November would begin mild and bright, gradually turning cold and bleak. During this month I would be scheduled for my usual Port Flush and B12 shot, as well as a follow up with my Surgeon. What was unscheduled were the passing of two people who's lives connected to mine by a common thread. They would both succumb to their particular cancers within two weeks of each other.
For a short while I participated in the role of caregiver, a role I found extremely difficult. From being on both sides of Patient and Caregiver role, I must confess I felt more in control as a Patient. As limited as my involvement was in the caregiver role, I felt overwhelmed by the impact of being helpless of the inevitable. I would appreciate the efforts of family and friends who were there to support not only the patient, but each other. In some ways those visits to see John during his final days were emotionally difficult, as I would relive my own experiences with my parents, and of course, my journey.
John was 76 when he passed, shortly after a bittersweet 55th anniversary quietly celebrated in his hospital room. In the evenings, long past traditional visiting hours, I would sometimes sit with him. By this time however it was doubtful he even recognized me, and was simply unable to communicate, trapped by the cancer slowly robbing him of the essence of who he was. Nevertheless I believed that there was still a connection, sometimes a flicker in his eyes, and a smile to one of my observations about life. I talked, he would listen, drifting in and out of the drug-induced sleep, pain stealing his will. I had to wonder, is that what fate has in store for me?
Of course all journey's end the same, how we get there is what's important. I was profoundly saddened when he passed, although I had months to prepare for it. And I was therefore unprepared when I heard news that another acquaintance had passed, suddenly, from his cancer.
I had known John for some eighteen years. Michael I had met some eighteen months before, while visiting Hospice. Both of us were undergoing various treatments for our Cancers. As part of the process we were enrolled into a 4 week course that endeavoured to take patients and their caregivers through the various stages of coping with Cancer. Through the sessions over the next month we formed if not a friendship, then a kindred sense of sharing. We were near enough in age to have some similar life experiences outside of cancer. Our 'significant others' had known each other from high school. We would run into each other, but the friendship never progressed due to the priorities of our treatment. There would be sporadic communication, and a well-intentioned desire to get together. Then the shock of reading of his passing in the obituaries.
I could say I barely knew him. I could say that I had been through a lot in the past month. I could say I didn't have to go pay my respects, that people would understand. I could say all that, but I couldn't do it. I would visit Michael for the last time, and thereby meet his children for likely the first and only time. I was moved by how much our visit meant to his wife.
November would finish with cold bitter rain that lasted for days, overflowing ditches, saturating the ground and flooding basements. Of course my basement got water, but eventually the water drains out, the basement becomes dry, and life goes on. More importantly, I still go with it. I will remember this November, not for the passing, but for the memory of those whose lives have forged the chains that link us together. For John and Michael may your journey's end bring peace to your spirit, and may your memory live on in honour and love.
