There are at least two victims in every death cancer causes.
The first is the person who dies. They experience a level of physical, mental, and emotional pain I have only observational experience of. I would not wish what I saw Jane go through on anyone. Cancer strips people of more than their lives. It first strips away every ounce of hope and dignity. It is a vile death no one deserves to experience.
The second victim is the one left behind. That is my personal experience–and that experience does not end with the death of the beloved. The experience begins with the first symptoms and the diagnosis, continues through the doctors’ visits, the treatments, the hospital admissions, the slow disintegration of the body, mind and soul of the most important person in your life, until that body falls lifeless in your arms. Through it all, you have to be strong and logical and clear. As someone said to me when Jane was in the hospital: no matter how you feel, no matter what the prognosis, the person you love needs you to be strong for them; you can never show them a moment of doubt or negativity. The doctors, nurses, and other medical people are going to ask you questions about treatments, and your mind has to be clear enough to understand what they are saying to you even in the most nightmarish moments. And you are going to have to take what they tell you and make decisions based on what your loved one would want and the logic of that moment.
People often feel guilty at the sense of relief that sometimes arrives with the death.
But any relief is momentary. You walk into that empty house and the reality slams into you: your wife or husband or child is dead and you are still alive. Every room you enter is filled with memory and pain. Every mutual friend is a reminder. Every happy couple is a knife. But for a time, you are relatively numb. I have few memories of a year ago. I went through the motions. I cooked, I cleaned, I graded papers and prepared lessons, I went to work. But it was all meaningless drivel.
Then the numbness was gone and the real aching emptiness began. People believe there is some kind of magic that happens at the end of the first year–that having gone once through all the events on the emotional calendar, the survivor has recovered and no longer feels the pain–and that if they do, there is something wrong with them.
But talk to those who have been here and a very different story emerges. The grief does not end. You still cry. The rooms still hold too many memories. There are still days of paralysis.
Keeping busy is like taking drugs: the moment you stop, you realize everything is still there.
When we cure cancer, we save two lives: the life of the person with cancer and the life of the person who cares for them.
