Tag: life

A Season of Death

Death visits everyone, and no one is immune. There are some deaths that come suddenly, unexpectedly. While all deaths are tragic, there are some that last a season. I would venture to say that this is not a summary because I don’t believe that it could be summarized. For every 10 experiences I may have, there would be ten times that many in other families. This is merely a telling of one experience. Why this one? I suppose that is because I am older, it is the most recent. There are details that are sharper than the seasons of death gone before. Some of you may have experienced your own season, or perhaps be facing that season or perhaps even in the middle of that season right now.

I don’t think that I am unique in thinking about how I might like to die…for me “in my sleep, after a life well lived”. Or is that just me? I will be a bit nervous when my time is up, and hopeful that my trajectory after death is upward, and that doing my best was enough to gain entrance into that most holy place with God. Would I be okay with a season of death? Being catholic, I have to say yes. Because I would not want to control the last part of my life. Those thoughts are for another time though, as this is about the time when death was pronounced inevitable, and the march towards the end has begun.

The day our loved one is pronounced terminal, is like taking a really hard sucker punch to the gut. It doesn’t matter that it has usually been preceded by months of treatments, surgeries, hopeful moments, moments of despair, hospitalizations and so on. An exhausting myriad of treatments that at times feel worse than the illness itself, but no matter, because we are never ready for the words “there is nothing more than can be done”. I write this from an observer point of view. Death has not pronounced upon me as yet, and I would further say that I am not quite ready at this moment. Not that it matters, as a season of death arrives with little warning and very little to be done about it.

On that first day that death is pronounced the winner, in all versions of all of my experiences, it feels as if you are trapped within a dark, homogeneous swirl of feelings. The words lay flat, but the air is thick. There is nothing more to be done, to fight. It’s time to lay down all weapons and surrender. Your brain tries to think, to accept what is being said and it feels at once all encompassing and yet somehow outside of you, surreal. It suddenly feels difficult to breathe as you try to reason and order your thoughts but there is nothing but nameless chaos swirling about. Nameless, because you know you have done all that was advised, yet you somehow failed. Your thoughts get heavier and it begins to feel like you are falling into a pool of dark gel, struggling to get air, fighting to get to the top but not knowing where the top is exactly. In my opinion, and based on the experiences that I had, that is our brains trying to believe that the information we just received was incorrect, but our brain’s search engine has been frozen in the knowledge of impending death and you now know or come to realize anyway, that you will never reason out of that knowledge.

I cannot recall if these feelings lasted one hour, one day or one week, but I think I can recall at least one day. I also think that it takes even longer to actually confirm that you are about to embark on this season of death. My dreams around that time were a crazy montage of nonsense happenings. I have no recollection of them other than consistently waking up dazed and confused. If you have ever been in a car accident, or a bad fall, there is a weird shattering of time where things seem to move in slow motion. Moments of deniability of what is happening – is this real or just a dream – neither! It’s a nightmare, and during the process you realize that waking will not resolve the terror. There is no way to measure time through this, and there is no way out. There is only the next step in the process. The next step being acceptance, and the slow, unknown journey to the end.

In each experience I can honestly say that while in the midst of it, you first think about just how long your loved one will need to suffer and it is not all dark by the way. Odd as it seems, there are times that bring bellows of laughter, tears of joy but in truth they are laced with the truth – that time is short. God! It seems so long when you are living in the middle of it – and then, when they are no more, you marvel at how fast the time went. You are left alone, reviewing all the days you spent collecting the moments of your life together, trips down memory lane, regrets, longings etc. The darkness remains, but it is actually comforting in a strange sort of way that matches the feelings inside, cold, empty and confused. The fog lifts slowly though, little by little, like the feeling of having slept in too long, yet still feeling tired. Eyelids heavy, lids caked with the moisture of tears shed the day before. This exhaustion is your body’s message saying, stay quiet, you do not have the strength to go back to living life just yet. And it would be right.

The positive side of having time before death, if there can be considered a positive, is to have the opportunity to talk to loved ones – to address the unspoken, to lay bare all of the things you may have held close for whatever personal reasons. I spent a lot of time with my aunt, my father in law, my dad, my mother and then my brother in law as they lie waiting for death’s arrival. I treasure the moments, and now I wish I had written them all down. But maybe it’s better this way, I only remember the beautiful, happy and shiny moments – the suffering has paled into fleeting photographs, flashes of moments, gone and gratefully forgotten.

My brother in law was not feeling well for quite awhile following his gallbladder surgery. Persistent follow up discovered pancreatic cancer had visited our family again (my mother died from pancreatic cancer 12 years earlier, discovered stage 4) – this time as stage 2b, and we had the benefit of 12 years of science. Because of the tumor’s location, it would be chemo first, followed by Whipple surgery. We were hopeful.

While diagnosis was in August, there was the upcoming wedding of their daughter in September. The Monday following the wedding began the treatments in earnest. They turned out to be truly difficult. Week after week, the effects of the poisons coursing through his veins would make him simultaneously weaker, unable to eat, unable to sleep. Once the first round was completed, it was decided that after the new year, radiation would begin. Six weeks of radiation, and hard to believe, it seemed that it was actually a respite from the harsh chemotherapy. Then came a short break…a time to come back a bit and be evaluated, hopefully with a go-ahead for surgery.

It was not to be. The tumor was stubborn, it decreased in size some but not enough for surgery. It would require more chemotherapy treatments. It was now late spring. The second rounds of chemo seemed even more difficult than the first, and the side effects and weight loss became extreme. It had now taken both a deep physical and mental toll, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Late spring into summer saw hospital stays for dehydration to try and help him stay the course. As summer drew to a close, it was evident that cancer was to win yet another battle in our family. His brother, my husband and I had happened to fly up the weekend the prognosis of terminal was given. There we were, the four of us, we stood and hugged but the air was just as thick, the room silent as we held each other tightly and acknowledged the inevitable. The only relief to speak of was the end of the ungodly chemotherapy treatments. I can visualize us all standing there for God knows how long and I recall little else of that day.

So began this, our latest season of death. And no matter that we lived through several seasons before it because we know that each one is different, each one brings its own experiences. I stayed in touch with my sister as the initial days passed, but within a few weeks it was evident that despite her extremely upbeat personality and personal strength, she was wearing thin, and would benefit from company and perhaps even with a bit of help.

We made the decision to drive up the first week of October, to stay as long as we were needed. The initial days were sunny and filled with conversation. We even took a day trip to their favorite gardens. As October wore on, days getting shorter, so did his strength and more days were spent in bed. The occasional visitor would give him a few hours of strength, a smile. He had moments of lucidity and at times I could see moments that were other worldly. One day he called my sister and I “Mary and Martha” he said he could see sparkles behind us as the sun shown into the room. Oddly enough, in one of the later weeks he wanted to descend to the family room and watch his favorite football team. You hear about the rally, and this was likely his. He enjoyed the game, some laughter and when it was time for bed, we jokingly called him Lazarus – Mary and Martha’s brother! I do not think the biblical references were an accident. He lived his life religiously and it seemed fitting.

As time progressed, I felt that one of the nicest things was that each weekend was filled with family visitors. My girls, having arrived on separate weekends, would sit in bed next to their uncle and laugh and talk about fun times. While each day would steal a little more of his strength, a bit more of his personality, it was imperceptible in comparison to seeing the love being heaped upon him by his closest family. His son would project strength for him, knowing it would give his father comfort in knowing that he was leaving his home in good hands. By November, he was mostly in bed, but even those days would find slivers of light when my niece, pregnant with his grandchild, would laugh and chat for hours. On one afternoon the baby was quite active and he was actually able to feel him kick.

He lost the final battle in the 3rd week of November, and it was truly a somber time. It was a cloudy, drizzly Friday. The Friday before Thanksgiving. My sister’s kitchen was full of dinners, casseroles, cakes and cookies – enough to feed an army. A beautiful way that friends and neighbors and my sister’s co workers shared in her mourning. The front door (and back door) was abuzz with visitors offering kind words and condolences. We sat around in a cloud of confusion and sadness, and as I write this I realize that at some point someone realized that we need to prepare for a “service”. I cannot recall just when because it was also the week of Thanksgiving – all of our family flew in, and instead of preparing turkey and the trimmings, we made the table full with all of the meals the neighbors had shared – and it was plenty.

The service was scheduled for the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I recall going with my sister here and there to prepare, but the details are hazy. The action of preparing for service, a Mass, burial, the luncheon afterwards, it is what motivates us to move out of the cloud of despair – we are given a task to complete. Within days all was in order. Mass was said – words written to foster closure. Friends and family came through to say goodbye and pay their respects. Their presence at once uplifting and exhausting. It is both painful and yet necessary to the season, it brings a little bit of order to the chaos we were all subjected to. Every bit of it helps to bring about the end of the season of death.

And so begins the season of mourning. As sad as that sounds, mourning has the opposite trajectory of the season of death. Mourning takes all that death has given us, and tasks us with recovery. To learn to weave life around the gaping hole that has been left behind. It is never easy, and sometimes we even need assistance, but with the same family and friends progress is made, the hole becomes woven, the scar can be seen, touched, and when as healed as it gets, will even elicit a smile. Life goes on.

Should I put the bags down so that I can open the door?

Daily writing prompt
What colleges have you attended?
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Baggage. I had more baggage than I could handle at a young age. I truly loved learning from day 1 at school. Yet I never considered going to college because it was just financially impossible. Everyone has their own idea of what it means to be poor, so I feel that time is wasted on explaining the level of poverty I was at when there are always plenty of people who are far worse/far better yet still are “poor”. I worked very hard, straight from high school and earned a decent salary. Within the first 3 years, I had married, had a baby, bought a house, divorced and sold a house. I was the epitome of a woman with baggage.

Now at the ripe old age of 22 I headed to college on my employer’s dime, at night. No computers to do online classes, I had to physically be there, 3 nights a week, after work, and exhausted, run my household and get back to work the following morning. I lasted 18 months but managed to pick up some very useful lessons relative to my current position and made some great contacts. I chose to put “college” on hold. I had met my soon to be future husband at work and we began dating. He was very good at coaching me to improve myself and set goals and within the next three years, I continued to be promoted and we married. Before I was 30, I became an executive in the financial services firm I worked at since high school. We did not plan, but were happily surprised by the arrival of twins. With 4 children at home, (husband brought a child along from his first marriage) we both agreed life could be saner if I were to stay home. And it was, it really was.

After a one year adjustment on my part, I actually settled into a life of a stay at home parent: parent/ teacher associations, volunteering at school, chairing the newly named “publishing center” at school, librarian assistant. I embraced everything and it was all done on school time for the kids, and we’d all pile into the car and ride home to get ready for homework, dinner, bath time and bedtime. As I write it, it sounds rote, mundane, etc. It was anything but, it was a kaleidoscope of learning that was so intensely fun and interesting. And I would never have known anything of it had we not been surprised with twins. I dabbled in and out of classes over the years at our local community college, but came to realize I would not likely ever be the proud owner of a degree.

Yet I do not have regret and I think that is really important to note. I can and do see all the wonderful things earning a degree can offer. It also saves the sting of embarrassment (more so in my younger years) of explaining, no degree, but I “insert long explanation here and watch the subject’s eyes glaze over”. It may have made things a bit easier for me (especially when I finally returned to work) to have that degree on my resume.

I recall a friend of mine offered to read my resume when we had relocated and I began my search for employment. Her opinion was that without a degree I had very little chance of finding a good job. I disagreed and said that my previous job typically required a degree and yet I had been successful. Her reply was that at that time, I was younger, prettier and more slender (ouch!) so it would be different this time. Again, I had to rely on contacts and first impressions to get in, and then work really hard to prove myself once offered an opportunity. Not only did I get the job, but I eventually worked my way up to being a Regional Vice President of the entire state for our financial organization, sans an official degree. I managed many who had degrees, some with next level. Some impressive, some not so much.

While not usual, my performance offered me a route less followed. Could I have gone even higher with a degree? It’s quite possible. Would I have been smarter? I wouldn’t even know how to measure that, and I don’t feel that I need to – it was enough for me. “Enough” is one of my favorite words. Enough. It’s the sweet spot between what we truly need and what we want. When I land in this serenely serendipitous place, I like to try and not just recognize it, but embrace it. Not enough? That’s a “driver” – the indication that. you need to make more effort. More than enough? It is not just wasteful, it could possibly have negative effects – complacency for one. Trust me, you want just “enough”.

I think the key is this, if you sense that you want to go to college, then it is vitally important that you do so. Especially if you feel drawn to a specific field. Listening to that inner voice is everything in life. But if you are unsure, especially in today’s super expensive climate, then maybe think about working, or working and going to school part time. The working world is a college of sorts, and your fellow employees will be both college educated and self educated. Belly up to the table with a solid level of self worth, some idea of what interests you, and never, ever give in to being lazy – at least never at work.

I don’t think one ever stops learning. I have enjoyed learning from both degreed and non-degreed people, friends, employees, employers. I think the more important question is, how much attitude are you capable of bringing without a degree? Especially when you may be up against multiple degreed competition. If that degree helps you in the smallest way, then do it. On the other hand, obtaining a degree for the sake of checking off a block on your resume is, in my humble opinion, tantamount to the complacency I mentioned earlier. I back that up with the fact that at one point I managed about 120 managers, many degreed, some not.

Sometimes the lack of degree can drive a person to excel to prove their worth to themselves. Conversely, I saw some who felt they were owed something in return for having completed their degree. (These were quickly moved on.) I had enjoyed managing people of varying degrees of education, but noticed that the primary difference in all, was an attitude that screamed “I will find a way to do this” no matter the ask. In the last ten years of my employment, I decided to leave the public workplace and work for my husband’s company. While I enjoyed it, it is a lot more pressure to produce with your own money on the line. We retired “with enough” in 2009.

Now my life led me along the path I chose, but I do feel that had money, support been available, I would have loved an opportunity to study medicine. Most of its fields require a degree. I have a fascination with human anatomy, and always was able to watch those public broadcast documentaries and programs showing various surgeries, brain, cosmetic, etc. I never looked away. I have no aversion to blood, guts and gore. Whenever one of the kids would get injured (broken arm, gashes, etc.) I would feel a calm come over me, as if everything became two-dimensional and my brain would be swirling with, is this an ER visit or do I have this? At my age, I know this is a question I will never know the answer to, and yet even so, I feel as though I completed my work life as it should have been. It was enough.