I thought I was depressed. It had been so long since I’d felt genuinely happy.

Then I thought I must be angry. Isn’t depression masked anger? So, in an effort to ease the depression, I made a list of everything about which I was angry or ashamed. It seemed to clarify things; until the following day when I got angry again over something inconsequential.

It had begun affecting other people. So I felt guilty and tired of the whole thing.

Then we went to the movies and in the middle of “Salmon Fishing in the Yemen” I got it.

I’m not depressed or angry. I am grieving. Furthermore, it is neither anticipatory grief nor grief from past losses. It is current, present-time grief. And it hurts.

Two of my beloveds are struggling with life-challenging health issues. One is now on the upswing and life is winning. For the other, there will be no upswing. Next steps will inevitably lead to transition.

In the process of dealing with these life-challenging health issues, these two nearest and dearest had to pull their focus away from me and onto themselves. They needed to put their attention on what was necessary to either heal or release. I supported their shift of attention because it was the best way to support them.

Yet, as a result of this shift of attention, the relationships changed and I found myself feeling more and more untethered, adrift, and uncomfortable in my own skin. It frustrated and angered me because I felt I didn’t have any recourse. I couldn’t make the relationships go back to the way they were and so I could not create a comfortable place within which to feel safe and secure.

One of the relationships has no hope of ever returning to the way it was. The other shows definite signs of getting back to how it used to be – even better – but as few as three weeks ago; I couldn’t know for sure that the new normal of all the focus being on the other wouldn’t last forever.

And so I felt bereft; grief stricken over how disease had stolen the attention of my beloveds and robbed me of the comfort of the relationships we’d created. At the very least I lost who they used to be. I had the potential of losing them altogether. And I’d lost the comfort of our relationship as it had been. I missed them.

Though acknowledging the anger, frustration, and depression didn’t seem to do much good; once I experienced the grief, shifts began to occur. First of all, I then had the freedom to express my grief – even if mostly to myself alone. Simply being able to name the real emotion that is stirring in the deep is helpful.

Then, with the one who cannot get better, I found I had more stamina for appreciating just being in the present moment with them. I had more energy for needing to be the one who gives more, attends more, sees and hears more, is better able to express love more. I experienced renewed pleasure for just being in their company.

With the one who is getting better, I was able to share my process, even as I monitored not over doing it. This beloved was able to meet me in the process, sharing as well. We got to re-experience our relationship as container for emotional honesty and seeing and hearing one another. We got to re-experience the intimacy that means so very much to us. We got to reacquaint ourselves with “us.”

That freed me up to stop interpreting this one’s present needs as taking-me-for-granted and, instead, allowed me to experience myself as happy to serve.

It seems long term illness, even when healing is involved, is a process for the one who is ill and for those who love them. Everyone involved needs compassion and understanding – most of all from inside their own dear selves.