On Death And Dying: The Amazing Art Of Listening

Photo by Girl with red hat on Unsplash

Fun Fact: Death Comes for Us All

Even before my husband was diagnosed with a degenerative brain disease, I was well aware of the fact that everyone faces death. It’s just, statistically, odds are better than even that once you’ve made it out of childhood in the first world, you’re going to live, well, at least past your 50s. I was planning on Mr. J, for example, departing in his late 80’s, while I plan on living to the ripe old age of 108. (There’s so much to do and so much to learn! But men die first as a general rule, thus, Mr. J’s eariler departure in my mind.)

However, I have had occasion to know other people who knew people who have died. For example, about 10 years ago, Mr. J and I were at our friend Jen’s annual Christmas party. Jen’s bestie from grammer school until that year died unexpectedly of an aneurysm two weeks earlier. Mr. J and I play arrived at the party early to help with food and such. Jen gave us the seven minute by play - how she woke up and was just fine, took young Timmy to school, had lunch with her mom, blah blah blah until the “Nothing they could do, they said,” last sentence. Then I watched as she relayed that same, seven minute play by play time and time again as new people arrived at the party. In the car on the way home, Mr. J complained about how Jen told the same. damn. story so many times. “Maybe that’s just how she processes it,” I speculated.

The Future Widow

Since Mr. J’s “no treatment, no cure” diagnosis 18 months ago, I have spent a bit more time pondering death than I had been. Early on, I had a conversation with one of my friends whose sister died of a different “no treatment, no cure” diagnosis. “There will be others,” she said, “that will die before him.” I thought that was an odd thing to say. She also recounted her “Death Story,” including many, many details. Because I am educable, and can learn from prior experiences, I just listened.

Time has passed, and I am reminded of her statement, “There will be others that will die before him.” I am in month two in a row of “others dying” before Mr. J.

March: The Lion Part

In March, a colleague of mine lost her husband in a freak drowning accident while on vacation. We had been babies in our chosen profession together, 30 years ago, and still travel in conjoining circles. (It’s a small sandbox.) Mr. J and I went to the wake. We stood in line for an hour and a half to have 30 seconds with my colleague. “I’m so sorry,” I said. And I meant it. I think of her, rattling around her house. His laundry from vacation may still be in the suitcase. Maybe already given away. We are having dinner next month. I expect to hear her story then. And I plan on listening to each and every detail. Because I believe it is a service we can give each other.

April Showers

In April, another colleague of mine lost his wife. She had had a lovely day of gardening, and doing other things, then went to sleep and didn’t wake up. I know this, because another mutual friend talked to him four days ago, and she told me all about their phone call. I called him the next day. It went to voicemail. I left a message. “Hey, it’s me.” I said. “I just wanted to say,” and here is where a deep sob came up out of nowhere. “I just wanted to say,” I tried again, “that I am so. so. sorry. Call me if you want to. Or I’ll try you again in a few days.” My plan was to say those words and then just shut up. And listen, as he told me, like he told our mutual friend, the play-by-play of the last day of his wife’s life.

Two days later, I was on the phone with him. And he gave me the play by play of her last day. Of her many accomplishments. Of her good deeds. Of her. Then he said, “How are you?” I said, “Crummy.” He said, “I heard.” Just that. “I heard.” He meant, “I heard that Mr. J is dying.” “I’m not calling to talk about that,” I responded, through tears. “Well, let’s talk about it another time, then. . .”

I Don’t Pretend to Know Everything. . .

I don’t pretend to know everything. I don’t even pretend to know most things. But I have seen this “in the wild” too many times to ignore it. If people want to tell you about their “person” and how they died, please let them. Please let them live those memories and repeat those moments. Please treat them with kindness - even if you’ve heard the story before. Especially if you’ve heard the story before.