Death, the ultimate transition

It was not that I had never tried imagining a life without her - my wife, Jenny of nearly 30 years. The possibility of her leaving me had crossed my mind many times. More so as we got older. And the only possible reason for her departure would be Death.

Because Death is the ultimate transition. It is life changing.

Ever too often, we hear of people we knew or of their friends or relatives dying. Sometimes, from sudden cardiac arrest but more so because of terminal illnesses, like Cancer. The big C word. Ever too often also, at my former workplace where there was a sizeable number of staff in our department between 50-60 years, the so-called high risk age group for cancer, news of someone being stricken with this dreaded disease would filter through the grapevine.  And most would eventually die. We ask about the symptoms, if they had felt or noticed any. Because we knew that no one is immune and we harboured a real fear that we might also fall victim in a similar way. It is a roll of the dice that might one day bear our number. Biological bad luck in which we could do little to control, to change the odds.

So I was all too mindful that we might not be spared from such misfortune. Me or her dying early, leaving the other widowed and stranded. Jenny had always preferred to veer from such sombre contemplations. Death was a taboo subject for bedside conversation. “You are always too negative. Too pessimistic”, she would frown at me, shutting me off quickly whenever I raised this troubling subject. She was of course right. I was talking about the unthinkable. Why should we burden our minds with such needless unease? After all, most people get to live to a ripe old age in life.  The average life span in our affluent country is more than 80 years, for crying out loud.  Most couples get to grow old together, though not necessarily happily for some. Our chances of growing old together should not be any poorer or worse than the average denizen, after all we lead healthy wholesome lives.

But the unthinkable happened. With all its surreal conjuring turning into stark reality. By some twist of fate or God’s will, depending on your religious leanings or however you chose to see it, Cancer came a-calling. For Jenny and me, looking back, our past blissful lives seemed like one huge delusional bubble.  This bubble that we were cocooned in for so long burst also as soon as the news of the disease was confirmed to us. It was our turn to suffer.

Jenny bore the full brunt of the disease and its merciless invasion. Initially we were full of hope. Hope that modern medicine could fight off the tumours and reverse those cancerous cells.  But as the months wear on, hope faded like the setting sun. And in less than 7 months she was taken from me. And the children, deprived of a loving and caring mother.

Until Jenny’s unfortunate demise I thought I had understood what Death meant.  I was wrong.

It was not that I have never encountered death before. I have attended countless funerals in my lifetime. That of relatives, friends and colleagues or their loved ones and family members, some happening pre-maturely, too early and too young, while others withered away, bowing out peacefully in their sunset years. Eight years ago, my own father passed on at the ripe old age of 86. I sobbed like a child at the viewing gallery where I watched his casket being slowly carted into the crematorium. But for all these encounters, grim as they were, I was but a spectator. Death had not truly and fully casted its foreboding shadow on me. Not as yet.

So when it came for Jenny, even as it was the expected outcome, it came as an unwelcomed stranger. I thought I knew how to deal with it, mentally steeling myself for the inevitable eventuality as she was fighting a hopeless battle, a disease that had exhausted all treatment options. And Cancer is a silent adversary that takes its own time to course through its unwilling host, slowly eating her away from within. It gave me time to prepare myself for the final cruel blow. So I thought I was ready for it. In the end I had mistaken. I could never be ready for the harshness of its permanence and the totality of my loss. Perhaps even to this day.

The one person in your life who has been such a close constant for so long, is not in existence anymore.

That was my real Death experience. For the first time. The one that would tear into your heart. The reality that it left behind would feel ice-cold, brutal and inconsolable. It would be ever so hard to accept or believe.

Yes, each day I could get through the day’s routine, packing off for work, banter and even laugh with colleagues or friends. On weekends I go could go venturing in the nature parks, soaking in all its tranquillity and greenery goodness, sing and even pose and smile candidly for the umpteenth photo-shot. But within the shell that is my exterior, a new person resides. One who is malformed by Death’s deadly touch.

Once touched, Death never ever leaves.

I have now accepted that Death will always be an unwanted companion in my journey of grief. Until one day, it becomes my turn to answer to Death’s call. When it knocks on my own door. It really takes Death to change things. Because that is how Death is. The ultimate transition that is Life Changing.