I watched my husband die. It was fast. It seemed relatively painless. Not pain free, but not unbearable. He seemed to take everything in stride with a certain…resignation. Like he knew what was coming, so why fight it? Interestingly…it was like that for me too, looking back on it. I’m sure I was in shock, because every time I ever pictured what would happen if/when he died, it certainly wasn’t with me sitting on a stool in the corner of the room answering medical questions in a flat monotone. I wasn’t beating my chest or screaming or even crying. I don’t remember crying till I saw my kids.
As hard as that was to go through, I cannot…simply cannot imagine what people go through who lose their loved one to a terrible, slow, painful death like cancer or COPD or Alzheimer’s. My cousin’s wife came over Friday after making arrangements for her mother’s funeral. Her mom had esophageal cancer. We sat together and I listened to her tell me about the last six months. The long nights. The conflicting medical information. The radiation and chemo. When she got to the night of her mother’s death, I was in such awe of her strength and courage. What she went through for her mom was heroic in my book. What I loved most was when her mom motioned to her, as if she needed to tell her something. When she bent down to listen, her mother kissed her on the cheek and took her last breath. My mother died alone in an ICU because I couldn’t get to her in time. She got a kiss on the cheek! I loved that for her because she will never, ever forget that loving gesture.
Real death isn’t like the movies. Sometimes it’s that peaceful scene where the family gathers around and tells their loved one how important they were in their lives and how much they loved them. Sometimes there’s soft music and candlelight and kisses on cheeks. And sometimes they stop CPR after three hours and tell you they’re sorry. Is one way “better” than the other? Is there such a thing as a “good death”. I think there is, but it’s not always possible because death isn’t predictable. It isn’t a script.
Someone I love very much is dying. Not actively as in it’s imminent. But it’s coming. Everyone knows it’s coming. I love him and his entire family. For the last five years I have written a daily essay, much of it about grief. And when I talk with his wife, I feel woefully inadequate. I haven’t gone through that kind of death. I haven’t had to know it was coming for three years and fight the good fight and be strong and courageous and lose anyway. What do I say to her? How can I best serve her? I had no idea…so I asked. I told her how sorry I was that it was coming to this. I told her how much I love them both. I told her I knew she must be scared. And, I told her I was at a loss as to how best to help her. Then I asked her to tell me exactly what would help her the most right now. She said to pray. Pray for strength and courage for her. That I can do…in spades.
Grief is something that touches all of us. If it hasn’t touched you yet, it will. Mr. FixIt and I were talking about it yesterday. After losing Mr. Virgo, I’ve gone and done the one thing I SWORE I would never, ever do again. I gave my heart away to love again…with wild abandon…knowing full well what it feels like to lose. That is either absolutely crazy or the absolute evidence that God can carry you through anything. I could lose this man tomorrow. Or next week or next year or thirty years from now. Or…I could be the first to go, who knows? I’m glad we don’t know exactly when we will die. It doesn’t pay to dwell on it…but we can’t deny it either. If there is an upside…and that is truly a stretch to even call it that…it’s having the time to say goodbye, to express everything you wanted to say, to make arrangements, to learn how to do the things your partner did, and to give them the gift of your service in their transition. As Ram Dass, says…”We are all just walking each other home.” ❤️
“For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come.”
Hebrews 13:14 NIV
My brother was diagnosed with a terminal illness about 14 years ago. As I was wailing to my friend she calmly said something that has gotten me through every time I have lost a loved one. She said “We are all terminal. From the moment we are born, we are dying.” That statement alone changed my whole perspective of death. It doesn’t really make it easier, but as believers, we have hope for the future, and living here is just temporary. By the way, my brother is still with us. Which means that doctor’s aren’t always right.
Doctor’s AREN’T always right. I’m glad you still have your brother with you. What a blessing. I may have to borrow your friend’s words. ❤️
I lost my Mother in 1997, she had congestive heart failure, she lived in ILL,I in Fl. but I did spend the last months with her, she was on oxygen, But we went out to eat every day,even to Walmart a few times.She was a fighter,but she also lived 88 yrs.Hard life raising 8 kids, and dad working his butt off.And do you know when I went back to Fl. two weeks later she died in the bath room combing her hair. My nephew found her a few minutes later. It is a hole in the heart that will never heal and I do say never.Bless you for sharing your story .
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Ginny – I find myself looking forward to your posts everyday. They are honest, raw, thoughtful, and each one lifts me up. When you walk on your property I can almost imagine myself there. I feel a friendship with you through your words. I hope you know how sharing your life helps others.
Thank you for your kind words, Denise. ❤️
When my mother was diagnosed with cancer the grieving began. I stayed in the moment while she was alive as often as I could but found myself slipping into that dark place. When my best friend was diagnosed with cancer just months after losing my mother a fresh grieving journey began. And another painful loss. Last year my youngest brother died suddenly by his own hand. An unexpected grief journey as ensued.
Saying goodbye to my mother and friend wasn’t something I could muster to say outloud. Ever hopeful to see them just one more time. Saying goodbye to my brother wasn’t an option.
My grief goes as deep as my love for each of them. Each grief journey is as unique as the life journey I shared with them. It’s was just a matter of timing as to when each of the grief journeys began. I know the journeys will end with my last breath.
Thank you for sharing, dear one. ?
As you know, I have lost 2 of my sons. The first, my youngest son, was diagnose with cancer at 19 years old. I left my life on hold for 18 months while I took him around the country to the ‘specialists’ as it was a very rare ‘terminal’ cancer. We knew it was terminal but I was determined to buy him every day and every minute of life I could. He was on every churches prayer list and on the hearts of every prayer warrior I could find! I only left him on ‘good days’ and when he was accompanied by friends so I could try to work some to keep a small check at least coming in. He fought hard, he had a very strong will to live, and I fought hard for a miracle. The miracle we were given was time, a year longer than the Dr.’s thought he had. And I thank God everyday that he allowed me to be with my son when he slipped into the coma, and with him when he opened his eyes and smiled at me just hours before he slipped away, with me holding his hand. I thank God for that everyday! Yes, it is more pain than I ever thought humanly possible to bear but 9 months later I got the news that my middle son was found dead in a motel room of a drug overdose. I didn’t get to say all the things I was able to say to my youngest son, didn’t get to hold him and see his beautiful smiling blue eyes one last time, there was no ‘closure’, no peace, only anger at him for doing this to himself, to me, to his loved ones.
To say that one avenue to death is ‘better’ than another… I have peace with my youngest sons death knowing all was done that could be, that he was at peace with God, that God was in control. Not so with my middle son, true, he didn’t suffer, he went peacefully in his drug induced death, but there is no peace for me in his death, there is still anger and a longing for peaceful closure.
My heart aches for you, Tena. I am so sorry. I cannot imagine losing one, let alone two children. This drug epidemic is evil and robbing us of our loved ones. I pray for peace for you in your losses. I could say things like “It was his disease, not him.”, etc. But you’ve heard them all, I’m sure. I hold a special place in my heart for grieving mothers. ?
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Ginny, I haven’t talked to you in awhile so I must tell you that I am in Buffalo because I buried my mother. She had dementia, Levy Bodied. I didn’t get here from Texas where we are wintering. My siblings aren’t talking to me because I didn’t come home when they thought I would. Staying with my husband family. My kids were here for, my hubby satiated at the RV with our dogs.it has been a hard week.
Oh, bless your heart, Pauline. What a tough situation. Death can bring out the worst in family dynamics. I’m so sorry you’re going through such a rough time. It is never easy to lose our moms. Praying for strength and comfort…compassion and understanding for all of you. ?