Forced to Learn About Grief: A Daughter’s Story of Loss and Lung Cancer

On September 9, 2024, after a 29-day stay in the hospital, my dad was taken from this world. He had recently been diagnosed with lung cancer and an exact carbon copy of my biomarkers. He was also on my same treatment as me. He was responding well to treatment, but after several bouts of pneumonia and other pulmonary damage, his lungs were too damaged to heal.

A mere 11 days later, my grandmother simply went to sleep in her home and also left this world. This was my dad’s mother, and I believe that a broken heart turned fatal for her.

The quiet work of grief

One morning after the funerals, I went to clean up my dad’s flowers that were wilted and dead. The vibrant yellow of the roses had lost their luster; the greens were fading and were mostly just brown and dead. All still perfectly placed. The rain had saturated the once-beautiful flowers and floral foam. I dismantled the carefully curated arrangement and placed it in a trash bag.

My shoes were muddy, and rain was misting just a bit. I found myself looking like I was in the middle of some rain dance or some other weird ritual at 8 a.m. in a cemetery stomping ants off my feet. People who saw me might have thought I had lost my mind. I straightened up the silk flowers and picked up the ones that were thrown about from the recent rain and wind, tied up my trash bag, and was about to walk back to my car when I turned back to look over my shoulder at two piles of fresh dirt of the final resting place of two of my very own immediate family.

Both now lay within inches from each other and less than a half mile and within view of where they lived for many years and called home. The home I grew up in was right beside the home my grandparents lived in for many years and daddy and his sister grew up in as well.

Finding peace in the hush

I’ve never been afraid of cemeteries — I’ve just never longed to hang out in one - but that morning in the misting rain I stood there in disbelief. Seeing my daddy’s name on that grave marker is a gripping, debilitating heartache that I can’t explain. However, through tears, an overcast sky, and misting rain, there was a peace that I felt. There wasn’t anything making noise—no cars, birds, or anything. It was just a welcome hush.

A short journey as an advocate

I was able to be Daddy’s advocate for only a few short weeks on his lung cancer journey. He had two oncology appointments, and I was with him for both. He was delighted that he got to be on the same medication as me because that gave him hope. He had seen me on this same medication for almost seven years. I was able to warn him of side effects and what to expect. He wasn’t alone. He had me, his only child, to walk this unfortunate journey with him.

I am grateful that he is no longer suffering, on oxygen, or in pain from his years of dealing with spinal stenosis. I am also grateful that he won’t ever have to grieve me.

A forever-changed life

Nothing prepares us for loss. It’s hard to lose two people within 11 days of one another. I know of whole families that have been lost at once. I used to tell people that I couldn’t imagine what they were dealing with, and going through and that was a true statement. I really could not have imagined. I have been told over and over again that life is forever changed, and it absolutely is.

To all who have suffered loss, my thoughts are with you. I never really knew this kind of grief until now.