-3% of Americans have IDD conditions, according to Margaret Nygren, CEO of the American Association on Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities (AAIDD). Improvements in heart surgery and other advances have greatly extended the lives of many.

Most notably, the average life expectancy for people with Down syndrome is now 61, compared to just 25 years old in 1983. Children with cerebral palsy are also living longer. A study in BMC Neurology found that 80% of children with mild CP will live to be 58 or beyond. Although this is good news, it presents new challenges as individuals outlive their parents or other caregivers.

Diseases associated with aging, such as Alzheimer’s disease, are becoming more common, especially for those with Down syndrome. Some 30% of people with Down syndrome in their 50s have Alzheimer’s, and 50% of those in their 60s.

Having conversations about end-of-life wishes is important while the individual can communicate.

Nothing About Them Without Them

Charlotte Woodward defies stereotypes regarding people with Down syndrome and other disabilities. As is common in Down syndrome, she was born with a heart defect and has had four open-heart surgeries including a heart transplant — one of the few people with Down syndrome to receive an organ transplant.

Woodward studied sociology at George Mason University, concentrating on discrimination against people with disabilities in the medical system, and she is now only the third person with Down syndrome to be a registered lobbyist. She works to advance the Charlotte Woodward Organ Transplant Discrimination Prevention Act, introduced by Washington State Republican representative Jaime Herrera Beutler and California Democrat Katie Porter.

“Actually, the most respectful thing you can do is to give them the opportunity to express their wishes.”

“I’m still in my thirties. I want to live my life to the fullest,” says Woodward, who is Education Programs Associate with the National Down Syndrome Society. Still, “I’ve thought about the end of my life. I know for a fact that I won’t be in denial of it. I won’t be angry or bargain. I would flat out accept it. Maybe I’ll give my body to science. And I would like to get my last will and testament in place and advance medical directive as well.”

Her mother, Darcy Woodward, 58, finds such conversations difficult. “There’s definitely a concern about the future among parents of children with disabilities. We’re trying to make sure things are in place to protect our children who will hopefully have long healthy lives. I try not to think about it, but I know it’s important.”

In the past, someone like Charlotte would not have a seat at the table when it came to planning her health care. But in the 1980s that began to change, explains Leigh Ann Kingsbury, a North Carolina gerontologist who wrote one of the first guides on end-of-life planning for people with IDD.

People with disabilities who receive Medicaid-funded services must have an annual plan for their care. “Up until the ’80s these planning processes were really perfunctory — professionals getting together and saying ‘here is what we think is best for Susie Jo’ in a highly patronizing, not culturally relevant manner,” says Kingsbury.

That began to change when advocates demanded that their voices be included. In the 1990s, the slogan “nothing about us without us” became a rallying cry in the disability community.

Advanced Directives

“People with IDD can and do create advanced directives for their care,” says Nygren. “The thing that’s different is they need some help discussing and thinking through the options, the way people without IDD can do it independently.”

But many medical professionals and caregivers are reluctant to include people with IDD in decision making. “I never met a person with IDD who didn’t understand the cycle of life,” says Nygren. “People aren’t automatically comfortable about it, but there’s awareness. People want autonomy and control over decisions that affect them. Actually, the most respectful thing you can do is to give them the opportunity to express their wishes.”

A person smiling at home. Next Avenue, developmental disabilities, end of life care
Charlotte Woodward

According to Nygren, the number of those with extreme intellectual limitations who cannot understand or speak is small, compared to the overall population of people with IDD. Even then, people who know them well know their likes and dislikes that can help inform care.

Dr. Brian Chicoine has been medical director of the Adult Down Syndrome Center in Illinois since 1992. The center was the first clinic to serve adults with the disability. He cautions that there is nuance about how and when you talk about death. “Our patients are so concrete. They can become so focused on the fact that they’re dying, they have trouble living,” he explains.

Many have a different understanding of time, he adds. For example, the parents of a patient bought cemetery plots for themselves and their son. “This was a very bright guy, but for the next five years we dealt with his depression,” as the young man focused on his death which was far in the future. “So we have to be careful with these conversations,” says Chicoine.

Barriers in the Medical System

Whether or not you have disabilities, having a good relationship with your primary care physician is important for having your choices honored at the end of life. But finding a doctor can be tough for those with IDD. Physicians often do not want to treat people with disabilities. An article in the October 2022 issue of Health Affairs entitled, “I Am Not the Doctor For You” about three focus groups of physicians across disciplines and regions of the U.S. found considerable reluctance and outright prejudice towards people with disabilities.

“Some participants … revealed negative attitudes … and commonly used outdated or ableist language (for example, ‘mentally retarded’),” according to the study. Some admitted that they had turned away people with disabilities from their practice. One reason is time constraints. Explaining medical issues to someone with an intellectual disability takes more time, yet doctors are reimbursed for a 10-minute appointment even if it takes 30.

“Even a person who is very, very ill or who has a psychiatric illness or Down syndrome can say ‘Don’t do this to me.'”

Pervasive “ableism” is common including in the medical profession. Many providers assume that a person with IDD has a poor quality of life. Such assumptions can have serious consequences. An article in a recent Journal of the American Board of Family Medicine entitled, “Ableism at the Bedside,” found that people with IDD had a higher risk of mortality from COVID-19 compared to others with similar medical problems.

In one case, ICU physicians repeatedly pushed for a “do not resuscitate” order to be in place for a woman with Down syndrome. Her primary care doctor and family refused. The woman went on to a full recovery.

Medical schools and residency programs offer little training to help providers feel more comfortable treating this population.

Sue begins end-of-life conversations when a patient he’s followed for years develops more serious symptoms.

“When I bring it up, I’m not saying, ‘Okay let’s talk about dying.’ I begin by asking what are they seeing? How is your child compared to ten years ago? How are things at home? For everyone who has serious health conditions, we do need to talk about planning for the future. As conditions change, it’s best to be prepared well ahead of time, rather than making difficult decisions in a crisis. I’ve found that families are quite receptive,” Sue says.

Palliative Care

If a person ends up in the ICU, communication can be very challenging. Palliative care specialists must assess their level of pain, for example, if they cannot converse. Treatment choices can be hard to determine, especially if there is no guardian or caregiver who knows the patient well. Guardians are typically family members, even if they have not been living with the patient. The staff of group homes who may know the patient best are usually not included in hospital decisions.

“No matter who the patient is, we always want to get as much information from a person based on what they do and don’t want, what they do or don’t value,” says 2021 Next Avenue Influencer in Aging, Dr. Jessica Zitter, a specialist in both critical care and palliative medicine at a public hospital in Oakland, California, and author of “Extreme Measures — Finding a Better Path to the End of Life.”

“The first principle is to try to elicit from a person the things that are important to them. Bring that information into their health care plan and medical decisions. Even a person who is very, very ill or who has a psychiatric illness or Down syndrome can say ‘Don’t do this to me.'”

Ultimately with a life-threatening illness, no matter the patient’s disability, “What we really need to be saying is, we’re not going to abandon you. We want to do what you want until the last moment. We’ll hold your hand,” says Zitter.

Supported Decision Making

Supported decision making is a process that helps people with IDD make decisions about important life issues. A team of family members, friends, neighbors, professionals or volunteers manages discussions to help the individual decide things about jobs, marriage or housing.

The process can also be used for end-of-life planning.

Darcy Woodward is exploring how to disband her guardianship and transition to supported decision making. She recognizes that Charlotte can make her own decisions. “I wouldn’t want guardianship to transfer to a stranger who would disregard Charlotte,” she says.

For parents of adults with IDD, such planning is critical, which is why The National Down Syndrome Society plans to publish an end-of-life guide. “It’s really about proactively planning for end-of-life care,” says Rachel Grimm, manager of health programs, aging and caregiving for NDSS.

“We want readers to recognize that having a backup plan and planning for the future are so important for happiness and sustainability. We’re encouraging families to find a lawyer to walk them through,” Grimm says.

Complete Article HERE!

Rob Delaney’s book, about the loss of his son, sings with life

In ‘A Heart That Works,’ the ‘Catastrophe’ star ruminates on the death of his toddler from a brain tumor

by Nora McInerny

At the very top of the list of things that people say are “unimaginable” is the tragedy of one’s child dying. People don’t mean they can’t imagine it, of course, but that they will not; it would be too sad, too much. Not 10 pages into Rob Delaney’s “A Heart That Works,” a memoir of his son Henry’s life and death from brain cancer at age 2½, he insists that you do imagine it.

“If you have more than one child, it’s critical you pick one for this exercise,” he writes. “If you’re reading this, and you have a child, do it now.”

I did exactly that, because I’m a good listener, and because Delaney’s urge to have the world around him gain fluency in his pain is familiar to any griever. How can we express what it means to lose the ones we love, what their lives meant to the people in their orbit? How can we get people not just to acknowledge our pain with platitudes and sympathy cards and flower arrangements, but to feel it?

When everything happens for a reason, even the bitterest pill can be swallowed. But what meaning can possibly be assigned to a cancerous tumor growing in your baby’s brain? To watching him suffer through treatments that can only delay the inevitable? To having a permanent hole torn in the fabric of your family when there is nothing more to be done, and your toddler dies on his father’s 41st birthday?

For Delaney — blessedly — there is none. There is no silver lining to his infant son being diagnosed with a brain tumor and undergoing two years of brutal treatment, no bright side to his other sons growing up without their brother, to holding, with his wife, their son’s lifeless body. If that sounds like a bummer, well, it is — the guy’s kid died! — but to those who have felt the icy grip of grief around their own throats, it is a relief to read an account of grief that is not a series of hard-won life lessons wrapped in a gratitude journal.

There is no making sense of the senseless, and Delaney doesn’t attempt to. Instead, the comedian — best-known to my children as the dad from last year’s “Home Alone” reboot, and to most adults as the creator and co-star of “Catastrophe” — ditches a linear narrative and drags us into the chaos of real grief.

The book starts after Henry’s death and skips around in scenes that explore life before Henry’s illness, during his treatment and after his death. The result is a book that sings with life: not just Henry’s abbreviated one but the lives of the people who loved him, who love him, who will continue to love him until, as Delaney writes, they “walk through a door he had walked through.”

It’s unfair to expect grievers to emerge from the depths of loss having mined diamonds of meaning, alchemizing their suffering into a form of self-improvement. Grief, Delaney notes, doesn’t sanctify you, but in his case it appears to sharpen his vision: He spills out his shame over the workaholism that made him “a bad husband and a very, very good cog in the TV machine.”

He admits to skipping his father’s birthday celebration because, you know, doesn’t it seem a little gauche to celebrate having 70 years on this planet when your grandson had only two? These are the kinds of thoughts a person in the throes of grief often has and rarely gets to say out loud, let alone commit to the page.

After wiping tears from my face over the reaction one of Henry’s caregivers had to the news that the boy would soon die, I howled in delight at Delaney’s response to an acquaintance who wanted the Delaneys to know that his grandfather had survived the kind of brain tumor that killed Henry:

“Are you … kidding me? I wouldn’t care if your ninety-year-old grandfather got hit by three buses and then fell into a meat grinder! Grandfathers are supposed to get tumors and die! That’s their job!”

That my laughter annoyed the child whose death I had dutifully imagined earlier in the day was a bonus; I’d thought similar things when his father died of a brain tumor in 2014. That a book about a dead child is at times laugh-out-loud funny is a testament to Delaney’s skill; in the hands of a lesser writer, the humor could seem dismissive or grasping instead of the natural release valve of a person who is highly attuned to the absurdity of the awful.

Mary Oliver assured us that we do not have to be good, but Delaney shows us what that means: In the midst of your disorienting pain you can rage against the absurd and inhuman bureaucracy of modern health care; find comfort in passive suicidal ideation during scuba training (“I won’t take the regulator out of my mouth and inhale a lungful of water on purpose, but if it got knocked out by another flailing student and my own fin got caught on a drain, and I panicked and inhaled, and they couldn’t revive me — well, then that would be okay”); find comfort in your partner’s body while your child is undergoing brain surgery across the street; hate that your child is suffering and still find great beauty in the tasks associated with his care.

Grief is far more than crying, and a person is far more than their death. To share any part of Henry with the world was an act of great generosity. The depth of my own medical knowledge comes from the University of Google, but I can assure Rob Delaney that his is a heart that works.

Complete Article HERE!