GriefSPEAK: A grief therapist grieves as well – Mari Nardolillo Dias

by Mari Nardolillo Dias, EdD, contributing writer

“Here’s to the ones that we got
Cheers to the wish you were here, but you’re not
‘Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
Of everything we’ve been through
Toast to the ones here today
Toast to the ones that we lost on the way
‘Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
And the memories bring back, memories bring back you” (Maroon 5)

We wait for babies to be born. We wait for people to die. We know the gestation of the fetus is nine months. When the time comes, we ask: “What does the doctor say? How much longer will it be?” When we go into labor, we ask the same questions: “What does the doctor say? How much longer will it be ?”

It is the same with a terminal illness. “What does the doctor say? How long will it be?” No one knows. No one can answer the question – whether we are coming into or out of this world. My dear friend passed yesterday. The questions were asked. The answer was nebulous. “The doctor says 3-6 months.” They said, “Only God knows.” She beat all the odds. One year. One year of chemotherapy. Trials. No change. At 6 months she told me she was not in any pain. A Tylenol would do the trick. At nine months she told me the same. It was only last week that she seemed to fail. Only last week she felt weak. Pancreatic cancer took her at age 70. Yesterday. Yes, she lived a full life of love, family and travel. She loved to dine out and enjoy a cocktail. Her four boys adored her. And still do. She was my son’s second mother. And she is gone. 

What were you doing between 1 pm and 2pm yesterday? Perhaps you were working. Grocery shopping. Sitting grandchildren. Visiting a family member. I was at the gym. 

She had been “actively dying” for 3 days. Akin to “active labor.” I knew it was close to the end but never the day or the time. I was swimming laps at the gym, constantly glancing at my apple watch to check on messages. I had been checking messages since Tuesday. As I was swimming, I felt a sudden lightness of being. A cloak of weight dissipating. A release of vicarious pain. I didn’t have to check my watch. I knew. I checked anyway. I saw the text. “She passed, peacefully.”  Waiting for her to die was not a wish, but…. a sabbatical in time. A prayer to end the pain. The torture that could only be erased by morphine. Or death. There were no alternatives.

A grief therapist grieves as well. We grieve for our friends, our family. This personal grief sometimes prevents us from providing therapy for a time. Our grief gets in the way of our client’s grief. There is not enough room for both. I suspect that in a while, I will be able to regain some strength and reframe her death. Too young. Too soon.  I will raise a glass to her memory, laugh at the memories and shed tears whenever I hear, “Cause the drinks bring back all the memories and the memories bring back, memories bring back you. RIP, RRP

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Dr. Mari Nardolillo Dias is a nationally board-certified counselor, holds a Fellow in Thanatology and is certified in both grief counseling and complicated grief. Dias is a Certified death doula, and has a Certificate in Psychological Autopsy.

Dias is Professor of Clinical Mental Health, Master of Science program, Johnson & Wales University. Dias is the director of GracePointe Grief Center, in North Kingstown, RI.  For more information, go to:  //gracepointegrief.com/ Dr. Dias is the author of GriefSpeak