May 3rd, 2010 
judowolf Standing at the edge of the pool, I adjusted my goggles, slid into the water, and began my laps. Moving along smoothly – I remembered Evelyn and their visit after her husband’s death.
When a patient died at home, my responsibility was to visit the caregiver within six weeks after the death to explain the bereavement programs available, and see how they were doing.
I knew John and Evelyn for eight months, visited weekly, and as John neared death visited twice a week. They were married over fifty years, and Evelyn was a devoted caregiver and wife.
We embraced when I arrived, and went into the living room. Evelyn spoke about the memorial service, how supportive her neighbors have been, and was planning a trip back to England.
Once the chitchat was completed, I asked her how she was doing now that she was alone. Hesitating, she stated it had been difficult at the beginning but was getting a little better each day, and was looking forward to seeing her relatives.
She excused herself, left the room, and when she returned – I asked how she was really doing. Looking me in the eye with tears slowly sliding down her cheeks, she told me this story.
When John died, it felt like I swallowed a rock with a million sharp edges, and the pain of would never leave. Over the last week, one of the edges has started to smooth over and for the first time I have a glimmer of hope. The day will come when the rock will become smooth all around. The grief will have fled, but I will carry the rock forever.
I explained the bereavement services and stated they would always be available to her, as there was no time limit for grief and everyone grieves at their own pace. The visit ended, and I never heard from or saw her again.
I heard grief explained in many different ways, but Evelyn hit the nail on the head. Reaching the wall of the pool, I grabbed the ledge, climbed out, and as the memory faded, knew Evelyn’s rock was now smooth all around.
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