Living with Grief

The subject of grief is one that brings about many emotions. Immediately we draw upon our own experiences. No matter what your background or religious beliefs, we all go through a deep sense of loss. For some people, the loss is extremely difficult to cope with. Unfortunately, I have had so many experiences with death that it left me with many scars and many memories, some of which are haunting.

I have lost many relatives and friends, but by far the hardest for me, the one that continues to walk beside me each day was the death of my father. I had lost my Godmother a few years ago and was extremely close to her, but because she didn't suffer for long, I feel that I can handle her death more easily, even though I miss her a great deal. On the other hand, my father went through a lifetime of suffering and it all began when I was born.

My father was diagnosed with skin cancer right after I came into the world. The only way I knew my father was as an ill man. I spent my growing years continually worrying about him and wondering when would be the last time I would see him. It started out as a small, insignificant skin tag near his eye which he was told to remove. But they kept cutting him, each time telling him there was more malignancy. After several years, he had developed a tumor behind his eye. The cancer that they were cutting until then was in that vicinity. They told him the only thing he could do was to have his eye removed so they can remove the tumor. Images of him coming back from that recovery room will never leave me. His head was wrapped like a mummy, with only one eye visible. From that point on, every biopsy he went through was a continual waiting game, a revolving door for all of us. One that would yield the same grimacing news - "we are sorry, it is malignant".

That is how I grew up. Always waiting and always finding out that his results were cancerous. He never got a break. We watched him suffer along until the point when I was in my mid-twenties and it went to his lungs. After suctioning out fluids from his lungs several times, he decided that he did not want to go on this way. He finally reached his boiling point. We were asked to sign do not resuscitate papers and we did. The doctor asked him if he understood that he would not live once the papers were signed, he said yes. He was ready to go. It was at that point that the prayers my family offered for him turned to a sort of release. We asked God to take him home and let him be free of pain. No one should ever suffer this way. It was inhuman. The next day, we arrived at the hospital and heard all of his doctors being paged. We knew it was for him. My father passed that day, as soon as we stepped foot in the hospital. Through many sobs, we were asked to wait and call the rest of his children and family who would like to say goodbye. Once my siblings arrived we were told we could go into ICU where he was.

I will never understand this, no matter how old I get. They had already toe-tagged him, like a piece of meat on a slab. They left his mouth open as it was when he gasped for his last breath of air. Why the hospital team could not wait until his family who loved him left I will never understand. Why did we have to see someone we loved like this? That was our last memory of him and it was and continues to be, a horrible one; one that left an engraved image within my brain, never to be forgotten.

As I got older, I realized that I developed many fears. Choking, claustrophobia, and a complete distrust for chemotherapy and radiation were now a part of me. I am not fond of traditional medicine and have learned a great deal about alternative medicine and natural healing. Because of my experience with my father's death, I found that it left me conditioned to receive bad news as he did each and every time they did another biopsy. Contrarily, I am by nature a very optimistic person in most areas. However, when it comes to health issues, I find myself running from mainstream healthcare - all the routine tests that people are told they MUST do when they reach a certain age are among them. To me, it is a money-making, fear-based entity that the medical field placed upon society. I personally believe that our bodies are able to heal either on its own or through natural means. If I had to do it over again, I would never allow my father to be cut, mangled, radiated and poisoned. I don't believe anyone should ever go through anything like that.

So where does that leave me spiritually? Do I have distrust for God also? Do I feel that he abandoned my father and us? No. I know that he doesn't want any of us to suffer and that he made us to have free will. Our decisions and lifestyle directly affect what happens to each one of us. My father smoked over 2 packs of cigarettes per day, mostly unfiltered. I know that the God of my understanding must grieve himself over what we do to our own bodies. It is not his fault and I will never blame him. He promised to never leave us and never abandon us and I believe that even throughout all of this. I also believe that he has my father in his arms and that he is happy and full of peace. At this point, I would just like to make peace with this issue as well. I wish my last memory of him is as I know he must be right now.