Lessons in Dying (Courtesy of My Father). ~ Kimberly Lo

Via on Mar 16, 2013

Buddha

It’s been nearly 18 months since my father was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer.

I received the news on an ordinary Sunday afternoon, after I came home from teaching a yoga class. The message on the yellow Post-It was brief: “Call your father. Lung cancer.”

Surely that last word was a mistake; how could my father have lung cancer? He was a lifelong non-smoker who took excellent care of himself.

However, it was no mistake—he did indeed have cancer, and it was terminal.

The past year and a half has been surreal, at times. Some days, I forget that Dad has cancer. Other times, it’s all I can think about.

Like many father-daughter relationships, ours is complicated. He was not an active participant for most my life; my parents divorced when I was very young and between the ages of four and 12, I saw very little of him. It wasn’t until I was an adult and moved two hours south of where he lived that we actually had anything that would come close to what most people think of as a relationship.

And even at the best of times, it was strained.

However, watching my father battle with cancer and come to terms with his own morality has taught me a few things:

1. Let go of any romantic thoughts of finally coming together and making peace.

While some people have reported the above happening once they found out that a parent had cancer, there is no guarentee that will happen. In some cases, you may even find yourselves further apart. For a brief time, I harbored the fantasy of my father moving in with me and teaching my-then two year old daughter (his only grandchild) Chinese. However, he politely declined and then shared that he felt “nothing” towards my daughter. Needless to say this hurt me, but it forced me to realize the reality of what our relationship actually was versus what I wanted it to be.

2. Death need not be proud or even dramatic.

My father announced that he was dying in a very matter-of-fact way. There were no tears, no hysteria. As he put it, “I wish I didn’t have cancer, but I do. It’s my reality.” He took the news so well that I thought it might an act to appear brave. It wasn’t.

3. Death may be a relief to both the person dying and the family member(s).

My father is a life-long Buddhist, and he draws a lot of strength from it. He confessed he wasn’t happy with many things in this life and hopes his next reincarnation will be nicer than the current one. While I am  not looking forward to his death, I  believe that I will feel a sense of relief when he passes. I will no longer have to live up to his unrealistically high expectations nor apologize everything that I see him for not attending law school or not marrying the “right” person. For the first time in my life, part of me will be free.

4. Nothing can really prepare you for death.

My father and I both realize we are in a unique position in that we know he has a set amount of time. Friends have asked me if it makes it easier. In some ways it does, but in many ways it does not. I think I have an idea how I will feel when my father finally passes, but I have no way of knowing for sure until it actually happens. While I can mentally envision my father out of life, it is still hard to so because all I am actually doing at the moment is pretending. I know even when I imagine him gone that he is still here and that I can still pick up the phone and call him him. I won’t be able to do that once the time comes.

5. There is no certainty about the future.

Given his health and the type of lung cancer that he has, his oncologist has given him two years minimum. She shared that she had a patient who lived for over six years with the same type of cancer. Therefore, it is possible that he may live as six years or even longer but, he could die before the two year anniversary. In that respect, my father is no different from anyone else in that no one knows exactly when he will die. I said he may even outlive me. I meant it as a joke, but it may be true, for all any of us know.

In any case, I feel as if my father and I have been blessed in many ways. It’s unlikely we will ever have the perfect relationship, but we can work on what we have in the time that is left.

I have also learned a lot about compassion, letting go and forgiveness—even though there are still times when we get angry at each other. I also genuinely admire how my father has chosen to deal with his cancer.

At times, I envy his faith and wish I had even half as much. I hope if I ever find myself in that situation that I will handle it with as much grace and acceptance as he has.

Lastly, I am happy to get to be with him on this journey especially as he wasn’t there for much of my life.

It truly is a gift, even if I had a hard time seeing it as that in the beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

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Ed: Bryonie Wise

 

 

 

About Kimberly Lo

Kimberly Lo is a yoga instructor and freelance editor & writer based in Charlottesville, VA. In her spare time, she enjoys needlework and photography. Connect with her on Facebook.

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5 Responses to “Lessons in Dying (Courtesy of My Father). ~ Kimberly Lo”

  1. Monica says:

    Thanks for your article. I see you handling your relationship with your Dad with as much "grace and acceptance" as he's handling his relationship with death. Many blessings.

  2. Gloria says:

    That's beautiful, Kimberly.

    I admire your Dad's attitude towards life & death. We all have our shadows, however he sounds like a very honest man, willing to do better, even if it has to be in another life. That awareness is so valuable! He will take with him all the learnings from this existance, including you and your daughter, into a higher level.

    Well done to you for your own process of acceptance. Sending you loads of love xxxx

  3. Renée says:

    This spoke profoundly to me. My father and I were alienated for most of my life—I didn't know him until I was seventeen, and spent twenty-five years after that trying to bond with him. When he was dying of liver cancer, he conveyed the message (through my sisters from his second marriage and my stepmother) that I was not to come around for his final weeks, days, hours. Your words here help me to breathe into the pain of that and to accept his choices, and let them go. I appreciate your clarity and eloquence.

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