“Yes I understand, That every life must end, As we sit alone, I know someday we must go…Stay with me, Let’s just breathe.” – Just Breathe, Pearl Jam, 2009
November, five years ago, Doug received his diagnosis. We did not know that he would only have seven months. There was a certain amount of magical thinking. He believed in the wisdom of doctors, the science of medicine, the prayers of so many. He longed for the best case scenario, maybe because the alternative was too much for a shocked brain to allow in.
For a while, chemo worked, and Doug withstood it. He seemed ready for more aggressive treatment. With progress, maybe they could remove the main tumor. Then on to the liver. He had a plan.
But infections nagged, and an unexpected complication arose. He went to the ER and was admitted to the oncology floor. Another complication, and a surgery, a crash, the ICU, then back to oncology, where he stayed until he died, one month later.
There was a time at the tail end of his ICU stay that Doug finally accepted there would be no return to chemo, no path that would lead him to the years he hoped to have. He relented to the knowledge that every life, even his, must end, in spite of the fierce desire to stay. There were unspeakably hard moments that exhausted him. Ever the intellect, he wondered what was on the other side.
He allowed a few close visitors, offered his wit and his love as he was able, and accepted the love that others showed to him. I asked him once what he was thinking about, and he simply said, “us.” I sat close, held his hand, and stayed.
When we dated, we listened to music late into night, drank wine, and talked intently, as you do when the world is before you. Then and today, Eddie Vedder’s voice reminds me of Doug, maybe because it is deep and distinctive, as his was.
Just Breathe came on recently when I was driving someplace unfamiliar late at night, not quite sure the road was leading where I needed to be. That’s pretty much a metahpor for these last five years. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done enough for those I love, hoping that love prevails over any faults or mistakes. I found my way that night, and maybe I am finding my way now, although it can still feel tentative.
I imagine some of the lines of that song as words unspoken between us. We believe what we want to believe when it comes to feeling the presence of those we’ve lost. I’m trying to be more open. The last line feels like a promise, and I sure hope it is. Meet you on the other side someday, Doug. Please stay close to all of us until then.
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Grief, Reflected 