My wife and I just got the totally unexpected news from one of our best, dear friends that his wife died yesterday.
She had been ill for some time. She was immobilized, bedridden, for a good part (if not most) of the time, and needed constant assistance. Our friend, who is retired, had little time to himself. When he wasn’t at home caring for her, he was out doing errands such as shopping for food and taking care that other necessities were met. He never complained. That is not his nature.
Yesterday, our friend’s wife managed to attend Thanksgiving dinner nearby with a son and in-laws, accompanied by her husband. She died suddenly on the way home.
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I couldn’t help thinking of the worst experience, without question, I had of death; and probably the worst experience of my whole life: my mother’s death at a young age from cancer.
It nearly tore our family apart. Not because of any disagreements among us (in the nuclear family), but just because of losing our mother and our father his wife.
Two things that I shared with my wife on hearing the news today of the death of our friend’s wife were as follows.
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When my mother became gravely ill, and treatments appeared not to have been successful, I sank into a state of depression, as did my father and siblings. (Our father’s mental state — depression — seemed the worst.) Yet, it was sort of “abstract,” in a way, at this point. I couldn’t quite contemplate my mother’s death.
By the time she died, a few months later, I had somehow — partly from talking about my mother’s condition with friends — become more realistic or “objective,” or however one might put it. I was no longer denying that my mother’s illness was terminal.
Yet, when my mother died, inevitably, after a short period during which she was at home briefly and then returned to the hospital, it was a terrible blow. The way I perceived it was: I knew in my rational mind she would not get better and was going to die, but not today.
She died in the spring. I made a visit to my father that summer. He did not talk about my mother, as I recall. He seemed less depressed than he had been a few months before.
I brought this up with my therapist. I said something to him to the effect of, my father looks almost happy. He is active again, enjoying life.
My therapist replied that this was normal: enjoying life. My father, he said, was resuming his life. His zest for it.
Death in such circumstances — unendurable to contemplate, something you are never prepared for — can also be a release and a relief.
— Roger W. Smith
November 26, 2021
