Another story drawing to a close
I haven’t posted anything on here for awhile. Maybe you noticed.
It’s been hard to find motivation lately. Chapter 3 was not well-received in some quarters, which wasn’t entirely unexpected, I guess. But it’s never fun knowing that you’ve upset people, especially when doing so was the furthest thing from your mind.
The main reason I haven’t written, though, is that Jim is only one of the people in my life who is facing death. And while Jim has gotten reasonably good news the last two times he’s seen his doctors (and now has a new treatment option that could lead to more good news), Irene Schmidt has worsened. We’re told she probably has less than six weeks left.
Irene, you may recall, is my wife’s grandmother. She lives near Wichita, KS, and has had a long and full life. She’s a great woman, lean and persnickety, who spent her life working on a farm and taking care of her husband, who died years ago. She’s plain-spoken and honest. She seems surprised by kindness and uncomfortable with praise; her thrifty practicality and work ethic sprouted from the tough soil of world wars and the Great Depression. She was born shortly before the Spanish flu pandemic began in Kansas and spread to kill tens of thousands worldwide, and now — in her last days — she’s watched the overwrought accounts of swine flu.
She has cancer, of course.
If she were younger, the doctors might have tried to fight it. She considered that option, but at 92 chose instead to make her final months as comfortable as possible. So the cancer has taken root. Her belly is fat with it, as if she is carrying a grotesque baby. The end is near.
I knew when I accepted this project that Irene’s death would be a part of it, that my sadness would be dwarfed by my wife’s sorrow, that I’d have this sick, hollow feeling each time I saw my wife’s eyes cloud over and threaten rain. I knew that. But there’s a sort of hopeless paralysis that I didn’t expect. People talk about the grieving process and the circle of life, but it’s hard to take solace in science when people you care about about disappearing into their graves.
In the past six months, I’ve gotten to know Jim and his family — borrowing their hardships in order to share them with you. I’ve lost a niece I never met and felt powerless to comfort my brother and his wife. Soon, I will lose Irene and support my wife through her grief.
I don’t like this whole circle of life thing. And these days, I just don’t have a lot to say.
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Comments
Congratulations to you for your recent award in Journalism! It is well-deserved, Ken. From what I have read, this has been a difficult year for you and your family. I recently lost a childhood friend who fought her cancer for 22 years. She was a spiritual, religious lady who was at peace when she died. Her nuclear family lost the mainstay; the family she married into lost its heart. Before Vicki died, she completed a booklet for cancer patients entitled, “Are You Thriving or Just Surviving?” She, like Jim Chastain, tried to affect others suffering with cancer and those affected by those with the disease. How generous of our friends to be thinking of others as they suffer! How generous of you to offer to use your writing skills to assist your colleague’s depiction of life and dying!
Wow. I had been wondering where you’d been. I’m sorry to hear about the losses in your family circle. We’re facing one in ours, also, and like yours, we have not had any good news – or even neutral news. Unlike your situation, my husband’s cousin is in her early 20’s. It feels impossible to find any light in the matter, as I’m sure anyone losing someone finds… Just know that there are those out here thinking of and praying for your family, too, the ones leaving us, those staying behind, and those who help those grieving the hardest. Hang in there. And believe me when I say, we understand life getting in the way of life. Hugs, C