Yesterday at an executive meeting, everyone was under extreme stress and very tired. Emotions were running high and some people were arguing.
One of the executives made an interesting statement that caused everything to pop into perspective again. He said, “Well it’s not the best day of my life, but it’s not the worst day, either.”
I took a breath and found that I could breathe easily again. That’s a nice statement to keep in my back pocket in case I ever need to whip it out and breathe again.
However, the thought also sent me on a trip through my memory and unlocked some of my terrors. A fast train of recollection began speeding straight at me as I broke the thought down into fragments.
“...not the worst day, either.”
“...not the worst day...”
“...the worst...”
“...the worst day...”
The worst day. The worst day of my life. The worst day of my life. The worst day of my life.
The thought occurred to me that the question, “What was the worst day of your life?” used to be a difficult question for me to answer. I can distinctly remember thinking such thoughts as, “Well, there was that time when I had to work thirteen and half hours straight, but then again there’s the day I dropped out of school. No, wait. The worst day of my life was when I had to push my stupid moped home in the 85 degree heat wearing my long-sleeve white button down shirt.”
The worst day of my life. I thought, “Was it the day that Chris died? Was it the day he got diagnosed, or the day he got re-diagnosed? Was it the first day without him in my life?”
No. The worst day of my life wasn’t any of those days. The very worst day of my life was the day the doctors told Chris they were going to stop treating him and send him home for “comfort care” which really means “to die”. Doctors sugar coat the term to maintain any semblance of denial the doomed one’s loved ones might be feeling. I say, “Who cares?”, the shock’s going to come, might as well be sooner as opposed to later, just give it to me straight. Instead, I became confused. Was he going to die? I still didn’t know the answer. Nobody would tell me how long he had left to live. Nobody, until I finally found a social worker who was willing to let me in on the big secret. I was in the family room with Bonnie, Robby and Carol and I told her that nobody was being straight with us.
“I don’t know how long I can expect him to live! Nobody will tell us! Do you know? Please tell me how long.”
The next minute was the worst minute of my life. Her words freed me from my prison of denial.
“About four days.” she said, stripping me of the last shred of fight I had left in me. I can still remember the fortress of strength I had built for fourteen months come crumbling down. There was nothing more to be done.
I can’t remember whether the social worker told me about the four days before of after the doctors surrounded his bed and delivered the news to Chris. I just remember Chris looking at me, stroking my arm and saying to me, “You’re taking this very well.” It was his way of saying “Thank you for not falling apart.” I said to him, “Well, I’ve known for a while.” which leads me to believe that I was told about the four days before he was told he was being sent home. I don’t know, though. I can’t remember.
On the worst day of my life, I had to make phone calls to every single one of his friends and deliver the news. I had to hear them all break. I only remember fragments of their reactions. Crying, disbelief, shock.
I don’t even remember what day that was. I suppose it must have been December 29th.
Then to add further confusion to my inability to recall the timeline, Bonnie called me on my cellphone, but she had misdialed and when I answered she said, “He’s dying, Renee.” and I yelled at her. I said, “He’s NOT dying. They never said that.” because they hadn’t said it. No.
No.
I remember that whole day as though I was watching it through somebody else’s eyes. I can still remember what i looked like from down the hall. I have vivid memories of seeing myself way down the hospital corridor, sitting on the gurney, making my phone calls and then sitting on the floor making more phone calls. That’s really scary. I think that was part of the shock, an out-of-body experience.
I had been wearing the same clothes for four days. I had never removed my hiking boots the whole time I was there. I slept in the family room and in the chair in Chris’ room wrapped up in my winter coat and I couldn’t get warm, no matter how wrapped up I was. At the end of his four-day stay, somebody, maybe my sister, brought me a change of clothes. I remember throwing my socks away. There was nothing more I could do for them.
I only slept outside of his room once. Bonnie said he asked for me during the night and when she told me, I felt so guilty, so horrible for not being there. I was beyond exhausted though, and I had to sleep. Chris was eating nothing buy popsicles and root beer by that point raving about how delicious they were. Oh, my heart.
This entire flashback took place all because of a statement one of the executives said at yesterday’s meeting. A positive statement.
Ah, sweet triggers.
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Wow, Robin…you do know how to get a girl thinking…or writing, that is. I hope my tale below helps you in some way - even if it's just a small, miniscule way. Every little bit makes a difference, doesn't it??? (Sorry about any typos, too - I'm rushing!)
ReplyDeleteThe worst day of my life….hmmmmm….the worst day…..
True, it's hard to know when several seemed so bad. When we are in that period of the deepest mourning - regardless of how long it can last, we almost can't help but let each of these bad days compete against one another. It's almost entertaining, in a sad way, to let our minds wander to which day was worse than another and why. I used to create bulleted lists (imaginery bullets, of course - the default disease of a true long-haul admin) in my mind.
But then the worst days, two sets of each no less, turned into hazy memories and were slowly (but not all of them) transformed into the ghostly shapes of the best days.
The day my mother was diagnosed with Cancer (the same day my father was also diagnosed, oddly enough) might have been the "first" worst. That turned into the three days she was operated on, the three struggles with recovery, the non-stop six months of major meds, major side effects, major pain, major prayer. Then the bitter end that I, at that time, did not truly know to ask for because I had never lost anyone before, nor experienced death closely, became the "new" worst. When my father was dying, I knew what to ask for and when. Not that this was any better, but it was that I was prepared (more) this time and that made me feel better AND worse. Yet another new worst. I hate to admit how long, exactly, it was that I asked for God to take my father from me - from us. Then it happened. Another worst.
But then the magic of life and love kicks in at the most unusual times, I've learned. The worst day(s) for my mother, came after her death - the worst memories were while she was sick, but all those days and bad memories and "worsts" finally gave way to a turning point:
I was riding to work on the same commuter van I had always been on for the last 7 years. We saw the same faces day after day, heard the same stories that always made us laugh year after year, saw the same orange glow of construction from the Big Dig day after day, listened to the same news station every morning - WBZ. But something finally became different. My ears went up doggie-style when I heard the news reporter announce the new drug approved by the FDA that came out of Mass General Hospital targeted to the stomach and gastro-intestinal Cancer community - the very drug that my sweet, dear mother volunteered for in a clinical trial study. She and eleven others agreed to try this. We encouraged her because we wanted anything that could help. Looking back, that seems like it could have been a mistake because of what these poor people went through and the guilt lingered with me for years. After I heard that news report, I realized she played a major part in saving lives for people today. It takes years to approve medications and she was an integral piece of the approval of this amazing new treatment.
Oh, that Mary. She was one tough lady. I miss her dearly all moments of all days, in one fashion or another, but then I think of the people who have a chance to stay on this earth with their loved ones because of her selflessness and courage. That one commuting morning in the van turned my worst day - which is really copiled of many bad days - into the best. Other family members can have what I couldn't because of Mary V. My mother's a hero!!!