Tag Archives: death

Time and date

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by in Road to victory

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

,

Sometimes, I wonder if David picked the time and date he would take his last breath. I mean this in the sense that he seemed to have picked a date and time that facilitated some quick coordination.

He died during the day

I was always afraid of finding his lifeless body when I woke up. The first thing I did each morning was check to ensure that he was still breathing. I believe that the trauma of finding his lifeless body in the morning would have been even more difficult to handle.

His nurse and home care aide were present

He died during the hour window that both his nurse and home care aid were visiting. This seems ironic since the nurse only came three times a week and the home care aid visits were Monday through Friday. Also, the timing of their visits wasn’t always coordinated.

The presence of both facilitated the process of removal of all the medical supplies and equipments that were a reminder of how painful the disease was physically and emotionally.

Our daughters were in school

They did not have to witness or be shielded from seeing the undertaker moving their Dad’s body.

It was not a snow day or a weekend

This meant that our daughters were in school. Also, the absence of snow meant that the roadways where find and it allowed quick coordination. It also allowed my Sister to drive over as quickly as possible.

It was January

A month that we do not have any significant occasions or birthdays to celebrate month. A month also on record as the most depressing time of the year.

Missing you dearly…..

Taboo “D” words

03 Sunday Aug 2014

Posted by in Road to victory

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, ,

The picture David always kept in his wallet

I still struggle to use the words “dead” or “died” when referring to David even when writing on this blog. I prefer using words that are frankly more meaningless because they feel less hurtful to me. As I result, I use phases like “absence, loss, passing, gone etc. I also do not recall anyone that expressed condolences using any of the “D’ words, I assume this is true for many of the sympathy cards also. I understand this completely since alternative words appear to soften to harshness of death even if it fails to fully communicate the reality of the death. \

A word like “absence” suggest that he missed something like a meeting or an appointment. Passing is even vaguer – what does that mean, passed to where? The word “loss” implies that he is to be found and “gone” may be inferred to indicate that he left for the day – like he will be back the next day.

I recall having to tell my older daughter on that fateful day that “Daddy died”. As I type this my heart sinks again. That is the most painful phrase I have ever used. I tried to prepare ahead for how to communicate death with the girls. I read that it is better to communicate death as it is with kids so they are not confused with more passive phrases that may lead them to think the person is coming back. Using words that suggest that the deceased has gone for an eternal sleep I understood could introduce additional anxiety to children since they may become afraid of sleeping and never waking up.

I know it was necessary to be direct in communicating what happened with my older daughter. I believe it conveyed the message immediately. This however did not translate to instant grief. My older daughter actually took the news better than expected at first. Her grief was delayed and I have come to understand that this is expected given her age.

David is not coming back. He died. I get it but it is so cruel, so mean, so evil. I hate the word. I have yet to come to terms with using the word – and I do not know if I ever will or want to. Each time I say “David died”, I lose a bit more of my sanity and composure. How can this be my reality?  Perhaps it is the part of me that still function in a state of denial that prefers to avoid the “D” word.  The passive phrases remains my preference because they are not as crass.

Breaking the silence – the practice year

12 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by in Breaking the silence

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, ,

I refer to 2013 as the bonus year and the practice year.

It was the bonus year considering that the disease was very aggressive and advance at the time of the diagnosis and it was the third year of trying to manage it. As of Feb 2013, one of the Doctors unsolicited said at best he only had a few more months to live.

David fought extra hard to make it through 2013. He did everything to stay alive, tried any treatment and even all sorts of diet and lifestyle modification. Most of all, he withstood a LOT of physical pain. He always said he would keep trying no matter what and he did. His determination got him through all of 2013 against all odds.

I also refer to 2013 as the practice year because I had to start doing many of the household and life routine on my own. However, I was fortunate that David was around to guide me or encourage me. I even had to deal with the contractors we hired to do some work around the house and also get the cars serviced. I avoided such activities in the past because I always felt that they would not take me seriously or worse try to sell me things I did not need. I realized it helped to pretend like I knew what I was talking about with the contractors even if I was clueless.

Regardless of how hard David fought to stay alive, he was also a realist and tried to prepare me for the inevitable. He knew I had no interest in discussing this so it made it more difficult for him and he had to approach preparing me with less direct approaches. He would passively mention things to me about important documents, home maintenance information or the bills. Defensively, I would tell him that I do not need to know since that was his job to handle. I finally agreed to learn how he handled the bills in October.

December 2013 was the only time David and I talked about making plans for his death and he showed me a note he wrote with the expectation that he would live until Dec 2013. He wrote the note in March 2012 following the reoccurrence of the cancer because he said he came to the realization that the cancer was too aggressive and would most certainly lead to his death.

He knew premature death was inevitable regardless of how much I refused to accept and he prepared as best as he could. I later found that he organized things to ensure that I could access things I needed. He showed me how things work in the house and gave me the courage to do Mommy and Daddy duties. David was always a planner and I am sure if I had come to terms with the fact that death was looming, he would have planned even more things.

While it was the most painful year ever, I am so grateful that David hung in and helped me practice what I should be doing when he is no longer around. As bad as things are without him, it would have been far worse if I was left completely unprepared following his death.

This is one of several posts that details our experience with bladder cancer. A concise summary of the overall experience can be found in the blog post titled “breaking the silence”.

Why is your name on a tombstone?

08 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by in Road to victory

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

Yesterday was the first time I saw a picture of David’s name on his tombstone. It was in the ground above his final resting place. And yesterday was the first time I really lost it crying, an uncontrollable and violent cry, a screaming and wailing cry.  I cried until it hurt and I still could not stop, even when I finally stopped, the tears were still streaming down my face.

I was MAD. Mad because the world seems so unfair, mad at the disease, mad that we did not get a MIRACLE, mad at the  lack of progress in cancer research in making better progress at preventing or curing cancer, a disease that has devasted so many lives.

The picture with David’s name on a tombstone struck a cord so deep. The grass had not fully covered the area, making it clear that it was dug out, David’s body was laid there and the dirty was placed back over. It made the death of David real, it is real, David is gone, his full name is on a tombstone with an end date.

I was MAD, I am MAD. How can you David be lying below ground buried? How can your name be on a tombstone?  This should not have been our destiny yet. It was cut too short, it is OVER, you are never walking through the doors again. Why was our story cut so short? You had the zeal and energy for life, you wanted to live, you needed to live, I needed you to live. We all did.

This is the hardest I have cried because it is confirmation that even though I want to feel that you are home, you are not, you are gone. The picture of the tombstone confirms it.  As my Sister helped console me, I finally remembered that it was Monday and Mondays always seem to be my worse days and through my tears I was able to joke about the fact.

My evening ended putting the girls in bed, they were so full of energy and so happy to see me. They reminded me of the joy of life and where my happiness resides as they hugged and kissed me until the fell asleep.

 

Breaking the silence – the bed

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by in Breaking the silence

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

I initially titled this post as “the death bed” but it was too hard for me look at that glaring title as the headline.  However, it truly reflected how I felt about this particular bed, the morbidity of what was ahead.

After David came home from the hospital in November, I requested a hospital bed because I knew it would be more comfortable for him. Once it arrived, I hated it immediately. I knew it will be the “death bed”. David looked so comfortable on the bed and that was the only consolation. He spent most of the time on the bed. The bed irked me, I often wondered how many others had experience a similar fate on the bed. I hated the bed. I was ungrateful to those that brought it into our home. It was a painful reminder of the brutality of the disease progression.

The day David died, my first request was to remove the bed immediately. I wanted it to be out the house before our daughters came home from school. In fact, I wanted everything related to his illness to be removed. They reminded me too much of how much the disease had taken from us.

To the credit of the visiting nurse staff, they ensured that items and medical supply related to the illness was removed within 2 hours. Our home was restored to what it should have been. It would have looked normal but how can it be, it was not because the light of our home was also gone. David’s body had been moved to a funeral home.

When they came to take David, I played a song that we (mostly me) listened to frequently after he was admitted to hospice and gave him a goodbye kiss. It was indeed goodbye since we never used to say goodbye, David never liked the word because it was too final but sadly that was goodbye and it was the last time I saw him.

I never looked at his body again because for me, I knew it will bring more pain.  I wanted to remember David as he should be, not laying motionless in a coffin, not dead but with his usual energy and enthusiasm. I doubt that I will ever regret the decision not to see his body again. I recall seeing my Dad in his coffin and it caused me more pain and trauma for many years.

This is one of several posts that details our experience with bladder cancer. A concise summary of the overall experience can be found in the blog post titled “breaking the silence”.

The awkwardness of death in real life

14 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by in Road to victory

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

, , ,

It has been almost two weeks since I returned to work and truly, it has been the right decision. I am so thankful for the support of many of the individuals at work. Returning to work has also revealed to me some of the awkwardness of my new reality especially when people see me for the first time.

Many offered their condolences and showed genuine interest in the well being of me and my daughters.  Others simply pretended like nothing happened at all and proceeded to having work related discussions. There is another group that have avoided me like a plague, they see me coming down the hallway and change directions or try to remain so focused on something like they never saw me.

I am most grateful to those that have asked about me or expressed their condolences regarding David’s passing. Many have gone way above what I can even imagine in the extent of the support they have offered.

The strangest are those that simply pretend like nothing happened. I find those situation to be the most peculiar but perhaps it speaks to the awkwardness of death. But death is something I now have to confront daily. Understandably, it is an undesired life change. If I had gone back to work after getting married or having a baby most of these people would have been fine to acknowledge that and offer their congratulatory messages.

As for those that have avoided me, if/when our paths cross will determine which of the other two categories they fall into.

Below is selfie of me and my older daughter on my first day back to work. I was determined to make sure I did not look crazy, I know David never let me leave the house looking crazy.

photo