Someone very important died three years ago today. He was smart, funny and caring and he was also tortured by inner demons that eventually did him in. He was much too young and had so much yet to accomplish. We are all poorer for his absence.
I always thought that we would have time to become friends again, to share memories and laughter like we had when we were both so young. But another part of me knew that I would probably watch him die too soon.
Three years ago my ex-husband became very ill. I was there to help him when he was hospitalized, unconscious and in the ICU. But whenever someone says that I “went above and beyond” what I needed to do in those weeks when he was so sick, I feel like a fraud.
I feel like a fraud because even though I was at his bedside as much as possible and negotiated his care with the doctors and nurses for weeks, I failed him in an important way. I never asked him how he felt about what was happening. I convinced myself, in spite of my experience, that we could get on top of things, that we could beat the odds. It was foolish. My daughter had the presence of mind to know that “this won’t end well,” when she first saw him in the hospital. And, even though I tried to make a point of painting a realistic picture of how dire the situation was when I spoke to the many people who loved him, I know now that I was avoiding the harsh reality.
There was a day when he felt strong and made some telephone calls. I snapped a picture to send to our kids in LA. They had been travelling back and forth as the illness waxed and waned, “Look who is taking care of business” I wrote in the text, wanting to infuse some element of optimism in the weeks of worry and sadness that they had been experiencing. In the picture he looked like anyone else talking on the phone, his glasses on, pen in hand. But on closer inspection you can see the IV lines, the hospital bed and a man too young to look so worn out.
The next day when I arrived to his hospital room he said, “you look worried.” I told him I was worried about him. But I did not go further and ask him how he felt. I did not ask him if he was worried, if there was anything he needed to do, anyone he needed to speak with at this critical time. And because of that I will always feel a crushing regret. I failed him in that most important time because I shied away from the intimacy that it required.
It is absurd, really. Here I was, sitting at his bedside for hours, managing his medical care and decisions, his finances, keeping his mother, brother and sister informed of what was happening and running to the ICU in the middle of the night when his condition worsened, but I could not look him in the eye and ask him how he felt about this frightening situation. He needed someone to break the barrier and to start the conversation because he was trying to be strong. I was the logical one to have done it, and I did not.
Regret is a heavy load to carry. Please do not make the same mistake I made. Take the plunge, if you know someone who is dealing with a critical illness (or a serious chronic illness) ask how they are feeling about this time in their lives. Ask if there is anyone they need to speak with, anything they need to talk about, any burden they need to lay down.
Someone very important died on this date three years ago, and I will always be grateful I knew him. And I will always be sorry that I let him down.
