A couple moved in next door to my mom’s house years after my dad died. They were older and wanted a ranch home to live in as they aged. Carolyn had mobility issues. Dave helped her transform a fairly barren backyard into beautiful areas of raised flower beds. Dave would occasionally snow blow part of my mom’s sidewalk. They looked out for her and were kind people. It’s great when neighbors can look out for each other. My city is known as the Good Neighbor City. Most of the time we wear it well.
The years go by as they do. Carolyn became confined to a wheelchair. Dave grew older and showed signs of decline here and there. My sister and her partner started looking out for them. Now they would help with the snow as Dave had once done for my mom. Good neighbor spirit at its best.
The ambulance showed up next door on a Saturday night a couple of weeks ago. After a bit of a wait, a stretcher with Dave wearing an oxygen mask was brought out. He was loaded up and the ambulance took off. Carolyn was brought out, helped into a car, and it followed after the ambulance.
By the next day, cars were parked on the street outside their home. Cars usually show up at a house after someone has died with family gathering together and showing support. My sister walked over to find out what happened and to offer her help. Dave had died.
He choked on a piece of orange.
I’m still gutted. One moment a person is eating an orange on an ordinary day. The next moment it’s lodged in his throat. He can’t breathe. He can’t communicate. His wife can’t get to him and be of help. She watched in terror which is equally as gutting. He had been without oxygen too long and there was no brain activity. The decision was made to let him go and remove him from life support.
How sudden, unfair, and without reason.
Why? It’s another unanswerable question I’ve asked myself. Maybe it was his time. Maybe this avoided a long illness on the way or a devastating accident. Maybe these are things we just tell ourselves.
Dave’s death got me thinking about life and death. People often wonder if a quick death is better or a long one. My father died quickly of an aortic aneurysm after a second heart surgery. All sorts of medical issues were identified during that surgery. He had more surgery and a long road ahead of him. My family hadn’t faced a lot of death in the family. We were naïve and thought he’d get better. He thought this, too. It wasn’t meant to be. We were shocked not to have a goodbye.
My mom survived a little longer than a year after her metastatic breast cancer diagnosis. She languished more and more in an assisted living facility for her final couple of months. More of her was lost each day. She didn’t have any wise comments about death or the afterlife. Talking about these things didn’t ease her. I remember she gave me quite the sideways glance when I once mentioned she’d see Dad again. Her mother (who had passed) came to her a couple of times to visit. She told me about that when I would drive across town to visit her after school and spend dinner with her. I wanted to know what she had to say but my mom couldn’t piece the conversation together. Another time she told me Grandma had left without saying goodbye and my mom was very distraught. All I had was comfort and love to give her. I would just sit and feed spoonfuls of soft food to her or watch her sleep until my sister would join me when she finished work.
Is a long goodbye or short goodbye better? Perhaps no goodbye at all?
We get what we get.
I believe we get what we are supposed to get.
If you are a regular reader, you know I have metastatic breast cancer. I am lucky to be here.
I would absolutely die if I died choking on a piece of fruit.
Forgive the dark humor.
Change is hard for me. None of us know when we’ll breathe our last. Some of us have a better idea than others what might cause our eventual demise. I’ve been able to think about what is important to me. I focus on meaning. I stage photographs a certain way so they can hopefully capture a moment or my spirit. I believe gifts should have meaning but I’m more into experiences. I have more than enough things. And oh, is time precious. Goodbyes are hard for me, too. I still want to have them.
But not now.
Living with metastatic disease involves living as fully as possible in the moment. I do a deep dive into connection with others. I relish times of calm and laughter. My values are more aligned with my words and actions. Living fully is where I place my attention and intentions. I think many feel the same.
There was a parent of a former student I taught who died two days after she was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. No prior symptoms. She thought she had the flu. There was no time to process the shock let alone time for her family to say goodbye. This happened some years before I was diagnosed. It was unimaginable then and still is now.
Another death that was sudden, unfair, and without reason.
Maybe we don’t get what we’re supposed to get. No one should get only two days. The shock is still present. I’ve seen her children as adults. They turned out to be great young women. Great young women who lost their mother far too soon.
Why have I been blessed with nine years post diagnosis when she got two days? The survivor guilt weighs on me like a boulder crushing my chest. I work to free myself from it, to talk about it, to grieve when I can since I can’t do anything about preventing the loss anyway. It is out of all our hands.
Life is short.
Life is fragile.
Rest in peace, Dave.