Don’t look at me that way.
Turn off that pitying face.
I don’t want your sympathetic stare.
I want you to see ME.
Don’t tell me you know.
Nobody knows.
I don’t want you thinking you do,
when you don’t.
Don’t say I need help.
I’m coping.
I don’t want you assuming I’m helpless.
I can cope fine.
Don’t think I’m like them.
They’re near the end.
I don’t want you thinking I’m with them
when I‘m far away.
Don’t.
Don’t talk about it.
I don’t want to listen.
I do want it to be normal.
Just like before.
Well done, I so understand the words and feelings behind them…no I don’t know what you feel but it does ring a bell inside me.
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Thanks. It’s about someone who is terminally ill. She’s managed amazingly well for two years but it’s catching up with her and she’s not ready to accept she might not have long.
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You’re a very empathetic person with an astute ability to climb into someone else’s shoes. I was struck by that and the title of you blog. Well done, Beth.
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That’s very kind of you to say. Thank you. 🙂
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Until I read your response to Helenes comment I thought it was about you. I empathise; three or four years ago I had alopecia – almost half of my hair fell out. When I walkied down the street I often saw people glance at me pityingly – they assumed I had cancer. It was a horrible feeling to be seen as a cancer victim; even more so as it made me feel like a fraud.
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It must have been strange for you. I remember when my son was in a wheelchair temporarily after fracturing his foot. He was also treated differently. My mother-in-law struggles with the Steroid puffiness of her face and people not recognising her. We just got told she only has a few weeks left so she’s not in denial any longer. I’m not sure if denial or acceptance is best.
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Hospices encourage acceptance – but they have experts to give them the best back-up.
The first time I heard of a child making detailed plans for his funeral, I felt as if I was going to break in half, but, although it leaves a huge lump in the throat, I think there is something beautiful about it – and it must help the grieving family to know that their child left this world with a minimum of fear.
Your family now has the opportunity for open discussion. Pretence can be agony to maintain. I hope your mother-in-law’s final weeks pass well for her.
I had a friend who had cancer when he was in his early 40’s. I asked him “Are you going to survive this?”
He replied “I don’t know. If I do, it will be great, but if I don’t it will be an adventure.”
He died. Remembering those words was consoling.
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Thanks for your response Jane. Heartbreaking as it is, it must have been a comfort to know the poor child and your friend weren’t frightened. I do think we’re conditioned to focus of getting better and shy away from death. She texted me today to tell me she’s happy and had a good life. We’re making plans for time off work to look after her at home for a few weeks. Thanks again.
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It sounds as if she’s come to terms with the mysterious event we call death. I imagine easier for those whose families are well and settled.
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