Let Me Ride This Pain Like A Wave

Since I'm back in the saddle with some new readers, I'm going to ask some long-time readers to bear with me while I recycle, with updating, an old blog post from a previous iteration of this bog. It's a post that means much to me, and at this point in my life, I'd like to focus on the ultimate, instead of the ephemeral.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at the close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
---Dylan Thomas

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned
---Edna Vincent Millay

For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.
---Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

My sister was born 65 years ago today and died over 26 years ago. She called me in September 1985 to inform me that what doctors had first thought to be a fibroid tumor was...oops...breast cancer. Due to the misdiagnosis, it had metastasized and was by then Stage D. Not curable. Terminal. Chemotherapy could buy her time, but not much time.

There are a number of ways that people deal with a death sentence, especially at a young age. Ultimately she chose not to rage against the dying of the light, and in the end, she was resigned, if not entirely accepting. She chose, instead, to ride the pain like a wave, to endure the sickness and the horror of both the cancer and the chemo as they wracked her body with a multiple of tortures from the inside out. She offered up her suffering so that she could spend as much time as possible preparing her three young children, ages 10, 8 and 5, for a life without her. She persevered and, in the end, she fulfilled her final purpose.

I remember vividly the last time I saw her. I sat with her as the morphine made her nauseous and she repeatedly dry heaved and gasped. I stroked her hand. She said over and over to me "I'm so sorry." Sorry to cause me emotional pain. Sorry she couldn't speak with me to say the things that I was too poor of spirit to articulate, but that she could speak for us both, because she was the sibling with her heart on her sleeve and I was the sibling with a hard heart buried deep.

Frankly, her courage shames me to this day. It also makes me very, very proud that I was her brother.

I'll never be tested as she was. As my father was before her, and as was my younger brother, who followed her all too soon with yet another wasting disease cruelly taking a better man and leaving a  pale reflection of a once loving family to sputter on. I'll not die young.

I don't know how I would have faced death at her age, and never will. I doubt I could have faced it as she did. Selflessly. Filled with the love for the lives she created and focused on the continuity of those little lives that she knew (fervently desired) would carry on in fullness without her.

She rode the pain like a wave.

We should all pass on with such grace.

Comments

[Susan]

Oh My God. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.

[Valerie]

She was a special young woman who found strength and comfort in your loving presence, Kevin. You gave her a gift that far too many people cannot or will not when they find out a loved one has a terminal illness - the gift was your presence. When my mom died, I was only 14. Breast cancer, like your sister. The last month of her life, I refused to go see her. She asked for me repeatedly. But in my selfish and terrified little mind, I felt like I had to reject her first because then at least I had (or so I thought) some power/control over the situation. Little did I know how much this hurt her at the time. But I was angry and mad that she was leaving me - so I had to silently leave her. Leave her alone. If only I was brave enough to give her that gift of my presence, as you did for your sister. The guilt I feel will never go away. You have memories of being there for her - embrace them, as painful as they are. God bless you. I am so sorry for your loss.

[Kevin]

Thank you both for your comments. Val, blaming yourself for your actions when you were 14 is more than a bit harsh. As one of your fellow therapists told me, "cut yourself some slack." The pain of loss is tough enough without that added burden. As always, you're in my prayers.

[Valerie]

Thanks,Kevin. I guess my whole point was just that you gave your sister such a gift during her final days - such a beautiful gift. And I would hope that knowledge would help your pain lessen. You're a great friend. :-)

[Kevin]

The feeling is mutual, Val.

[Carol Bielamowicz]

I am so sorry for the loss of your dear sister. What a beautiful woman she was and what a tremendous gift you gave her during her struggle just by being present. I hope in the quiet moments that are filled with good memories of her you can feel her presence. And remember, you have an intercessor up there--she will always plead your case, and she will always be with you. God Bless You.

[Kevin]

Thank you, Carol. I need all the intercession I can get.