As I've struggled to make some sense of my friend David's fight against liver cancer, a line from an old Tom T. Hall song has been running through my mind - "The Year Clayton Delaney Died" is a country classic about the sad death of a sadder guitar player and the possibility of his music living on. The line is Could be that the good Lord likes a little pickin' too. I hope so.
There's no recovery from stage four liver cancer and my friend David is dying, sooner rather than later, most probably. I search my soul for the right words - any words at all would do if I'm honest about it - and come up empty. What do you say to a dying man and the wife he will leave behind? This is a cold, fast moving and very aggressive cancer with no treatment. It's giving no quarter, showing no mercy, and taking no prisoners and each time I think about visiting, my courage fails. When I first learned he was ill, he swore to me secrecy and while part of me thought this vastly unfair, another part was grateful for the opportunity to pretend it wasn't happening. My emotions are jumbled, a mix of cowardice and shame, fear and obligation. I have the unhappy feeling that if I don't visit, I'll always regret it.
As I sometimes do in times when I need help sorting myself out, I turn to my cousin, a loyal and wise source of wisdom with more than a little experience in loss and tragedy and the adversity of life. She gently reminds me to celebrate his being alive rather than see him as a death in progress, to ask about his feelings and fears, to listen, to be a witness to his voice. This makes me smile in spite of myself - Linda's advice is always sound and intuitive - never easy to take but always sound. Not only do I treasure it, I've been known to try and follow it on rare occasions.
Up until the very second I knocked I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to do it but then Jean opened the door and I stepped inside - the little house was so right for them it stunned me - wood floors and simple furniture with clean lines, the smell of peppermint in the air and ceiling fans whirring gently. Painting, sculpture and signs of music were everywhere, in every room, and it was very still, very quiet. I felt instantly welcome and at home.
It's devastating to see David lying motionless and so clearly near death with his long hair spread out on pillows and his long fingered, delicate hands lightly clasped on his chest. I bend over to kiss his pale cheek and his eyelids flutter but don't open. He's too weak and too ill to speak, what's left of his voice is thin, and nearly
transparent from pain but I sense he knows who I am and if he could, would be glad to see me.
Hey, sunshine, I tell him softly, I've been missing you.
At the food of the bed, Jean stands still as a statue and I can hear her breathing. I think of the strength and courage this must take, the effort and the loneliness, the inevitability. I can't imagine surviving it, can't even begin to comprehend her endurance and exhaustion.
I'll see you in a day or two, I tell him although I don't really think I will.
When I die I'm going to dance first in all the galaxies ...I'm gonna play and dance and sing.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
I pray it's so.
As I sometimes do in times when I need help sorting myself out, I turn to my cousin, a loyal and wise source of wisdom with more than a little experience in loss and tragedy and the adversity of life. She gently reminds me to celebrate his being alive rather than see him as a death in progress, to ask about his feelings and fears, to listen, to be a witness to his voice. This makes me smile in spite of myself - Linda's advice is always sound and intuitive - never easy to take but always sound. Not only do I treasure it, I've been known to try and follow it on rare occasions.
Up until the very second I knocked I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to do it but then Jean opened the door and I stepped inside - the little house was so right for them it stunned me - wood floors and simple furniture with clean lines, the smell of peppermint in the air and ceiling fans whirring gently. Painting, sculpture and signs of music were everywhere, in every room, and it was very still, very quiet. I felt instantly welcome and at home.
It's devastating to see David lying motionless and so clearly near death with his long hair spread out on pillows and his long fingered, delicate hands lightly clasped on his chest. I bend over to kiss his pale cheek and his eyelids flutter but don't open. He's too weak and too ill to speak, what's left of his voice is thin, and nearly
transparent from pain but I sense he knows who I am and if he could, would be glad to see me.
Hey, sunshine, I tell him softly, I've been missing you.
At the food of the bed, Jean stands still as a statue and I can hear her breathing. I think of the strength and courage this must take, the effort and the loneliness, the inevitability. I can't imagine surviving it, can't even begin to comprehend her endurance and exhaustion.
I'll see you in a day or two, I tell him although I don't really think I will.
When I die I'm going to dance first in all the galaxies ...I'm gonna play and dance and sing.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
I pray it's so.
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