My husband was not a planner. The first Valentine’s Day we were together he hadn’t ordered flowers ahead of time and was stunned when florists were sold out that day. Ever resourceful, if also a bit brash, he tried to buy the flowers a co-worker had received, reasoning that she had already enjoyed them and might want to make a few bucks. She didn’t. I did not get flowers that day, but I did get a good laugh at his expense for years afterwards.
My husband’s extreme spontaneity worked because I was the organized yin to his messy yang. But when I reached out to a lawyer to help with our estate plan, my husband was annoyed. Even though he was in hospice care at the time, he didn’t want to talk about the possibility of his death.
My husband used denial as a coping mechanism from the moment he was diagnosed with aggressive prostate cancer at age 39. He knew about the Kübler-Ross model for the five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance), but never moved off stage one.
I, on the other hand, lived in the stark light of reality and needed to plan. Once we understood his prognosis, I dove head-first into my own coping mechanism by having all the conversations I could, with anyone willing to talk, to help me navigate his care and my own emotions. Mostly, I used conversations to pretend I had control over what was colossally uncontrollable.
Denial was my husband’s powerful ally and he found he couldn’t un-friend it. He refused to discuss his wishes for his last days or his funeral arrangements. He turned away when I wanted desperately to tell him how grateful I was for the life we had built together.
While we never had a true end-of-life conversation, we shared many meaningful moments in his last days. In our haphazard and piecemeal way, we were able to address the four things that Dr. Ira Byock says matter most at the end of our lives: love, gratitude, contrition and forgiveness.
My husband had a sharp wit, so the best way to reach him was humor. For example, he was a white-knuckled flyer and we joked about all the places he could go if he didn’t fear crashing, which led us to shared gratitude for our travels together. When we laughed about our gangly teenagers piling on his small hospital bed, he told me how deeply he loved them and that being their father was his proudest accomplishment. When he wisecracked that I would have a swinging social life when no longer burdened by his care, he laughed but made me cry, giving us a chance to forgive each other for the things we wished we hadn’t said over the years.
I think anyone would agree that it’s important to listen to and honor a dying person’s wishes. But if your dying loved one’s wish is that their imminent death not be acknowledged, is there a way to honor that wish without denying your own reality? My experience showed me that it’s possible to find meaningful moments with a person in denial by connecting in a way that is comfortable to them. My husband was most comfortable with humor, which gave him space for denial while coaxing him towards serious conversations. Giving him the gift of denial cost me the opportunity for the meaningful good-bye I wanted, and I am at peace with the tradeoff.
Death can feel steeped in failure and loss: treatments fail; we lose our loved one. Despite your best efforts, you may not be able to have the meaningful end-of-life conversation you want with someone you love. Instead of seeing this as a loss, perhaps you can frame it as a gift to your loved one and a sign that you understood what mattered most to them.
I wished for something different at my husband’s death, but it was his death, not mine. When it’s my turn, I have an advance care plan. I will talk to my family about love, gratitude, contrition and forgiveness. And I plan to be surrounded by flowers.
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What a beautiful, insightful and moving piece. Thank you for sharing this and for making me cry.
So helpful, so loving, and sacrificial!
I hope I am so humble and brave in dealing with my denying Dad!
Lovely and real take on that time on one’s life. Thank you for sharing your journey with us.
You are incredible. Thank you for sharing this, including your pain. Your late husband and your sons lucked out having you as their wife and mother.
I could hear Kelly’s voice in my head as I read this, and felt the gentleness of her heart in every word. Beautifully written, thought-provoking piece.
Kelly, you have been an inspiration to me almost my entire life. You have been there with me and for me at life’s most challenging moments. Your insight , wisdom, and kindness is like no other. I am only sad that I was not there at this most difficult time for you. Clearly, your insight, wisdom, and kindness knew exactly what Tom needed, even when he was in denial. I am so incredibly grateful that life’s journey has reconnected us in this next part of our lives.
You have been and are the very best mom to Tommy, Aiden and Bobby, guiding them and instilling in them ( even if they don’t realize it) that same insight, wisdom and kindness. Combine that with Tom’s, strength, love and wit and you have three young men that will make a difference in this world. The best honor to their Dad, you, and their grandparents!!
Beautifully written and such an important, thoughtful message.
Absolutely well written. I appreciate at how real, courageous and loving you are. Your husband reminded me of my mother-in-law whom I love. She never passed the stage of denial either but we loved her to the end.
What a lovely piece of writing. Thank you for sharing. Very helpful in so many ways.
Beautifully written and searingly honest.
A beautiful insight into how to support someone when acknowledgement is too painful.
This is so beautiful and informative and honest, Kelly. I hear what you are saying and feel I almost knew your husband! Thanks for sharing your learnings and feelings so that others can be guided by your difficult loss.