By Dave Roberts
As I grow older, I become more aware of the number of years that I have left to this chapter of my human experience. This realization isn’t a reflection of a fear that I have of death, but an acknowledgment that someday I will die. The seeds for this acceptance were planted approximately fifteen years ago, when my eighteen-year-old daughter Jeannine Marie Roberts, was diagnosed with cancer. She died on March 1, 2003, ten months after her initial diagnosis.
The Post-Christmas Conversation
Shortly after Christmas of 2002, I was sitting on the floor of our family room, my back resting comfortably against our sofa. Jeannine was sitting on the sofa, slightly to the right of me. There was no one else in the room, which was unusual given the amount of family and friend activity in our home during the time of her illness. During the course of our conversation, she suddenly became pensive and stated: “I know that I did a lot for everyone this Christmas, but I did what I did because I am not sure that I am going to be here next year.”
Jeannine had completed her prescribed course of chemotherapy in October of that year. Though there was improvement, her cancer never went into total remission.
Prior to the onset of Christmas last year, the mortality discussion that I had with Jeannine was front and center in my thoughts. I consider myself to be a veteran griever, who has made a conscious effort to transform my perspective after experiencing the unthinkable. However, regardless of the amount of time that has passed, there are still moments and events that re-occur which cause me to take a pause or to revisit the visceral experience of my grief. This is why the finite perspective that many in society ascribe to the grief experience is, to me, invalid.
The fact that our discussion resurfaced so “prominently” this past-year, nudged my conscience to re-examine it. I needed to achieve some measure of peace with this chapter of my daughter’s illness.
Why Me?
I knew first-hand the effect that Jeannine’s challenges with cancer had on me personally. I grieved the loss of her physical self and function prior to her actual death and felt powerless to do anything to stop the progression of her disease. What I couldn’t identify with was her experience in having to confront her own mortality at such a young age, an age where her future should have been measured in years and not moments.
I have often pondered why Jeannine chose me to have this discussion. Perhaps she believed that I could tolerate this level of stark reality, because of my prior training as an addiction counselor. Perhaps she was saving me from the emotional discomfort of having to answer a possible future question such as: “Am I going to die?” A question I am glad that I did not have to answer, because I would not have known what to say.
The Answers Revealed
“If the weight of mortality does not grow lighter, does it at least get more familiar?”- Paul Kalanithi
The above passage in the late Paul Kalanithi’s brilliant memoir, When Breath Becomes Air, led me to conclude that Jeannine wanted me to become cognizant of her increasing and perhaps reluctant familiarity with her own mortality and that she was preparing herself for what was most likely going to come next… her eventual death.
“If I were a writer of books, I would compile a register, with a comment, of the various deaths of men: he, who should teach men to die, would at the same time teach them to live.”- Michel de Montaigne, “That to Study Philosophy is to Learn to Die.”
This passage, also found in When Breath Becomes Air, gave me some additional insight into the conversation that Jeannine and I had fifteen Christmases ago. Jeannine’s revelations reinforced to me the need to accept my own mortality before I could truly learn to live a life with meaning and purpose. This may be one of the most important things that her dance with cancer and her death has taught me.
The challenges that I experienced as a result of Jeannine’s death was the impetus for embracing a life of service to others who have experienced life-altering loss. The wisdom that Jeannine imparted was implanted in my soul and prepared me for the next chapter of my life, long before I realized the direction that my life would take. It has taken me fifteen years to come to this realization, but in the aftermath of catastrophic loss, time is truly relative.
David J. Roberts, LMSW, is a retired addiction professional and an adjunct professor in the psychology department at Utica College in Utica, New York. He is also the chapter leader for The Compassionate Friends of the Mohawk Valley and keynote speaker for The Bereaved Parents of the USA. Mr. Roberts has contributed articles to the Huffington Post blog, Open to Hope Foundation, The Grief Toolbox, Recovering the Self Journal and Medium.
To find out more about Mr. Roberts’ work please visit http://www.bootsyandangel.com or email him at bootsyandangel@gmail.com
