Dealing with the dying

Growing up, illness was something that was hush-hush in my family. If a relative was seriously ill, my parents kept it from us kids. We overheard--or sensed--just enough to let our imaginations paint a much more dire picture than the reality. This probably reinforced my fear of illness and dying.

To give my otherwise wonderful parents credit, when something was known for a fact--like when my aunt was terminally ill with breast cancer, they let us know. But still all the other incidences of Something's Wrong and I Don't Know What shrouded sickness in mystery and fear.

Even without that, I think the fear of being around someone who's dying is a common one. What do you do? What do you say? How will they look? When my grandma's two sisters were in the hospital dying, I didn't go visit them. My excuse was that I wanted to remember them as they were, not see them wasting away.

My father-in-law Perry and my brother Keith were diagnosed with cancer within 3 months of each other. Perry had well over a year of remission. Keith was in treatment the entire time.

When Perry went to the hospital with his second-to-last bowel obstruction and required surgery, his two daughters from out East made plans to come. I asked my husband, "Why are they coming?" He thought I was criticizing, and answered accordingly. But really it was a plea I couldn't voice. "Please tell me he's not dying."

When another bowel blockage came too soon and there was nothing that could be done for him, the shock of knowing he was dying rocked me to the core. Lack of such a simple thing--functioning intestines--was going to kill him.

I was nervous on my first visit after he was sent home with hospice care. The old fear and all the questions about how to face someone who's dying surfaced. But Perry was so at peace with it-- and after the initial shock, the entire family was at peace with it--that he eased the fear of everyone around him. At least he eased my fear. He kept his sense of humor until very near the end and had us all laughing every time we saw him. Then he'd let his family know exactly how much we meant to him, and had us all crying.

But I came to realize being around a dying person isn't so bad. What do you say? Anything or nothing. Just being there to let them know you care is enough. Don't be afraid of tears--it's no bad thing to let the dying person know you'll miss them.

The day after Perry's funeral, my dad called to tell me that Keith's cancer had spread wildly. All his tumors had grown, and new tumors had formed on his spine. Believe me, I asked God why He couldn't give me a break after what I'd just been through.

After the chemo worked its way out of his system, Keith did okay for a while. I got the time to breathe that I so badly needed, even though it was in the back of my mind that Keith only had a matter of months. In early July we could see his decline. And finally we knew he only had a matter of days.

If I hadn't gone through Perry's dying, I might have stayed away. But I knew exactly what to expect and that I could handle it. The question of what to talk about was kind of moot. I couldn't get more than a sentence out before Keith would fall asleep.

The day before he died, I went to his room with my sister because we could hear that he was awake. I was all out of words, but I was genuinely happy to see him awake and alert. So I simply smiled at him. He was very weak at that point, but he managed to smile back. An achingly sweet smile that was just as genuine as mine. It let me know he was happy I was there.

Later that night, thinking of that smile was what caused me to break down in sobs--the night I told you about, when Brian simply held me. I'm glad I had that good cry. That was the worst of my grief right there. Because I knew I would never see Keith's smile again.

I was privileged to be there for Keith's last few breaths. Just my mom, my dad, and me. (My sister was on her way, but didn't make it in time. My brother was working out of town.)

I'm so glad I was there at the end.

It's not an easy thing to go through. And two funerals in four months is quite enough, thank you. But I'm not afraid anymore. I know that when I have to go through this again some day, I can. God's blessings and comfort have held me secure.