I was once told the supposed differences between dying slowly from a terminal illness and dying quickly from an unexpected circumstance. The difference for those whose life has ended, and those who are still living, the ones left behind.
When someone dies slowly from a terminal illness it is harder on the actual person who dies but easier on their surrounding family and friends. A slow death gives the loved ones a chance to learn to live in a new way, a chance to say good bye, and a chance to want their family member to die to stop their suffering. But, clearly a slow death requires the person dying to suffer for potentially months or even years. They probably have ups and downs, times where they think they might win the battle, and times where they cannot imagine another day.
On the opposite side of this, when someone dies suddenly and unexpectedly, it is harder on the family and friends but easier on the person who actually died. In my mind it makes sense that dying quickly would mean that the pain doesn’t last long, heck, the person might not even have time to realize you are about to die. The family and friends left behind are left in shock, standing there in complete and utter disbelief. Their lives turned upside down in a matter of moments. The survivors never had the chance to say goodbye. They never had a chance to say the things they should have, they never saw it coming. The survivors guilt and pain supposedly resurfaces unexpectedly throughout the years, just as unexpectedly as the deaths occurred – it might be the result of a song that triggers a memory, or a smell or a life event.
I have no idea how true all of this is. Clearly, I’ve never died, so I have no idea how much truth their is to the merits of dying quickly or slowly. I’m fortunate that at this point in my life I can still say that I’ve never watched a loved one die from a terminal illness. I’ve known people who’ve fought and won the battle with cancer, and I know some people who have died of cancer, but no-one close enough that I would be at their bed side during the final weeks and days. So, my thoughts here are just speculation. Really, I have no idea just how accurate all of this is, but I find it interesting nonetheless.
The only experience I actually have with death is the sudden and unexpected type. The type where I am still living even though it feels like life has ended. Seeing my family leave the house one moment, and the next seeing my dad and brother with their condition unknown lying in hospital beds, and at the same time being told that my mom and sister are dead – these are the moments in my life that will forever be etched into my mind. I remember our family friend knocking at the door and telling me there has been a car accident. I can still see the look on my Dad’s face and my older brother’s vulnerability as he lay in a back brace overcome with confusion form a head injury. I can still see and feel almost everything about that evening in the hospital, and the next few days. I remember refusing to eat for a few days, I was not hungry and on some level I couldn’t understand how I should be able to eat – I remember my Uncle finally forcing me to eat something from the copious amount of food that had been dropped off at our house, I chose a cinnamon bun. Most of my memories are incredibly vivid, and just like I was told, every now and again something happens to bring them all back to the surface just like I am reliving the actual moments. If I hear the song Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter, it take me right back to the last time I saw my sister. When I hear Downtown by Petula Clark, I think of singing with my mom in the car and the moments I wish I could still have. At times, I feel like I could puke, I feel like I could burst into tears, I feel a desperate need to give my mom one last hug, and to not argue with my sister over something silly. Some days I feel like it happened yesterday, and have to remind myself that its actually years later.
But, today is not one of those days. Today, the grief is not palpable. Rather, it is sitting far enough under the surface to make me aware of it, but not to be overcome by its full force. Instead, today I am simply remembering and wishing.
Like everyday I wish I could go back in time and give my mom and sister one last hug. I wish I could tell them all the things I didn’t get the chance to. Today, I wish I had not taken then for granted. Today, I wish my mom were here so I could wish her a happy birthday and celebrate another year with her. Today I wish I were going shopping to find her a special gift as a small token of my love. Today I wish I could give her a hug, and tell her how much I love her. Today I wish we had more time together to create more amazing memories. Today I wish she did not die at the young age of 43.
Today, I will simply live while wishing, wondering and reminiscing.
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I recently turned 32 years old. To many 32 might sound young, to me I feel like my 30s have aged me well beyond that of an average 32 year old.
We made the most of the day and enjoyed each others company. In fact, there were many awesome and delightful things about my birthday this year:
- My 5 year old nephew called and sang me happy birthday. It was precious and adorable! Every time he says Auntie MPB, I just fall more and more in love with that kid.
- I always enjoy a subtle birthday celebration – I am not one to make a big scene or want a big party. In fact, I would cringe at the idea of a big fuss being made over me. So, Mr. MPB and I spent the day together doing whatever I wanted. And of course, Mr. MPB made me an epic birthday dinner. I asked for one of everything from the ocean and he did just that. Clams, oysters, dungeness crab, caviar, and shrimp all cooked to perfection and devoured by both of us with pure happiness.
- I got full control of the television for the evening! This virtually never happens, and it meant that we finished watching Happy Endings on Netflix and we stated a Harry Potter movie marathon.
- For the first time in 3 years, my birthday was not marked by the loss of another baby. While in many ways this sounds sad, it also very much worth celebrating in my life. My 30th birthday was marked by the loss of our 2nd I spent my birthday recovering from surgery and trying to find my way through another miscarriage. Just days after my 31st birthday we found out our 4th baby had also died. This was the only baby that ever had a healthy heart rate, so the loss was as unexpected as it could be for someone who had lost 3 babies previously. Leading up to my birthday this year, the fact that we would not be losing another baby is probably what made me the happiest.
But, as great as the day ways, there was a few frustrating things that happened as well:
- First, every single person I talked to commented on how much older I am getting, as if 32 is the new 62. I know 32 is older than 31, I can count. But, to have every single person who talked to me point out just how old I am kind of sucked. I know no-one meant anything mean by it, but given my feelings surrounding turning older this year, I just really didn’t need to hear about it all day long. I have a new rule about birthdays, if a person is capable of counting, I will not remind them just how old they are.
- To make sure I enjoyed my actual birthday I made a point not to focus on this one, but alas it still remained in the back of my mind. I am now 32 and feel so far from achieving our family dreams. I’ve had miscarriages in each of the last 3 years, so 29, 30 and 31 were all marked by loss. 32 should be better, but yet today I feel no closer to the dream. I suspect I will be at least 33 before we have our baby, maybe even 34. And I hate the thought of another year without a child. In my naïve baby making mind, I always thought we’d have baby number 1 when I was 29 and baby number two when I was 31. I always thought we’d have our family completed by the time I turned 32, and clearly that is not going to happen. I know I cannot change this and therefore I should not stress about it. But the reality that 32 is marking the passing of my imaginary timeline, just kind of sucks.
- My parents completely forgot my birthday! Or at least they didn’t call or even text to acknowledge it and wish me a happy birthday. They both did text the following day – one ignored the reality of the missed date, the other claimed they were too busy to send a text the day before (because evidently writing a 10 word long text is too time consuming). I consider this an epic parenting fail. Honestly, my mom has a really good excuse for not calling – she’s dead. My Dad and my step-mom not so much, as they are both living, and pretty darn capable of being able to read a calendar and use a phone to call or text. It’s actually the second time in my life they have managed to forget my birthday, the first was many years ago when we actually spent the evening with them for what I mistakenly thought was an birthday evening out. I can almost understand how they could forget or be too busy, they have 4 children so it must be pretty hard to remember four birthdays. For me, realizing they forgot was probably the worst part of the day. I’m just frustrated that in the last few months I have drastically lowered my expectations of them, and yet they find a way to still disappoint. Seriously, my expectations are so low that I thought they would have no choice but to impress me. Honestly, I thought a rule of being a parent is to wish your kid a happy birthday for every year the both of you are alive, because the day your child is born is a day worth celebrating!!
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