A Glimpse of Dying

Crying used to make me uncomfortable. No matter who was doing the crying, me or someone else, I hated it. I spent years avoiding doing it, even viewed it as a weakness. Until I became a therapist.

Therapy is a safe place for my patients. All emotions are free to flow. Anger, fear, resentment, even tears. Their recovery, ability to stand, to walk has been placed into my hands. They have to trust me. If they want to be mad at their disease, fine, be mad. If they want to take it out on me, I can take it. I've been cussed at, thrown out of a room, had objects thrown at me. I always come back with a smile on my face. Let's try again. I've given funeral home recommendations and held hands while someone cried about their impending death. I feel honored when a patient talks to me about their death. They're sharing a huge moment with me. I don't take that lightly and I never try to change the subject.

As I approached the room of bed number one I could see she was asleep. Curled into a ball, buried under a mountain of blankets. The only visible part of her was her colorful knit hat peeking out of the blankets. I knocked. "Hey, you ready for therapy?" She woke and flashed me her ever present smile. She has one of the pluckiest, sweetest attitudes. "I guess I'll try." We walked down to the unusually empty therapy gym. "So are you prepared to go home tomorrow?" We'd been working for a week to rebuild strength lost by chemo. The plan was to go home the next day and return the following day to begin another round of chemo.She sighed. "I'm ready to go home yes. I'm not ready for another treatment. I'm so tired. I try to stay positive for my son and for my husband..." Then she very matter of factly tells me. "I'm going to cry now." And with that she did. She cried out of anger for having cancer, fear of leaving her family, resentment and fatigue, she wanted to stop fighting. This brave, tiny little woman didn't want her family to know how scared she was and how ready to be finished with the fight. I sat while she cried it all out. I didn't offer platitudes. I offered the only thing in my power at that moment. My ear and a box of tissues. 

It was enough.