On Death and Dying

(reprinted from original publication on April, 2009)

Despite the recurring theme in this column, I don’t dwell on death and dying. I have many interests and activities – music, travel, biking, hiking, etc. But there are times when we all have had to deal with death and dying, and I am going through one of them now, with the final illness of a loved one. I find it helpful to write about what I am feeling, as it helps to clarify my thoughts. I have lost a mother, a father and a fiancé to cancer, and so I have been down this path before. It does not get easier, but the path becomes more familiar. Years ago I had read the seminal book on the subject, "On Death and Dying" by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. She posits five stages in the process of dealing with terminal loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Not everyone goes though these stages in the same order, at the same pace, or with the same result. The variety of the human condition is infinite – and so everyone must find their own way through it all. And acceptance for the survivors, for those who have lost a loved one, does not mean the loss goes away or somehow becomes less important; it simply can mean that you have made some peace with your loss that allows you to resume the routines of life without dwelling unnecessarily on what you have lost.

My mother, at age 18, lost her brother Sam, age 21, during World War II. She told me years later on what would have been his 75th birthday “Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Sam.” Acceptance for her did not mean burying his memory, but honoring his life and their relationship by making peace with the daily thoughts that she had about him. I have tried to learn from her experience, but with each new loss, the old wounds are re-opened. I still have the anger that my father died at age 62, and never met any of his 7 grandchildren. But he had a loving family, a wife and four children, and he came home intact from World War II and had a career that he loved, a wide range of friends, was active in the community, attended our school events, and in short had all of the things that Sam never had. That is how I have made peace with his loss.

For my fiancé, I bargained long and hard with God – I really wanted that miracle to occur, and I was offering whatever it took to make that deal. Georgette and I had dated in college, had lost touch after graduation when we went our separate ways, and then had come back together 23 years later - even though she was in Houston and I was in Philadelphia. She was recovering from her bout with cancer, and she amazed me with her attitude. She said that it was the best thing that ever happened to her, because it made her focus on what was important in life, and on making the most of every single day. In our three years together, we made that Houston-Philadelphia relationship work – but the cancer recurred, off and on, and I became familiar with chemo and radiation and the various tools used in that war. Ultimately, a brain tumor trumps them all. There was no miracle. After she died, her oncologist called me and told me “It was wonderful that you came into Georgette’s life. She would bubble when she spoke about you and your visits with each other. You gave her hope, and you gave her joy. We were amazed at the change in her condition. You gave her several additional years of life.” And she had given me much as well: she had taught me a better way to live, I had changed as a result, left my law firm, became self employed, and took control of my life. We traveled together – on a shoestring – and it showed me what could be done with just a little effort. We made the most of our time together. I realized that I had been given the miracle that I had bargained for. And that is how I have made peace with that loss.

My mother had been thrilled for me that I had found someone who made me so happy. She loved to travel and do things herself, and so we would compare notes on what we were each doing, where we were going and what we were seeing. We actually enjoyed seeing each other’s “vacation pictures” and hearing the stories behind them. She was devastated by my loss. And then six months later she was diagnosed with cancer. My mother was 80, and had lived a good long life, but she was more active and engaged with the world at 80 than people half her age. And so I went down the path again. Anger, check. Bargaining, check. Depression – that was still creeping around my door from the previous loss. In dealing with her loss, I came to recognize the traits that she had that live on in me. In considering her life and how she overcame the adversity she faced, I have found her sources of strength, and they have become my sources of strength. I have not fully made peace with her loss. I am not fully at “acceptance” with any of these losses. But they have given me tools to help deal with the next loss.

And now I need to teach my children about these tools, and how to use them, even though I have not fully mastered them myself. It is another time of supreme heartache, which is for all of us a mandatory stop on the journey through life. It is not a path I would choose, but that is not an option. We all must travel that path at times in our life. So I take that first step again, angrily searching for a reason when none is apparent, hoping for miracles, and knowing it is a long road to “acceptance” that has more downs than ups. But I am here on earth today on a beautiful spring day, and each drop of life is precious. I am grateful for that. And so I put one foot in front of the other and move forward down that path.