Part of life

During Dad’s illness, people frequently asked us how the boys were doing. I think people were concerned that it would be very frightening for kids to be near someone who is dying. This was not our experience. There’s no question that it was sad, for them and for all of us, but it would have been sad no matter where Dad was. 

We were completely honest with the boys about Dad’s condition, starting with the day he was diagnosed. They knew all along that he was dying. But most of the time he was not dying imminently, and they just enjoyed his company in the ways that were available. As he got sicker there were fewer and fewer things that they could do together. But they could watch Warriors games with him, and give him hugs, and tell him their rose and thorn for the day. They knew that their hugs were a special kind of essential medicine that only they could provide. Aaron said, “The medicine that he gets from the doctors and nurses helps with his body, and my hugs are to help heal his soul.” Absolutely right, darling. 

Dale and I were open about our sadness. When I was overwhelmed by my emotions I just went ahead and cried. This made the boys nervous, especially Aaron; but it helped a lot when I explained what I like people to do when I am sad. I said I like people to just be with me, and not change the subject, and maybe give me a hug or a little pat. I said I didn’t want to be cheered up, because when I have big sad feelings I need to just feel them. I called it a “sad attack.” I explained that when I have a sad attack, I will cry for a little while, and then it will pass and I will feel okay again. Once I said what I wanted, both boys carried out my wishes to a T, which was very comforting for me (and I think helped them, too). 

Sometimes Aaron was overwhelmed by sadness, and Jordan less frequently. How not? But after a streak of sadness they would go back to their normal selves. Their teachers, who all knew what was going on, reported that they were fine at school. When we talked to them about Dad’s condition we used nontechnical language, which was better for all of us. They were fascinated by all the science stuff, especially the IV nutrition, which was a complex daily medical ritual involving a lot of interesting gear. They were friendly with all the visiting nurses, and thanked them profusely for their care. When there was something going on that they didn’t want to be close to, they just went to their room and played together. They slept through the toughest stuff – Dad’s worst pain and waking nightmares were in the wee hours, and their room was far enough away that they were not disturbed. Their routines were disrupted because Dale and I were often busy taking care of Dad, and that was a drag for them. But they understood, and managed well enough.

Dad died in our home. Aaron did not want to see his body, which of course is perfectly fine. Jordan, however, wanted to say goodbye, so we sat together in Dad’s familiar bedroom, observing that his body was still and pale and peaceful. Jordan said, “It looks emptier.” After a few minutes, he was ready to leave.

It is easy for me to imagine circumstances that other families could be in that would be traumatizing, for the children and for everyone. In our case, we were sad together, because it is so sad that Grandpa is not with us anymore; but we were not traumatized. We knew we had taken the best care of him that any family possibly could take of their beloved grandpa. We gave him every kind of dignity we knew how to give. We could not keep the cancer away, and he died of it. It is a difficult truth that everything that lives, eventually dies. Our hope is for the kids to experience death as a part of life; heartbreaking, and also the inevitable end of every person’s story.