"Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity."
— Earl Grollman

August 5th, 2000.

The morning after my PT school graduation.

I met my mom and the relatives (who'd made the 500+ mile drive from Miami) at Shoney's Inn for breakfast before they headed back home.

The trip had been a massive undertaking. My grandmother, my aunt, several of my mom's cousins all pitched in to rent a van so my mom could make it to Tallahassee.

She was extremely sick by then.

But being there for my graduation? That wasn't optional for her.

She fought to stay alive long enough to see it happen.

To have visual proof that I was okay, that I could take care of myself once she was gone.

Deep down, I think I knew her cancer was terminal.

But I was in denial.

That morning at Shoney's, we enjoyed the meal.

We laughed.

We reminisced.

Then I hugged my mom goodbye, wished them a safe drive, and told her I’d see her next week when I would make my way home to Miami.

I then headed to my car.

As I pulled away from the restaurant, something hit me like a wave.

Deep, overwhelming sadness.

I couldn't explain it then.

I was supposed to be celebrating.

I'd just graduated.

Everything was supposed to feel hopeful.

But some deeper part of me knew:

Now that I'd graduated — now that she'd seen what she came to see — we were officially "on the clock."

She only lived just over three more months.

She died on November 30th, 2000.

But that morning in the parking lot of Shoney's Inn?

That was the first time I felt the weight of losing her…even though she was still very much alive.

That moment outside Shoney’s was my first experience with a kind of grief I didn’t have language for.

The kind that shows up quietly, before anyone says goodbye.

The kind that doesn’t follow rules.

The kind that sits in your chest while the person you love is still right in front of you.

That feeing was…

Anticipatory Grief.

This Is What Anticipatory Grief Feels Like

Anticipatory grief is the sadness that starts before someone dies.

It's mourning in slow motion.

It's the ache you feel when:

  • You catch yourself thinking "this might be the last time"

  • You're already missing someone who's still here

  • A goodbye feels heavier than it should

  • You're grieving who they were, while still caring for who they are

  • You're losing them piece by piece, but there's no funeral, no closure, no permission to fully grieve

This grief often goes unnamed because it doesn't fit the script.

People expect grief after death…not during caregiving.

So when you feel sad while your loved one is still alive, you might wonder:

Am I giving up on them?
Am I being dramatic?
Why can't I just be grateful they're still here?

But here's the truth:

Anticipatory grief isn't premature. It's a valid emotional reality.

You're not mourning too soon.

You're responding to real losses happening right now: losses of memory, personality, independence, and the relationship you once had.

And those losses deserve to be acknowledged.

How to Carry Grief When There's No End Point

You don't have to "fix" this grief or push it away.

But you can find ways to carry it without collapsing under its weight.

1. Name the feeling without judging it

Simply saying "I'm grieving" (even just to yourself) can lift some of the confusion. You're not broken. You're responding to loss.

2. Create micro-rituals to honor who they are now

Maybe you play their favorite music during care routines. Maybe you save small moments of connection — a smile, a squeeze of the hand — as gifts. You can honor the person in front of you while still missing who they were.

3. Let yourself mourn the changes, not just the final loss

Give yourself permission to grieve each shift: the loss of conversation, the loss of shared memories, the loss of your old dynamic. These aren’t previews of grief. They are grief.

4. Find safe people or spaces to speak grief aloud

Anticipatory grief thrives in silence. Find one person (a friend, a coach, a therapist, a support group) who won't rush you past it or tell you to "stay positive." Sometimes you just need someone to say: "Yes. This is hard. And it makes sense that you're sad."

You're Not Sad for No Reason

What you're feeling is real.

It's not weakness.
It's not disloyalty.
It's not giving up.

Anticipatory grief can coexist with love, with showing up, with doing your absolute best every single day.

You can miss who your parent used to be and still care deeply for who they are now.

You can grieve and keep going.

You're still doing your best, even when it hurts.

Weekly Resources

💔 What Is Anticipatory Grief? — Cleveland Clinic
A clear, practical overview of what anticipatory grief is, how it shows up, and how to cope.

🧠 Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief — Pauline Boss
This foundational book explores the pain of losing someone who is still physically present — and how to find meaning inside that uncertainty.

🎥 What Is Anticipatory Grief? — Video (YouTube)
A short, compassionate explanation of anticipatory grief, especially for caregivers.
Watch the video →

Have you felt this kind of grief?
What has helped or what made it harder? I'd love to hear your story.

Want to be featured in a future edition of The Meta Caregiver?
You can share your experience anonymously or with credit…whatever feels right.
Your words might be exactly what another caregiver needs to hear.

Hit reply to share. I read every one.

With you,

Bryce

P.S. If you haven't already, come join me on social. I share daily tips, personal reflections, and first looks at upcoming caregiver tools and resources. Even one post might shift your whole day, or remind you that you're not alone in this.

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