Motality: The Great Equalizer

I talked with my brother today about my SIL
Posted by hyphenate in The DU Lounge
Thu Aug 25th 2011, 01:14 AM
He said she's not going to be alive much longer. Back in late 2005, she found out she had rectal cancer. She was in Stage 4. They gutted her partially then, when they did a whole hysterectomy and she ended up with a colostomy, but it had gone into her lymph nodes in her groin, and she's been through three separate chemos, as well as radiation. A tumor grew into the artery in her groin, and then went into the bone. It became inoperable.

She found out only in the last 5 years, that her mother had died from colorectal cancer, too. When she was younger, they (her and her siblings) that her mom died from liver or stomach cancer. If she had been told the truth, she might have been able to get tests earlier, and possibly stop it all from happening sooner.

There were 9 kids, and they scattered to the four winds when their mom died. She only knows that she'll be likely the fourth one to die, with three dying in their 40s. She has no idea where the rest, except for her oldest sister, live, or even if they're still alive.

She and my brother were married in 1976, when they were 19. They've been married for 35 years, with two grown sons, and her first grandchild, born in the last year.

She and I are the same age. She was always the "healthy" one. She ate right, did daily exercise, and watched her weight. I'm not healthy by any means, but I have to wonder why she is dying first. No matter what we do with ourselves, our genes are far more influential than we would like to believe.

Hospice is helping out now. There is someone there all the time with her. She's got a pain killing pump, but my brother told me she sleeps a lot now. I still find it a bit tough to think of her as gone. We haven't been that close in the last decade, but we would talk more than we used to. Now, she doesn't remember to call back, or she loses her concentration.

They live in Las Vegas, so I'm not able to be near, but her sister will go. She has the ability to help out, which is good.

I feel so much for my brother. It's like people forget the ones who survive, who have sacrificed, who have only had the welfare of the dying on their minds for so long. Those who will be alone at the end of the night, wondering how they will sleep without that other person next to them. My brother is vibrant, alive, and filled with energy. He didn't have an auspicious start--he was a sickly child, who had his right lung removed when he was about 2 years old. But now, you would never know it. He works as an electrician in Vegas, with many of his days spent in 3-digit weather outside. He built a motorcycle in his garage.

I know we can't live forever. It might be nice for some people, I suppose, but we only have this one life, and we need to live for it as best we can. And sometimes, that can't happen because we're saddled with health issues or handicaps, but we just need to look forward, and not backward.

For me, this is wisdom I've learned, though I haven't always followed it myself. I think there are times when we forget we're only human. In my mind, I have traveled the universe and seen the depths of the oceans; I've enjoyed the friendships of both man and beast, and tried to sort out my own existence. There is a beginning and an end to everything. We become part of the history we have seen in our own worlds, whatever light we have given to the world is meaningful in one way or another.

My brother has been happy with my SIL for most of these years they were together, and he has all that to remember. He has seen her health deteriorating over the years of her illness, and that's always difficult.

I remember a long time ago, when I delineated death into two categories: a "good" death was fast and unexpected, but it left a toll on the family and friends; and a "bad" death, which was prolonged and painful, but was better on the family and friends because they had the chance to say goodbye, and used to the idea that the dying person would be gone. Death itself isn't a horrible thing in my mind. You just don't "exist" anymore. I've been around death all my life in one way or another, and in and of itself, it's nothing worth fearing. When the last call is made, you don't care because you aren't there anymore. Are we so afraid of something so natural that we can't accept it when it comes?

But yeah--it's those around you who fear death. Fear of losing you. Fear that they can no longer share their lives with you, creating new memories. Fear of what they will do, how they must learn to be alone.

I just thought I would share some of my thoughts. Barbie and I had our differences, but we also had some good times, too. She was Felix to my Oscar. We argued, and didn't speak for times on end. But this will leave a hole in my life, too. I'll miss having someone to argue with, who I loved as well.