The Hindsight of Death

The first time that cancer made its appearance was back in 2003, when my parents sat down with us and said, “dad has colon cancer”. Little did I know that our relationship with cancer would be chronic over the next 11 years. We had a rollercoaster ride with cancer. The downs of several different diagnoses and the ups of remission and then the down of recurrence the up of response to treatment then a massive Ischaemic stroke (we were led to believe by several emergency physicians and then later a few neurologists that my dad’s oral chemo was responsible for the stroke). The stroke was followed by open heart surgery to repair a hole in his heart, if not repaired it would have resulted in several more Hemorrhagic strokes and leave him in a vegetative state. We were told immediately that my dad had to go off his chemo regimen which was keeping his tumors from growing and keeping cancer in the corner where it belonged. Our rollercoaster literally went off the rails after his stroke, and then about 7 months later after one of his oncology appointments we were told that his tumors were growing, and growing rapidly, that rollercoaster hit a wall.

Almost 20 years ago and I wonder now, would I have seen value from a friend that had been down the cancer gauntlet with a parent before? It has been 8 years since my dad has passed away and I often find myself thinking if I might have benefited from the counsel of someone who met my personal criteria of a parent with terminal cancer that died. I understand that no 2 situations are the same but perhaps aligning myself with someone who had the knowledge and experience of this devastating life changing event would have given me a minuscule amount of preparedness. Minuscule is better than none, isn’t it? We have tutors for academics, trainers for sports, coaches for life, why not an individual that comes alongside you, as an informal loving guide, as you see death coming for your loved one and assists you (should you want it)? They can help you prepare your own “survival guide for survivors”.

The saying “walk a mile in my shoes” is screaming at me in current time because of a close friend who is reeling from a recent terminal cancer diagnosis of their parent. I’ve been there, reeling in a plethora of emotions, surprise and shock, anger, sadness, rage, confusion, anxiety, rage, disappointment, fear, rage…yes rage was my go to emotion. My initial response to this news from my friend was simple, “I’m so sorry.” I recall saying, “I’m not saying sorry because I have no other words but because I’m legitimately sorry for you because I’ve been where you are”. I’m sorry because I know based on my personal experience, and again it’s personal to me but the percentage is quite high that there will be at least a handful of similarities in our stories. We already have in common cancer and the diagnosis being their dad. I’m sorry for my friend because the most difficult days of their life are in front of them, it’s the most mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically exhausting time of their life to this point, in my opinion. It’s a marathon. It’s a Groundhog Day type marathon the closer the day gets to your parent passing away.

I remember when my dad and I had a very honest discussion, it was Thanksgiving weekend, and my dad and I were just sitting together in his living room and he just looked at me and said, “baby, I’m done, I’ve fought enough.” I remember getting up and kneeling at his feet and taking his hand in mine and saying, “it’s ok to throw in the towel dad, you’re tired, we’ll be ok.” I know my dad wanted me to prepare for his death, he needed me to release him to die. My dad wanted to be comfortable in his final months, so he chose to head to their winter home in Southern California, they headed there October 31st. I flew there every month and spent about a week or 10 days at a time. On a trip towards the end of January, I said to my dad, “you make sure you give us time to get you home, I don’t want us flying your body home.” He promised me he would know when it was time to get back home. A little over a week later, my mom said that dad is ready to come home. They arrived home on February 10th and my dad died on March 4th. I remember the weeks between those 2 dates, and how I would head to my parents’ house every morning and stay all day, and then say good night to my dad and I would wonder every night, is he going to die tonight?

I want to be sensitive to my friend’s situation, sensitive in the ways that others were not when my dad was dying. I want to give words of encouragement and support, I want to guard what I say, when I say it and use wisdom when NOT to say anything at all. When my dad eventually did pass away, at home, with my mom, sister, and myself with him, it was one of the most perfectly awful moments in my life. For me personally it was a painful privilege to help my dad get to his death. I often refer to his dying as a devastating relief. The painful process of his death was closed but now the learning to do life without him was in front of our whole family. It seemed a daunting task for me to try and tackle right after he died, to imagine my life absent of my always present dad. It began 1 minute, 1 hour, 1 day, 1 week, 1 month at a time till eventually 1 year, 2 years, 3 years and so on and I can look back now and see it was a very hard climb to get to where I am now in my grief journey, but it can be done. I’ve done it the way I needed to do it, no wrong way, the right way for me to move forward in my life.

There is no way that 8 years ago I could’ve imagined I’d be in such a content place, that doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments, but I can look back and see how far I’ve come and honestly, I’m proud of myself. If I knew then, what I know now, I would take my own face in my hands and look myself in the eyes and say, “you will get through this, and you’re going to help others get through this same thing one day, it will just take time for you to climb from the bottom of your grief to a place where you’ll be able to see the beauty in your grief of having loved so deeply.”

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing…