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 When my father was dying of kidney cancer back in 1959 (probably from copper dust contamination acquired while making bullets at the Watertown Arsenal during World War II) our family was told not to tell him he was dying, lest he deteriorate even faster. As a result, my mother was denied the comfort of sharing her feelings with her best friend – her husband - about the single most impactful and horrible event in her 47-year-old life.
Lately I’ve been doing a lot of sitting with dying friends. Two families really touched and impressed me with the way they’ve been handling this tough journey. It struck me that our norms are really changing at last - we’ve gotten much better at dying than we used to be.
One couple spoke openly about the husband’s imminent death, what it would mean for each of them, when would extra measures to keep him going be unwelcome and what would his widow do to maintain her sanity and handle her grief after he was gone. Tears flowed freely, but rather than stop the conversation, they added to its richness. He said he felt like he was sitting on a river bank, watching all the boats go by, with all the people he loved on them. He was very sad he couldn’t be on a boat too, traveling with them… that instead he had to stay on shore. He also talked about how much he loved his life, and how he was very happy with it.
She said she couldn’t bear to talk about life without him. That it was simply impossible, inconceivable. She would deal with it when she got to it. But right now she needed to focus on his comfort and manage the steady stream of visitors. He said he understood.
They joked about his continuing need to protect her and take care of her (which is one of the reasons he wanted me to come over – to make it clear to his wife that she could lean on friends afterward. )
 He positively grilled me for information about what my own husband did to make it easier for me. I told him about how helpful it was that he’d told me what he wanted and what he didn’t want. I suggested he plan his own funeral, if he was up for it. That was a huge help to me, my husband doing that. I didn’t have the energy for it, and I was assured that he was getting exactly what he wanted for a send-off. With typical thoughtfulness, he got a close friend to do the arranging, get the speakers on board, and make it happen. Not surprisingly, this husband liked that idea a lot. It was a sweet encounter and I was glad I’d come.
A considerably older couple was also dealing with these issues, only this time it was the wife who was dying. They too spoke very directly to each other and their terrific adult children about the fact that she would be gone soon. She didn’t have much quality of life left, but her head was crystal clear and the hospice nurse was able to keep her relatively comfortable. She was able to enjoy her family and friends, still. She did say, however, that the time would come when she would want the nourishment turned off so she could slip away – she just hadn’t figured out when yet. She was strong, clear, grounded and 100% emotionally in touch with her self and the people around her. As a result, it was quite a beautiful connection, very peaceful, loving and real.
They too wanted to know what my husband had done when he was dying to make it easier. I said “Talking about the fact that he was dying and giving me room to talk back about it.” They said, “Check, we’re doing that”.
Talking about how he felt about the life he’d lived.
Check.
Making it clear he didn’t want extraordinary measures taken to keep him alive.
Check.
Planning his own funeral.
Check.
Letting me know his wishes about this and that.
Check.
Then a caring but anxious friend burst into the room, talking too fast and too loudly about her golf game, her husband’s weight, a trip she was planning…. you get the picture – anything but what was going on in the room. It was like having a cold bucket of water tossed on all of us.
When my friend slipped in the fact that she would be dying soon, her visitor started offering false reassurances and arguments. Then, I think she realized she was out of line, speaking from habit and from nervousness, and that this was a time for either telling the truth or letting others do it. She was a bright woman and a good friend, and I think she got it that by not being authentic, she was creating a strain on everyone in that room (herself included). A few minutes later she left. I marveled at the kindness of my host and hostess, who had probably seen a lot of this behavior from many of their peers. They understood where she was coming from and didn’t scold or shame her; but neither did they didn’t let her anxiety throw them off course.
I left both encounters feeling very sad for what lay ahead for each of them…. but also very grateful and enriched for having them in my life.
Enjoy each sweet breath, good people!!!
All best,
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