In his novel, The Fault in Our Stars, John Green wrote, “Grief does not change you. It reveals you.” He explained that grief has the extraordinary ability to reveal who we are, who we have always been, and who we have the potential to become.
My twin sister, Kathleen Ann, died nearly 2 years ago, shortly after we “celebrated” our birthday together. Kathy received her cancer diagnosis on March 4, 2024, after spending 10 long days in the hospital. Her last 3 weeks were a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs, of hope-filled hours, followed by crushing heartbreak. In what seemed like an instant, the sudden changes in her physiology enforced the need to manage her increasing pain.
Having lost her ability to respond, I decided the only way to reach her was to not leave her. I assumed that because our energies had often “overlapped” during our 67 years together, surely she still possessed the ability to experience our “twin telepathy” again.
I laid next to her during her last four days, unaffected by fatigue and hunger, and fueled by the hope she would return to us.
Knowing there was hospice support gave me the calm strength and focus to stay present with my twin sister in her final days. In hindsight, I realize that by choosing to stay fully present in what is undoubtedly one of the most sacred and challenging experiences of our lives, we must become intentional of where we place our limited attention, along with thoughts of how we will manage what is to come.
On the morning of March 21st, 2024, Kathleen Ann and I held hands for the last time. In the instant her pain vanished, her heart became a part of my own.
Soon after Kathy’s passing, I was introduced to Melissa at Arbor Hospice. At once, she was a safe place for me to share my grief and allow it to be witnessed, without fear of judgment or the polite request to “focus on healing.” Melissa offered no instructions—only presence and deep empathy. She assured me that some months would feel slow with invisible progress, and some days I would spend wrapped in the cloak of my grief.
Those conversations became my healing salve. With Melissa, I didn’t have to mask anything. I had the right to my grief, to my confusion, and to my deepest longing. I could be myself—broken, yet still moving forward. Throughout 13 months of meeting with her, I eventually learned if I wanted my life back, I would need to meet my grief and offer it a place at the table.
As the two-year anniversary approaches, I can say that I have come a long way in my grief journey. Early on, I heard that grief is like carrying a jagged rock in your pocket; in the beginning, you are aware of the sharp (and cutting) edges, its weight, and that the responsibility to carry it will always be yours. But as time goes on, the rock’s sharp edges get a little smoother and its weight becomes easier to bear.
So far, one of the greatest gifts that grief has given me is the knowing that, by honoring a sacred place for grief to live, we create an equally sacred space for moments of joy to poke through, thus providing momentum to move forward in our life. That by allowing grief its place, we gradually come to know—and believe—that experiencing the fullness of life is the only thing our loved ones truly want for us.”
Arbor Hospice’s grief support programs are available to individuals and families at any point in their grief journey, whether the loss is recent or years past, free of charge. Through one-on-one counseling, memorial events, support groups, and more, individuals don’t have to walk through loss alone.
Arbor Hospice relies on donor generosity to provide the comprehensive, compassionate grief support services needed after experiencing loss. Help bring comfort to people like Karen Ann by making a tax-deductible gift today.