Everyone knows what an anchor is.
- It is a part of a boat that holds it to a particular place so it doesn't float away.
- It is a support to hold an object firmly in one place.
- It is a large business that creates foot traffic or attracts customers, like in a mall or shopping center.
People can be anchors, too. They can drag us down and hold us back.
Take a look at the picture above. Is the man trying to drag the anchor, or is the anchor helping the man to stay grounded?
Anchors can help us know where we fit in the world, with ourselves and our connections.
When my mom passed away in 2019, I was suddenly a 48-year-old orphan. I didn't know where I fit anymore, but I didn't really understand that feeling until recently when my father-in-law passed.
My husband's brain injury was over 13 years ago. His mom also passed in 2019, which was challenging to navigate, mostly because it was so fresh on the heels of my mom's passing, and we were in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. He and his mother were close, and it seemed like the sadness of death lived in our house for years.
My father-in-law would have been 91 this year. He was mostly a grumpy guy - well-earned for his years. He and my husband talked multiple times each day, starting at 8:30 every morning. They would discuss the news and weather, politics, and gossip. We'd head out most days at lunchtime and call him to discuss how our morning was and what we were doing in the afternoon. We'd chat in the evenings, and he'd complain about the number of spam calls he got all day, and we'd talk about what we were doing the next day.
One of the greatest challenges with brain injury is forgetfulness. You know that feeling when you first wake up in the morning, and you're not fully aware, and you just need to climb out of bed to start your day? What if, while you're waking up, you suddenly realize your dad is gone? Or when 8:30 rolls around and you realize the phone won't ring? You dial his number at lunchtime to check in and remember again. It's an unfortunate and difficult situation.
In trying to help my husband through his pain and his feeling of not being connected to his dad anymore, I thought about anchors. For people like me, parents anchor us in the world. They are the connection to "their" family - our aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, and family friends. Without the anchor, we are adrift, forced to make our own path through the family jungle. We no longer understand where we fit, and we step through the days of grief, hoping to connect with something or someone that makes us feel secure and anchored again.
As a caregiver (or supporter, as I prefer to be called), my greatest despair has been watching my husband walk through his grief, only to forget and remember again. I'm able to console, but we're adrift together, trying to find our footing.
Once our parents are gone, doesn't that mean we're "next"? We joke about being the new boss of the family, the trunk of the family tree, or whatever you want to call it, but I'm guessing our parents had the same feelings when their parents died.
For now, we're going through the motions to put things in order. There are a lot of moving pieces, schedules to keep, and people to notify. Thank goodness for busy-ness.
