It never ceases to amaze me how different we are as human beings.
My first realization came when I was grieving the loss of my first husband. Other widows would approach me and share how they got through it, mostly. Then there were humorous statements like, “Your husband can’t die, you love him too much”. Isn’t that a wonderful illusion to think that love can keep your loved one alive? And then there was a lady in my exercise class that told me she didn’t care that her husband had passed, and another that said what she misses most is that her husband handled the finances, and she didn’t know how.
As my friends get older, and I play like I am not, I’m finding we all die differently, too. My father didn’t mention to me that he was going to be passing away from cancer. The only two people that knew were his wife and my brother. About a month before he passed, he told my sister and me. I felt deceived and knew I had missed an opportunity to show him the love and gratitude he deserved to know.
Similarly, a friend invited us for dinner and in the parking lot afterwards, told us his time was up. He said he didn’t want the evening to feel like The Last Supper, got in his truck and he and his wife drove away forever.
In contrast, I’ve known and loved two people that ‘fought’ cancer for years. They invited me on their journeys. We still created new memories, some joyful and some very sad, but all brought us closer together. They were both strong believers in our God and loved life. At some point, there were no more treatments and it seemed like the strong desire to live naturally dissolved away. Some people don’t want to talk about it, and some want to review all the love and laughter that was shared.
Many stages of dying are sad and unpleasant, but many of the stages of dying are beautiful. The tender conversations, the pure joy of rubbing lotion on their back, and the actual last moments where you are given a loving smile, or someone sits up in bed and looks out the window with light in their eyes like they are viewing Jesus out the window.
“I want to be in the room” with the people I love and hope that I am blessed with observing a miracle or a gentle memory of a shared loving glance.
Life is all good in the end, for some. We are all different.