Life Does Not Stop for Death

The dishwasher still needs to be run, diapers still need to be changed, everyone still needs to be fed.

Yesterday afternoon at 230 I was playing with Livvie, and the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and looked at the caller ID and saw a Maryland number that I didn’t recognize, and my stomach hit my feet before slamming itself back into my throat. Rich’s dad lives in Maryland and had been diagnosed with bladder cancer toward the beginning of this year. His bladder had been removed recently, but he was still in tremendous pain, and before they started chemo the doctors wanted to remove the cancer cells that had begun to grow in his pelvic bones. By yesterday it had apparently moved to his spine. We’d been receiving emails about his condition from his girlfriend, and the last email hadn’t sounded good at all. When I didn’t recognize the phone number yesterday I knew one of two things was going on: either his girlfriend was calling from the hospital- not good, or someone else was calling us- even worse.

It turned out to be the latter.

When I answered the phone a woman said, “Hello, is Rich there?” I said no, and she said that she was a friend of Rich’s father and she wanted me to have Rich call her as soon as he returned home.

I took down her number, hung up, went outside, and started to cry. Rich and his father haven’t had the best relationship over the years, but this is his Dad, regardless. Over the past year the two of them had begun to extend olive branches to each other, and Rich’s dad had come down here to visit with his girlfriend for Livvie’s birthday in September so he could finally meet his grandchildren. The stress level that Rich has been dealing with of late with the uncertainty about his employment, the repairs on our old house, and his father’s illness in general has been overwhelming for him. I wasn’t crying for my father-in-law. I was crying for my husband.

I picked up the phone again and called Rich’s mother to see if she knew anything specific, and she didn’t yet. So she called Rich’s brother. His girlfriend said he too had received a phone call, but he couldn’t come to the phone.

I called Rich on his cell and told him to wrap up what he was doing at the other house and come home immediately.

When he walked in the house I saw in his eyes that he Knew as well. I gave him some space and let him make the call. When he walked outside with the phone, though, before he could dial his own mother called. Rich’s brother had finally called her back. Rich called his father’s friend anyway so he could get the details, and then the day went on.

No arrangements needed to be made. Rich’s dad donated his body to science and requested no memorial service be held. With that phone call yesterday everything was completed. The waiting and worrying was now over, and life simply had to move forward. I wasn’t certain how I felt about that. I watched Rich carefully yesterday, because everyone grieves differently, and by the end of the day I realized that even though he’s sad that his father is gone and he will miss him, regardless of their issues, his feeling that he’s thankful his father’s pain has ended is his prevailing emotion. We’re grateful that he got to see his grandchildren once, and we’re sad that our kids now have no grandfathers at all. I’m heartbroken that he’s gone now that the fences were mending, but I’m thankful that they were in the process of that when this happened.

I’m VERY grateful that we had two completely silly kids to bring laughter and joy into a very sad day.

We’re both grateful that our son slept very well again last night which allowed me to sleep in our marital bed so I could be there in the night in case Rich needed me.

I was thankful that Chuck Wendig had posted this on Terribleminds recently so that I could click on it yesterday and agree that yes indeed, cancer is a motherfucker.

So now what? Now Rich takes off from work for the day, we run errands, we go to the doctor to get my third spinal injection, we do more chores, and we play with the kids.

Life does not stop for death. It’s probably better that way.