My Father Is Dying
Yesterday my father's death sentence was pronounced in matter of fact terms. He has late-stage inoperable lung cancer, the result of 60 years of smoking. If it hasn't yet spread to his brain or his bones, he has maybe six months left to live. If it has spread, he has less than that. He is 75; if he lives to May 5th, which is barely within the six month window, he'll be 76.
Even though he is well aware that his condition is the result of his own choices and the addiction he exposed himself to, it is hard to hear the sentence pronounced. He is not whining or complaining, not even about the discomfort. When I ask him how he's doing, he says he's fine all things considered.
I have sat with him and spoken to him often in the past three and a half years, starting with my mother's dying, and I know he has grieved much over her death, the death of another of his sons (he has six), the death of one of his daughters (he has three), and the death of his longtime AA sponsor. Each was a stab to his heart. Each foretold to him that his own time was coming to an end.
And as I have sat with him and listened to him and tried to work with him for his own spiritual healing, I have felt more sorry for him than anything else. I see what he has accomplished in his life, while he sees what has been left undone or has been done poorly. Each failure weighs heavily on his soul, but each success--and he has a few--holds no meaning for him.
If he will allow it, I want to make his dying time a time of healing and reconciliation. I want him to die in peace and rest in peace. And I know that his spirit has not known much peace in his life. For most of his life he was a drunk. For the past 17 years he has been sober. I'm not sure that either condition made him particularly happy or gave him peace.
I have loved my father, as nearly every son does. I have hated my father, as only a son can. And I have loved him again and finally as the man he is. It's hard for a son to see beyond his own projections of what he thinks his father ought to be. It was my father's failure to live up to my idealistic projections that I hated about him. It is my father's true accomplishments in life that I have come to love about him.
I will write more of all this as the months unfold. I will write of his life and of his dying. For now, all I can say is that my father is dying, and time is short.
Even though he is well aware that his condition is the result of his own choices and the addiction he exposed himself to, it is hard to hear the sentence pronounced. He is not whining or complaining, not even about the discomfort. When I ask him how he's doing, he says he's fine all things considered.
I have sat with him and spoken to him often in the past three and a half years, starting with my mother's dying, and I know he has grieved much over her death, the death of another of his sons (he has six), the death of one of his daughters (he has three), and the death of his longtime AA sponsor. Each was a stab to his heart. Each foretold to him that his own time was coming to an end.
And as I have sat with him and listened to him and tried to work with him for his own spiritual healing, I have felt more sorry for him than anything else. I see what he has accomplished in his life, while he sees what has been left undone or has been done poorly. Each failure weighs heavily on his soul, but each success--and he has a few--holds no meaning for him.
If he will allow it, I want to make his dying time a time of healing and reconciliation. I want him to die in peace and rest in peace. And I know that his spirit has not known much peace in his life. For most of his life he was a drunk. For the past 17 years he has been sober. I'm not sure that either condition made him particularly happy or gave him peace.
I have loved my father, as nearly every son does. I have hated my father, as only a son can. And I have loved him again and finally as the man he is. It's hard for a son to see beyond his own projections of what he thinks his father ought to be. It was my father's failure to live up to my idealistic projections that I hated about him. It is my father's true accomplishments in life that I have come to love about him.
I will write more of all this as the months unfold. I will write of his life and of his dying. For now, all I can say is that my father is dying, and time is short.
posted by Tom | 12:48 PM
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