A Letter to My Future Self: Coping with Grief and Finding Hope (Written in 2019)

Dear Future Me,

I don’t know what year you will be reading this, but right now, it is:

February 17, 2019, I am in Stevensville, MT and I have spent the last two weeks helping my parents. Mom finished her first round of chemotherapy for lung cancer, and we managed to get her safely on a plane to Oregon where she will live with my brother and his family while she completes her treatment.  It should take a couple of months.  Everything has been so hard – we have battled bad weather, slick roads, arranging flights with wheelchair transports and allowance for oxygen tanks, been hit with having to quarantine the house due to Influenza going around, shopped for new clothing for mom to take with her, packed, planned, cleaned freezers.  My dad is coming home with me to stay while my mom recovers.  Something is wrong with him and mom said he can’t stay in the house by himself.  He got lost while driving into Missoula to see my mom at the hospital and he is closing all the shades and going to bed at 4 p.m. in the afternoon.  The house is so quiet. I hope the roads will be o.k. for our seven-hour drive across the state tomorrow.  Mom is safe and now I just need to get dad back to my house. 

February 27, 2019, Dad and I are in Keizer, Oregon.  We made an emergency trip from Montana to Oregon because mom took a turn for the worse.  We made it in time to say our goodbyes.  I do not know what to do.  My uncle came to our hotel room and helped me tell my dad that mom had died.  What happens now? This is not what was supposed to happen.  I do not feel sad. I feel horrified.  I cannot believe that my mom is gone and that she is never coming home.  My brother and I must figure this out.  What do we do?

April 15, 2020, My oldest son and I are leaving Tender Nest, a memory care facility in Billings. We have spent the past two days with my dad.  He had a seizure and has been unconscious.  We held his hands, played his favorite music, and told stories about all our family memories.  He died quietly.  I do not have any feelings left.  I know that he and mom are together again.  We are heading back to my son’s house, and we will facetime with my brother. I hope my dad isn’t mad that we had to sell his house and all their belongings. I just want them to be o.k.  I am horrified.

I don’t know what the future looks like. Please tell me something gets lighter. Please tell me I survive losing them. Please tell me the house doesn’t always feel this fragile. Please tell me that the sight of my mom’s china on a holiday table does not make me cry any more. Please tell me I will laugh again without feeling guilty. Please tell me I will travel somewhere that isn’t a hospital, health facility or a cemetery. Right now, I worry that I will always wonder if I did enough. Please tell me that this version of me — the one who feels stretched thin and quietly scared — turns into someone stronger.

A Hopeful Reply from 2026: Overcoming Loss and Embracing Joy

Dear Me (2019),

I remember you. I remember the horror and exhaustion that filled every bone in your body.  I remember you being strong when being weak was not an option.  I remember the load you carried and the hands you held. I remember you and your family backtracking every excruciating decision you all had to make and praying that you were all doing the right thing.  I remember the tears, the loss of your family, the fear, the hopelessness. I remember that despite all the horror, wreckage, and aftermath, you stood.

I have some good news for you.  It took some time, but things got better.  Your family all stood right beside you and you learned that you are not alone.  You deepened your connection with the people who mattered and that showed up for you.  You learned that you could do hard things, and you learned that despite the horror all around you, joy, hope, and faith were still a part of you.

Remember that trip that you and your brother would talk about taking to celebrate your parents and honor the fact you survived their deaths?  Well, you guys take that trip.  You are going to explore the streets of Rome, see the windmills in Mykonos, cruise the harbor in Malta and listen to live music at night.  You are going to eat food that amazes you, enter ancient sites that take your breath away, light candles in ancient churches in Italy and Greece, and you are going to remember the past while welcoming the future. You are going to laugh at the thought of your mom being with you in spirit on this trip and saying things like, “this is the life” and her brimming with excitement over your adventures.  Dad would be there in spirit too, reminding us that “life comes at you fast” and giving us more reason to enjoy the adventure.

You are going to welcome a grandson into your life.  He looks like your boys did when they were little and he brings joy, laughter, memories and all the best things back to you. Along with exhaustion and worry because grandparenting is a lot like parenting.

You are going to spend lots of time with family.  You go to concerts, travel, eat fun dinners, start camping, welcome new family members and learn to laugh again. You are going to pick up new hobbies, like writing. So many good things are waiting for you. You are going to love them all!

You still carry the loss of your parents with you, but the weight is now different.  It is not crushing. It is grounding.  You are softer and stronger now, not in that rigid way you are in 2019. You understand that your worth is no longer based on what you “do” and how you manage the world around you.  You can’t see this in 2019, but you reshaped yourself by learning how to sit with other people during the hardest moments without flinching. 2019 and 2020 made you braver about living. You learned that loving people through their endings is not something everyone gets to do. You didn’t break. You bent. You carried. You stayed. Please don’t ever forget how strong you were when no one was watching. XXOO Me (2026).

P.S.  If your brother asks if you want to take another trip abroad in 2027, say yes.