death. yeah, it really does happen. it’s just hard to believe. and in no way can i understand it.
the full impact of death didn’t really penetrate until my mother died. then i got it. there is nothing personal to it. it just happens.
i have a friend who is close to death. it has been a long goodbye. each small change, each new spot of cancer, each treatment, each fear mounted atop all the others… all these things looked at, then looked past
in some ways, it’s when we are at our best. hunkering down, dealing with everything being thrown at us and still HOLDING ON. holding on to ourselves, our hopes, our dignity. it is aMAZing.
and all this while, inch by inch, we lose… for my friend, he’s not sure of time. his memory is splintered. he has pain. he is scared. he has been invaded. but he said, tonight, he liked my boots. and that is so him.
hospice will make their first visit tomorrow.
how can it be, though. he is here. alive. my brain just can’t factor it. the idea he will be gone. maybe it’s days. no more than weeks. that there is no way back. death is the only idea that has beaten me. i have no insight into it. it is beyond me.
being here is like talking to a friend. what i love about it is i can see my thoughts. it helps. to have someplace like this. to be able to say these things.
…
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It is unoriginal but true to describe grief as a country one enters unknowing of it’s boundaries and unsure of the eventual border. As much grace and beauty as can be wrested from the world, in the time left, for you and your friend…
of the gift of life. I believe in the gift of death.
Sometimes when living is more painful than dying, I see the gift of death.
I was having lunch with a good friend yesterday whose husband died of colon cancer six months ago. She told me that the cancer was not the cause of death, and that she had overdosed him. She said that she felt no guilt and she was able to allow him to go in dignity. No hospital, tubes, or diapers.
I am confident that she gave him the ultimate gift that you can give one that you love.
Enjoy your friend and realize that he is on a journey that we cannot understand. Yes, he will be gone forever, but there will be many memories that will bring him back to you. As long as he is in your heart, he is alive.
‘Sorry’ doesn’t sound like much when it’s across a digital divide, to someone you haven’t met, and on an issue as personal as the likely death of a friend.
Nevertheless, I am sorry to hear of this, for both you and your friend.
to death more than non-medical types and all I can say is each one is unique, at least the ones I witnessed were. Sometimes the essence of a person leave before death, sometimes not. I don’t believe in God, but I know of several times when a child close to death saw things, although there is a theory that is related to changes in brain chemicals as well. Death is one of those things we cannot articulate because we don’t know it until we are there.
…beyond what I wrote on 9/21. As time passes, that may change.
Peace,
Robyn
{{{p8}}}
im sending you all my bravest thoughts…even though i know you dont need them…just so youre EXTRA brave…
I’ve been in that place, it’s the most difficult place to be, for both of you.
I wish I could reach out and give you a hug for strength, for sanity and a shoulder to lay your head on.
Standing on the edge, looking down into that abyss, then when morning comes and the knock on the door. You know who is on the other side, but you just… can’t… seem… to let them in. Hospice is wonderful, so nurturing, empowering and loving, yet it is such a huge step to take, it leaves you breathless and….speechless.
At least your friend has you to be there with him, the most any of us can ever ask for is to not go it alone and to be able to say our “Goodbyes!”
My heart goes with you.
[[[[[hug]]]]]
So many thoughts rattling around after reading what you’ve written about your friend: my mom’s death from cancer 19 years ago, and my memory of her just letting go at the moment she died, when she stopped looking frightened; the pain of my friend, whose husband died of pancreatic cancer just a few months ago; and all the children at the clinic where my son is treated for a blood disorder (not cancer). Most of them have leukemia and cancer, and most of them survive. But for those who don’t, the pain of their loved ones must be unbearable.
I think that death is a gift sometimes too. The knowledge that, while too young, your friend has had enough time on earth to appreciate it, and many people who love him, and perhaps his mom waiting for him, may make it easier. But still not easy.
May the light shine on him, and you, and all who love your friend.
all we can do is to be present and listen…
death is so final and as you say a veil before the eyes of the living……
birth…death…birth….
each end prepares and caries forward a new beginning…..
each beginning prepares and moves toward an end….
arising and falling endlessly…….
life is empty of inherent identity..
aggregate…..
and impermanent….
so full of beauty…
so ephemeral….
so fragile…
blessings on both of your journeys…
your friend is fortunate…
I pray that I die in the arms of someone who loves me…
with no regret….
rather than alone ….
suffering in the dark….
My Sisters breast cancer and lymphoma that will probably come back? My Father that had alzheimers, a leg amputated, and then a stroke? We all moved home for 4 days after the stroke, and when we were ready put a high dosage pain patch on him, that we knew would ease him through? By the way, he had asked me years before that if I would pull the plug for him if he ever ended up on a machine.
But I don’t think either of those are quite right to post because every illness and death is different. Different feelings each time.
Sending love, peace, and good vibes your way.
as I just went through it with my Dad.
He was told in mid August that he had from 6 months to a year after being diagosed with lung cancer.
He died only 3 1/2 weeks later. Shocking, but in a way I’m grateful, because he didn’t linger in pain like so many do.
Hospice was a great help to us — and continue to be. They helped ease my father into his next adventure, washing away the pain and allowing him the ability to let go of the bindings that were holding him here to the real.
Now they are helping my mother deal with the loss of her partner for nearly 50 years, as well as keeping in touch with me and my sister to make sure we’re keeping it all together too.
The one thing I think I really learned in this process is that the dead never really are truly gone. They still are here, in our hearts, in our minds, and in the works they left behind. Death is just the sfirst step of a new journey, and one we will all take one day. Fortunately (I believe) my dad had his hiking boots and backpack ready for the trip, and set out willingly, with a smile on his face and a heart filled with hope.
May your friend have the courage and strength to do the same.
in June. He was HIV+ for 15+ years – and was an incredible person.
he got really sick in the Spring, and we used the “care pages” to all stay in touch, with Dave, and with each other.
http://www.carepages…
he is still very much with many of us, every day.
I didn’t know what to say to you and still don’t.
I wish your friend relief from his pain and release from his fear. For you and all his friends and family I wish comfort.
We are none of us ever really alone.
to me. I do know that they put into perspective what is important and what is truth and what is not. I have written a bit about my Grandma Vera, she was for the most part an atheist. She was hospicing when we left for Salt Lake City for my son’s initial titanium rib procedure when they installed all the hardware that keeps his scoliosis from killing him. When we left I knew I wouldn’t see her again on this plane, it was hard because my two grandmothers became my standin mothers when I lost my mom. Vera had begun to slip gently and almost sleepily out of our world. I flew home alone for her funeral while the rest of the family stayed with Josh and one of my cousins told me that the day she died she wasn’t aware of anyone in the room but she kept holding her arms out to and smiling at something only she could see. I think you’re pretty amazing to be able to remain so lucid during your loss and thank you for sharing your moments. It allows me to remember some of the leavings that I was given so that I can embrace if even for only a moment what everything is really about. Why is that time also so fleeting? If there is one thing I wish that I could keep a firm hold on it is the clarity of what really matters that is gifted to me when I’m losing someone I love.