‘They understand the struggle to rebuild, to redefine, to feel solid again’
I have never met them in person, but I love them all, my grief sisters. We are Zoom comrades, coming together once a week to laugh, cry and talk about life after loss. Ours is a particular loss – our husbands all received MAID . We all walked our loved ones to the ultimate door. Our stories vary in the details, but share this one fact. This one fact connected us instantly, the moment we met in our grief support group last summer.
Some of our husbands were track one, with foreseeable deaths looming; mine was track two, under the new Bill C7. This means his death was not foreseeable, but his suffering was intense and constant, with no respite in sight. Either way, the five of us know what it was like to go through the process: the application, the two doctors’ approvals, the choosing of the date, the provision itself.
Later, I will hash out the details of that hour with my grief sisters; how I followed the doctor to the bedroom where my husband lay waiting, ports in his arms, my eyes fixed on the black bag that sailed down the hallway like a crow. How I could not feel my feet touch the floor. How we formed a circle around him on the bed – me, my daughter, and two stepdaughters, all linking arms, fingers squeezing hard, our fear palpable.
I have been amazed by the bond that has formed between us, even though we are spread out from Nova Scotia to British Columbia. When the official 10-week support workshop ended, we carried on, unable to fathom a week where we didn’t see and talk to each other. When one of us is low, the others lift her up, not with platitudes, but with a deep sense of caring and understanding. This kinship has been unexpected and vital to my recovery.