Today I learned that a friend was denied the opportunity to
say goodbye to a friend who was dying.
The family had chosen that no visitors were allowed to see the failing
person. Defending a person's dignity is certainly admirable. That is certainly the right of
any family. Yet, in that denial of a last goodbye, a last hug, a shared tear, it is rarely considered how important that could be to the one dying or the one who continues to live.
I would like people to consider the grief that others
face. I feel strongly that it is
important whether related or not, that all are welcome to reconcile or say good
bye before the possibility has passed. Turning
away others in the face of death is not helpful. It hinders those who will face a similar
grief, yet without the last words from the one who brings the grief.
In my own life, I have been turned away because I was not family. I was not important enough to say goodbye to
someone I considered quite close. It was
a terrible blow not to be able to say goodbye to someone who had introduced me
to an entire new path before me. And, it
was awful not to be able to comfort or hug a person who I cherished.
Last Saturday, I chose to attend a memorial of a friend. People asked how I knew him or his partner. I was able to share the impact the person we were honoring had impacted my life. No one truly knows the impact of another unless they inquire. I am glad I was invited to attend and meet other grieved attendees.
Choices are important when fighting
disease. At the beginning of a
diagnosis, it is natural to choose to fight.
It galvanizes you to manage all sorts of impacts that will occur. It is as the energy is robbed from you and
life may feel like it is slipping away when additional choices must be considered. Those choices are ones both the person
fighting and dying must choose as well as those closest to them.
After over a year of fighting disease, I begged Carleton
a year before his death that if he was my partner, he had adopted some of my
values. Those values include the idea
that when facing disease and death, we fight.
And when we can no longer fight for our lives, we do not simply give
up. We choose to surrender. Giving
up suggests that the only being of importance is you. Surrendering means you understand the value
of others. Knowing that grief can be
overwhelming, the focus of surrender is on negotiating for everyone else affected
by your passing.
As I was losing Carleton to his tumors, I determined that
each person who wanted to say goodbye would be allowed. There were so many complicated life events in
his life that it was important as his protector that everyone has the chance
for reconciliation. Even if the visit
was short, Carleton chose not to turn anyone away.
As Carleton Cannon faced the reality that he would die, he
asked me to reach out to others and call them to him. He never gave up his fight; he simply began
to choose to surrender. We felt part of
the surrender meant that he fought to help everyone who was to live negotiate
their own grief through his death.
When we surrender, it means we change our focus from
fighting for ourselves and focus on ways to fight for others. We surrender our lives and we turn to empower
others. Carleton, as he understood he
would lose, promptly turned to express his love for his parents, his brother,
his family, and his friends. He
understood how deeply grieved people would be in his family. He was as anguished about their grief as much
as facing his own death. And, through his anguish,
and his pain, he communicated as much love, encouragement, and hope as he could
for anyone who entered the room.
On his last day, he reached out with his last breath to
comfort and console his friends and family, through a myriad of pain killers
and continuing pain. He reminded friends
of memories to cherish. He told family
how he felt about them. He did not
withhold an opinion. Three times on the
last day, he made his mother promise to make sure they had enough food at the
Memorial Service. He focused on others in his last few hours.
He was tired of worrying about himself, he had surrendered. He willingly helped others in the best way he
knew to prepare them for their journey of grief; a struggle through which he
would not be available to comfort or console.
