Sorry, Girl.

💔

Years ago I sat next to Jen in a meeting and my stomach started growling.
Loudly.
I launched into my explanation about why everyone in the room could hear my stomach – especially Jen.

When I had gallstone pancreatitis my pancreas digested itself. An incredible surgeon saved my life by removing it and my gallbladder and rearranging my abdominal organs.
Ever since those surgeries, you can hear my stomach digest food.
Loudly.

Jen heard my story and said, “I like it. At least you know that it’s working.”

Jen’s husband, Jared, had experienced two liver transplants by then.
They understood what it was like to have major physical health problems to live with and overcome.
She knew what it was like to be a caregiver and wonder if your soulmate was going to make it through the next hospital stay.
We’re in the same club. Wives of husbands whose bodies fail them.
And she knew what it was like to have the miracle of organs working again.
She liked that my stomach growled.

Jared’s liver has been failing.
They put him on the list for another transplant.
On July 3, he died just as all the tests were completed.

Now Jen and I are in this new club.

Widows.
Caregivers left behind.
She’s just over a year behind me in her experience but we share so many parts of grief.
Losing the person who you battled life with. Your best friend.
Throwing away the pills and medical supplies the first week.
Feeling a little free from the obstacles that pain and suffering placed in our lives.
Resting from caregiving.

We are similar…and also different.
Their youngest daughter just graduated and left home. They’re empty-nesters.
She’s a grandma.
She’s a teacher who works full time.
Our experiences with grief are going to be different.
But sort of the same.

And I like that.
I like having a person who “gets me” as a caregiver. Who understands some of the feelings I have because I lost the one I cared for.
We’re in a new club, Jen.
I’m sorry about that.
But I’m glad I have you.✊🏻💙