Several years ago a good friend of mine, Robert, had a terrible brain tumor. He knew what was happening in the beginning, and knew what he had and what was wrong with him. As time wore on though, he lost much of his short-term memory, and eventually middle term memory. As long as he knew you from years past, he recognized you. When Roy and I went to visit him in the hospital, he knew us. But when Andrew joined us, Robert did not know or recognize him, although he was there visiting him just a few weeks before. Robert slowly declined as the tumor grew, and he really did not question why he was in the hospital, or what was wrong with him. He could hold a conversation with you, and talk about life, and he always seemed happy. He didn’t know how sick he was, and never questioned the tests or the radiation treatments. He eventually went home, and passed away in the shower a few months later – never knowing what was going on with his health.  Never knowing that he was so close to death for so long.

Was he lucky? I don’t know. He was dying for well over a year, and he was never sad. He never cried about it, he never thought about what he was going to miss out on in life. He didn’t cry over not getting married, or having kids, or traveling the world. He was just happy all the time, all the way to the end. He had no idea he was ill, and had no idea his days were severely limited. He was just living his life.

Is this better than knowing?

Another lifelong friend of mine, Karen, also had a brain tumor that slowly took her life over the course of several years. But she knew it from the very beginning. She looked into the eyes of her two young girls and knew she would never see them grow into lovely young women. She knew she would never see them graduate high school, go off to college, and one day get married. When I visited her we talked about life and the past. She was bed ridden for months as her body slowly deteriorated over time, and she cried. She talked to her mom and to her sister and friends to make sure that her daughters were taken care of. She was so concerned for their well being, and she wanted to make sure they had a great life – even without her in it. She wanted to make sure they went apple picking and visited Disney World. She wanted them to know all about her. Dee and I saw here a couple of days before she passed, and we talked all night with her. She knew the end was so near, she faded in and out of consciousness, but wanted to tie up so many loose ends with so many people. Her body was getting more frail by the day, but she brought out that smile and laugh every time her daughters were there.

I can only imagine what she went through those last months. What would anyone go through knowing that they are going to die soon? We all know we are going to die, and it is a part of life. But we don’t know when, and we all hope it is far, far away. We don’t prepare for it mentally, we don’t prepare for it spiritually, and we don’t talk about it. It just happens one day, for most of us.

But those of us who know they are going to leave us soon, either from cancer, or a tumor, or whatever terrible cause, what do they do? It is terrible that they are going to die, but is it a blessing that they have time? They can talk to those they love and tell them everything they want to. They can tell them stories of the past, they can tell them things they never did before. In some cases they can make peace with relatives long forgotten, and bring back family into their lives. They have time to make things right, they have time. Maybe a few days or weeks, or months, but they have time to repair the past, they have time to make amends.

Or is it a curse? Knowing your days are so numbered. Knowing you will not live your life out, you won’t grow old. Living with the stress that every day you wake up you are that much closer to the end. Going for the tests and hearing the dreaded results day after day, week after week. Watching your body as the disease slowly kills you.

Some parents who have enough time have made video-tapes for their kids to listen to. Some have written long journals to leave behind. They know they are leaving and they want to be remembered, so they do whatever they can to leave something meaningful behind. They want to leave some sort of legacy, some proof they were here on this earth and made a difference.

But as I said before – how can they mentally handle knowing that they are dying? It must be such a burden, such an unnatural thought, something that our brains were never designed for. People can really only relate to something they know, and this is something that not many of us can really comprehend – knowing our days are so limited and so finite.

Andrew was in the first group – he never knew. He never knew he was going to die so young. He never knew he would not make it to graduate college, or get married and have a family. He didn’t know how finite his days were. He made himself sushi for dinner, he watched TV, called to say goodnight to Dorothy and me, and then he just went to sleep. That was it. He passed very quietly and peacefully in the middle of the night, not knowing what he has missed out in life. Not knowing anything.

He never let me know what to do with his car, or what to do with his snowboard – who should get it. He left his valuables just lying around in his room. His phone was charging, his computer was left on, his laptop was downloading music and videos. He had no reason to think he would not be with us in the morning. It was to be his first day of class, he bought all his books, he got his notebook ready, he even wrote in his calendar “First Day of Classes.” He didn’t know.

As I look back on this, and as I learn more about grief and suffering and pain, I am almost thankful for the way he passed – not that he passed, but the manner in which he was taken from us. Andrew was a fragile soul. He was a kind, gentle human being. He thought things out to such detail, and always questioned everything, in a positive way. He had compassion for anyone and everyone he met. He had no hate, no fear, no animosity in his life. He was happy every day – but he did not handle stress well. He loved everyone he knew, and always helped others. He had no enemies. His coaches always told us that no one ever disliked Andrew, His teachers welcomed him into their closed classrooms for lunch, just to sit and eat and listen to him talk about life. He loved to listen to others as well.

I know he never had the chance to say goodbye. He never got the chance to tell us things I am sure he was holding inside. But I am okay with that.

He never had to look into our eyes and say goodbye to his mother, his sister and me. He never had to tell us those things that bothered him. He never had to hold his beloved pets and say goodbye to them, knowing he would never see them again. That would have hurt me so much more. The pain that would have caused him would have been so much, I would not have been able to bear it. And I do not think he would have been able to handle that either.

So the question is – is it better to know and have the ability to make peace, but live with the knowledge the end is near? Or is it better to just lie down and pass – oblivious to the fact that your life as we know it is about to end?

So tell me – are you thankful for the way your close ones passed? Are you at peace with the way they were taken? Or would you have liked it some other way? Of course we would all have liked it not to happen, that is a given. But it did happen to us, and we are left here to think about it for the rest of our lives.

 

 

 

I just left a small software conference and heard something very refreshing. The CEO/President and the Chairman opened the conference up with a pretty typical state of the company speech. What was refreshing about it was that during their opening remarks they said that over the past year they had made some mistakes, the made some misjudgments, they had stated anticipated changes and made decisions that had not come to fruition. All of the consultants there knew that already, but it was refreshing for them to say that, and to own it, it gave us a respectful perspective. We quickly moved on, now that it was dealt with, and the entire conference was very positive and successful.

I laid down that night and thought about Andrew, like I do every night. I made him promises and told him what I was going to do during his life. Told him how I was going to raise him and protect him. Promised him the sun and the moon. Of course he was only a few days old, and probably didn’t understand much of what I said, but I still made him promises. And to make is worse, I reiterated these promises throughout his life. To stand by him and to support him throughout his life, no matter what he did, no matter how he turned out. Now I am here, alone, staring at the darkened ceiling knowing that we never fulfilled these promises. Some of them he was too young for us to fulfil. Others we just never did. While many others we did fulfil in the short time we had him.

The other part was a little harder to face. Mistakes.

Andrew – I made mistakes during your life. Some of them caused you pain, some of them made you cry, other just made me cry. Some of them were obvious, while others were only visible in hindsight. But I definitely made mistakes. All parents make mistakes, we are not perfect, and raising a child is an on-the-job learning experience. We learn as we do, and as you grow. Maybe we learned a little too slow, or a little too late.

Most parents have a lifetime though to correct their mistakes. Or at least to make right by them. They talk to their children, they discuss what happened and they move on. Their mistakes become learning experience and help them as their kids grow up. Your mom and I don’t have that chance – and it sucks.

Most of the mistakes are small. Insignificant in the course of a lifetime. I always drove fast – and you learned by watching me from the back seat, which probably explains why you got let’s say more than one speeding ticket. I am sorry I didn’t slow down and set a better example for you. I know I upset you when I argued with someone over insignificant things, like a bad hotel room or a price discrepancy – and I tried not to when I was around you – but I did it way too often. I know it’s too late to teach you better, but you will be glad to know that I really don’t do that much anymore. You have taught me to be much more compassionate, patient, and understanding. Unfortunately too late for you to appreciate it.  But I know you know you have changed me for the better.

In the grand scheme of your short life, I know these broken promises and mistakes are minor. I know you had a great life, I know you know you were loved and cared for and your mom and I did our best to raise you – and we are doing our best to raise Nicole. I know these mistakes were insurmountably outweighed and outnumbered but your positive experiences, and I am at peace with this. I can close my eyes and recall the good memories. But I wanted you to know that I am truly sorry for these mistakes. Hopefully one day, somehow, you can let me know you forgive me.

All parents make promises that get broken. All parent make mistakes. But it is those of us who can put them into perspective and make them relative, who can properly love our children and grieve for them unconditionally. We cannot dwell on the promises we broke, the mistakes we make, the unspoken apologies – for they are in the past. We must remember our children, remember the good, remember the love, and hold on to that as we move one foot in front of the next.