My
husband wasn’t yet dead, so they said I was too early in the mourning.
By Pamela Jane Bell
WSJ March 8, 2018 6:42
p.m. ET
When my husband began
hospice care last spring, I decided to join a grief group. I thought it might
be helpful to share stories and support with others who were facing the same
heartbreak.
I googled “grief
groups” and found one that met weekly at a local church. It looked as though I
was just in time for the next session, so I called and spoke to the group
leader.
“I’d like to join your
grief group,” I said.
“I’m so sorry for your
loss,” she responded sympathetically. “When did your loved one die?”
“Well, my husband
hasn’t exactly died yet. He has end-stage dementia,” I explained.
There was a pause on
the other end of the line.
“I’m afraid you aren’t
eligible to join,” she said. “Our group is only for people whose friends or
family members have actually died.”
I was so taken aback
all I could manage was an inarticulate “Oh!” I hung up and sat there, stunned.
I couldn’t believe it. I had been rejected by a grief group. My grief wasn’t
good enough. It wasn’t genuine, authentic grief; it was Grief Lite or I Can’t
Believe It’s Not Grief.
It led me to reflect
on our cultural imperatives about grief:
• Grief must be fast. After the grief-group rejection,
I began visiting grief websites to read about other people’s experiences.
Before long I found myself spammed by grief gurus offering to accelerate my (as
yet nonexistent) grief. The spammers offered courses for brighter or more
ambitious grievers. Get through it in four weeks—a race to closure! There are
books to help speed things up by defining the stages of grief; it is important
to stick to the regimen so you don’t fall behind or flunk out.
• Grief must be regulated. The American Psychiatric
Association has done this admirably through the Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual, which lists medical codes for insurance reimbursement. But here I ran
into another problem. Although bereavement is covered, I couldn’t be classified
as bereaved because my husband was still alive. To be reimbursed I needed a
generic code, like 18 ICD-10-CM Z91.19, for “noncompliance of treatment”—that
is if I could turn the diagnosis around and pin it on the government. After
all, I was at least trying to comply.
A few months after I
called the church, my husband died. Several weeks later I contacted the church
grief leader.
“It’s me again,” I
said (more or less). “My husband died last month.”
“I’m so sorry for your
loss, dear,” she said.
“Can I join the grief
group now?”
“Yes, of course! But
you will need to bring a signed copy of your husband’s death certificate.”
This brings me to the
last and gravest (no pun intended) grief guideline:
• Genuine, accredited grief must be accompanied by a grief
diploma.
Otherwise you’re undocumented. And that’s illegal.
Mrs.
Bell writes children’s books, memoirs and essays under the pen name Pamela
Jane.
Appeared in the March 9, 2018, print edition.
I received her permission to reproduce her letter to the Wall Street Journal
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