the cloud and me

living with anticipatory grief

“We are going through some turbulence at this time. Please leave your seatbelt fastened and the overhead bins closed. Thank you”

I fucking hate turbulence. I hate that I hate it so much. The woman next to me appeared to be meditating during the take off, she looked relaxed. This increased my discomfort. I squeezed the arm rest and felt silly. What will squeezing the arm rest do to save me? The Captain gave a heads up that the take off was going to be very rough. He said the winds were 45 miles per hour, but that the plane would be ok. The turbulence was indeed very rough. I closed my eyes and felt the tears right at the edge. I heard a baby cry behind me and I wondered if it would die. I looked at pictures of my family on my phone thinking it would settle me, get me through this rough air. Instead, seeing their faces made me uneasy. Suddenly this was bad luck. I was manifesting the end by looking at their smiles.

I’m on a plane to Minnesota. I’ll land at the Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport, get my suitcase from baggage claim, make my way to the tram (SEATBELTS PLEASE-the Captain just piped back in and now we are rocking again), go up and down a few elevators and make my way to the Hertz rental car counter. Once I’ve figured out how to adjust the side view mirrors of my temporary car, I’ll hit the road. Starting my journey to Wisconsin and the small town where my parents live. Every month I make this trip, for 3 to 4 days usually.

My Mom has ALS. She’s dying. I live in Massachusetts so I’m going back monthly to spend time with her. She was formally diagnosed in October 2024. She turned 80 in February of this year. I’m not sure how long she has left, but the ALS is progressing. There is no cure for ALS, you will die and it will be terrible. I can’t bring myself to write a soft pedaled version of my grief. (The baby behind me on the plane is crying now. I don’t mind this at all. It’s so honest and raw. Yes, cry baby. I’m here. We will get through this. I send the mom and baby virtual love and take a sip of coffee)

There’s a little puffy rain cloud that settled on my chest after my mom’s diagnosis. It’s surprisingly heavy. I move through my days, I get things done. I’m a mom. A wife. A friend. My husband and I have a weekly podcast and I do my best. I’m a fiber artist and my work is for sale in a gallery type place. I plug away at that too. I make almost every dinner for my family, do the meal planning, get the groceries, and keep up ok with domestic responsibilities. I watch instagram reels for a laugh, pet my adorable kittens and walk on the treadmill regularly. But that fucking cloud won’t give me a break. It just sits there. I’m seeing a therapist now. This grief. This grief can feel like too much sometimes. The dark thoughts float in and out among the regular shit you gotta think about all goddamn day. Always always always on the verge of tears. And the tears do fall too. That puffy cloud gets all filled up, ready to burst. Lightning and thunder crashing around too. Sometimes it can feel hard to breathe.

I picture my Dad alone, eating lunch, no one to talk to and I seize up. I have to sit down. Or take a sharp breath. My parents have been married for 53 years and do nearly everything together. They are a team. It’s remarkable. What is my Dad going to do when his wife is gone? Who will eat lunch with him? Will he eat lunch alone, in their lake home with many windows and miss my mom so terribly he falls into a pit of despair?

He’s already depressed. When your wife is slipping away in front of you, how could you not be? I worry about him. Witnessing his pain, seeing his face when I visit, fills me with such profound sadness. I desperately wish I could make everything better. I hate that this is how my mom’s life will end. I hate it for her. I hate it for my Dad. I just fucking hate it.

I spend a lot of my time suppressing my tears and swatting away the terrible thoughts.

My therapist is working to help me reframe this period of time. She wants me to remember how fortunate I am to be with my mom, to spend this time with her. To say all the things I want before she dies. To hold her hand and really live in the moment. I appreciate this and I know she is right. My heart is fucking breaking but I know she is right.

The Captain is back, we are landing soon. Thirty minutes early. The sweet baby behind me is quiet, hopefully getting a nap in. Maybe we will survive this?

Then I will be on my way, driving as the sun sets, past cows and keeping my eye out for deer. Farms, dilapidated barns and my daughters playlist on so I can keep her close. I might cry.

I will go to be with my mom. To gently massage her arm. To curl up next to her in bed and watch a tv show. To feel my heart ache. To feel her heart ache.

“It’s been our delight to have you on this flight….”

written by Adelle