I’ve had an elephant named Leukemia accompanying me to every large social gathering for the past 6 years or so. I am inevitably preoccupied with who knows Leukemia, who doesn’t know, and when I’ll be asked a question that forces me to disclose Leukemia’s presence.
Over the past few months, Leukemia has been consumed by his bigger, more imposing cousin, Dying. Dying is clingier than Leukemia; wherever I go, he’s always by my side. It’s not a secret that Dying is there–you, my readers, are well aware–but not everyone I encounter knows. So when I arrive at a get together with unfamiliar people or those I haven’t seen for years, I’m on high alert. Who will ask the first question that will force me to introduce my imaginary friend?
Last Friday, we were invited to a lovely celebration for a friend who had been recently granted Canadian citizenship. We wouldn’t have missed it. I tried to leave Dying at home–this was our friend’s special night–but the elephant is clingy.
What I failed to consider was how emotional I’d find being at this gathering with Dying by my side. I’d be seeing a number of people I hadn’t seen in some time, only some of whom would know about Dying.
Soon after the initial greetings and congratulations, I became teary, which surprised me. I realized that I would not see many of the guests again after that night. Then came the awkward questions from the ones who did know Dying. “Are you still fostering dogs/doing yoga/working?” Some who knew about Dying avoided me altogether. I get that; who wants to talk about Dying at a party? Still, if you can see the elephant, I’d be grateful if you’d acknowledge him. It’s not like Dying is great company for me either.
Then my guardian angel appeared: the sister of the host, who, despite her rushing around laying out food, visited with J. and me briefly when we arrived. She greeted us with a big hug, and, in the process of offering us drinks, acknowledged what I was going through and expressed her sadness for us both. Her kindness couldn’t have been better timed, and more needed, in that moment. We were away from the group so my unbridled tears did not destroy the evening for everyone. She gave me a chance to be sad, which I’d been trying unsuccessfully to contain, and she shared her sadness too.
A while back, a palliative home care nurse told us how dying people’s worlds shrink as they become increasingly ill. She was right. I leave the house less, and, other than medical appointments, my calendar is sparse at best. No more yoga classes or PALS outings, rare social engagements, and lots more time at home sleeping. Social outings with unfamiliar people are simply too stressful now that Dying insists on joining me everywhere I go.
Congratulations to my dear friend and may he enjoy many happy years as a Canadian. J. and I were grateful to be included in his celebration. I do wish that Dying hadn’t insisted on crashing the party. Trust me, I’d turf him if I could.