I’ve written about Jillian’s journey since that stage IV diagnosis. What I haven’t touched upon is the word Death.
We live in a society today where people talk about issues fairly openly. So why is the word” Death” so difficult to talk about with those who have been diagnosed with cancer? It’s the White Elephant’s twin sister in the room.
For family members, or caregivers, perhaps it’s hard to bring up the subject because we don’t want to appear less than hopeful. As if our words would bring images or thoughts that the cancer patient hasn’t already been thinking about. Every. Single. Day. Or it could be that the person who has been given the cancer diagnosis isn’t ready to say the words. If they say them out loud it becomes more real. Or maybe it’s because they don’t want to worry those that love them by speaking what is truly lurking in their hearts.
We aren’t prepared for talking about death with our loved one any more than we’re prepared to talk about cancer. It’s painful, frightening, and unknown, so we avoid the subject. But the reality is that each of us are going to die someday. We push off the “someday” to the very depths of our minds to deal with at another time.
I wasn’t prepared to talk about death any more than the next person. When my dad was on Hospice care last August, we spent a lot of time together just talking. He didn’t want to die. He told me that he didn’t want to leave us. What a normal reaction when living here on Earth is all you’ve ever known. It felt uncomfortable for me to hear those words when I knew he wasn’t going to be here long. It weighed heavily on my heart and I prayed about it often.
I’ve read that the process of dying is different for everyone, but if there is unfinished business, if they are afraid, or if they don’t want to leave their family, the transition can be more difficult. I think this was true for my dad, as he struggled the last few days of his life. He didn’t want to leave us.
On the Sunday before my Dad died I was driving to the Hospice facility when God told me to talk to my Dad. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, but I prayed for the right words. And they came. I asked my Dad to promise me that he would be there waiting for Jillian when she died, and to give her a big hug from her mama. He looked at me and slowly nodded his head yes. This was a father making a promise to his daughter. He had a job to do, and he was at peace with it. He died peacefully two days later, holding my son, Joshua’s, hand. I’m so thankful we had our talk.
My Dad was a strong man, both physically and emotionally. He taught me many things growing up, but I’ll be forever grateful for the magnificent gift my Dad gave me through his own death. He made it possible for me to talk to Jillian openly when she was home on Hospice care. I was able to tell her about the promise her Grandpa made, and that he was waiting for her. I told her how proud I was of her, and how much we were going to miss her. I was able to reassure her that I was going to be okay when she was gone, and that our family would take care of one another. I’m just beginning to understand the true value of my Dads last gift to me.
Now that the Twin White Elephants are no longer in the room, I can honestly say that those intruders are only as large as we allow them to be. Have those talks, even if they are difficult. There are words that need to be spoken. There may not be a second chance.You have the rest of your life to either live with regrets, or to be able to say, “Well done”.