Each week, I’m going to be sharing some things I’ve learned from stuff I’ve read. Topics may range from philosophy to sports and anywhere in between.
I was 14 years old when I ran headfirst into the biggest taboo in our society. I was in the hospital visiting a beloved uncle who I often watched basketball games with. He was there at all the family gatherings growing up: Christmas, Easter, birthday parties, pivotal Lakers games. He was loud, fun, and enjoyed the finer things in life like nice suits and watches. We all loved him.
And now, he was dying of cancer. When I visited him in the hospital, I remember a lot of things.
I remember him speaking in a quiet, raspy voice in between coughing fits. I remember asking how him how he was doing and instantly regretting the question. I also remember him responding with a joke and his typical good-natured attitude but in a strained manner this time.
But most of all, I remember the unspoken truth in the hospital room: he was dying. He knew it, we knew it, and he knew that we knew it.
And nothing was said about it. Instead, we circled the big elephant in the room. He asked me about school and how my grades were. I made some references to some recent Lakers games. He talked about how much bigger my younger brothers had gotten.
I wanted to ask so many questions.
Are you scared?
Does it hurt?
How are you doing, but really?
But I didn’t. Even when Death was in our very vicinity, none of us felt comfortable referencing this unwelcome guest. We would rather speak of normal things as if the banality of the conversation would cause Death to slink away uninterested.
Sadly, by acting this whole charade out, we end up putting an immense burden on the dying because they’re not able to speak about what they’re truly feeling. Grief, anger, regret, fear. Those are all emotions we’re likely to feel in our final days, and in all likelihood, we won’t feel comfortable expressing them.
This isn’t a very recent phenomenon. In The Death of Ivan Ilych, which was published in the 19th century, the protagonist Ivan agonizes and weeps about his impending, premature death, but he’s never able to do so in the presence of others.
To his wife, Ivan turns a cold shoulder. To his daughter and her fiance, he puts up a grim, resolute demeanor. Yet, when Ivan is alone at midnight, writhing in agony from his mysterious illness, he utters in despair, “There is no explanation! Agony, death… What for?”
Not much has changed since Ivan’s time. The dying mostly stay quiet about their fears so they don’t further burden their already grieving loved ones. Similarly, the grieving may keep their sadness to themselves so as not to further trouble the dying with additional negativity.
The end result of this awkward stalemate is that important conversations aren’t happening.
For me, I never got to tell my uncle how much fun he was to watch basketball with. I also never got to say goodbye even though I knew that was the last time I’d see him. And that’s because telling him those things would have acknowledged his impending death, the elephant in the room that we’re conditioned to ignore.
But once someone dies, we let our guard down. We cry and we mourn. With friends and loved ones, we share memories, attempting to encapsulate the essence of the person that once existed, trying to re-create their presence through shared stories and memories.
To me, there’s not a single good reason why we do these things after someone has died. Sure, there are people who die a sudden, unexpected death. But for those who know about their impending death, wouldn’t it be better to celebrate their lives while they are still alive?
I hope that in the future we can feel more comfortable talking about death with those who are dying. There’s no reason for death to be an awkward conversation. After all, it’s the one thing we all have in common.
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