[User192021]

Synopsis: A short story about my experience with my uncle, days before he died of esophaegeal cancer.



My experience with a dying man

Tonight I visited my uncle Eddie who lay on his death bed at my aunt's home. I saw him a few weeks ago, but prior to that it had been quite some time; since he and my father's sister divorced about 5 years ago. Three months ago he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer which has since spread to his bones. He was a smoker, but quit 25 years ago. The doctors say the cancer was caused by acid reflux. He was originally told that he had 6-8 months to live. Now, only a few months later, he is down to his final days of life, trying to survive just long enough to see his oldest son who is expected to fly in tomorrow morning to say his final goodbye.

I cannot recall anything in my short 23 years of life that I have dreaded more than this visit. For days I have thought about it and I almost cancelled at the last moment. My parents told me I didn't have to go, but I felt it was something that had to be done. To me, this was a moral issue; I would imagine that if I were laying on my death bed, I would like visitors. I believed I could, at the very least, gain some knowledge about life from this unique experience that I may never be able to achieve under any other circumstances - a selfish notion I now, for some reason, regret. I expected it to be horrible, but at least I didn't know him very well. I convinced myself that this would make it a bit easier. Now I know that it's never easy to watch a man die, regardless of whether or not you know him well.

I knew he was in bad shape. I heard from my parents that he nods off while talking and is in horrible pain, despite heavy medication. Those descriptions could not have prepared me for the sight I was met with when I entered my aunt's house where he lay - hooked up only to an oxygen machine. What I saw was not the skinny, but otherwise normal looking man I had seen just a couple of weeks ago at Easter, but instead, a living skeleton. His breathing was slow and he spent several seconds gathering the energy to speak only a few words. He looked tired, but strangely peaceful. When we walked into the room my uncle and I made eye contact and words seemed unnecessary. The look on his face said it all. I shook his hand gently, taking care not to hurt him as I understand the bone cancer caused intense pain for him anytime he moved. He squeezed mine hard for several seconds, as if to prove to me that he was hanging in there; I now suspect this effort must have exhausted him for several minutes afterwards. Eddie was remarkably lucid - even quipping "What happened guys?" upon seeing the horrified looks on mine and my brothers' faces. My father asked him how he was doing to which Eddie replied "Not too well." At this point he told us he had received two offers on his house, which apparently brought him great joy. He had worked on this house for years and took great pride in his accomplishment. At this point he suddenly fell asleep and we all entered the dining room where a few other friends and family members sat.

At first, everyone appeared to be in inappropriately high spirits. My cousin Kelly smiled as she told us the names she had picked out for her baby which is due in December and my aunt served us pie even though the thought of eating made me nauseous. Eventually the conversation turned toward Eddie and the mood became somber, which somehow felt more comfortable than the forced pleasantness of earlier. My parents and aunt reminisced about times spent with Eddie and my father told us about a time when Eddie gave him and his girlfriend $20 for his senior prom. We had been there for about 30 minutes but it felt like an eternity. It felt as though the process was being intentionally drawn out as some sort of cruel punishment for me. Why must I sit through this? Why isn't there a cure for cancer by now? What the fuck are all these cancer foundations spending all their time and our money doing? I could feel panic come over me as I realized I was observing an aspect of life nobody likes to think about. I've never seen anybody die before. I wondered if it was time to leave yet. I tried to participate in the conversation about Kelly's baby, but I felt ridiculous, so I decided to just sit quietly and wait to leave.

I sat in a quiet trance, focusing on breathing and trying not to show my panic when I looked up and noticed that everybody was gathered around Eddie's bed. I hoped he was asleep so we could make a quiet exit and I wouldn't have to talk to him. I now realize the selfishness of my attitude about the whole visit, but I was scared. This was not turning out to be the enlightening experience, removed from any personal emotional investment I though it would be. This was all very uncomfortable. I walked over to join them and my father, mother, and brother stood surrounding the bed while my cousin and aunt stood back and watched. Eddie was awake and was surprisingly the most composed person in the room. My father took Eddie's hand in his and then placed his other hand over it and held it for about five seconds and then said "It's been nice knowin' ya'." A seemingly morbid way of saying what we were all thinking. I shook his hand next and nervously stuttered something about it being time for us to leave to which Eddie calmly replied "Matt, Jonny, you guys have been great nephews." I stood in shock of what I had just heard and choking back tears I replied "You've been a great uncle." My brother agreed with me and shook his hand. I was proud of myself for stringing together such a coherent sentence. Finally my mother shook Eddie's hand and Eddie kissed hers, my mother ran her fingers through his hair and we all stood around in silence for a moment. My family then said goodbye to my aunt and cousin and we walked out to our cars in silence. My mother began to cry and my father said "That's the last time you'll see Eddie alive." On the car ride home everyone was understandably emotional. My father began to talk about God and heaven while I remained silent. I commented that death is part of life and that is the only reasonable way I can look at it.

We arrived home and I quickly walked to my car and drove home. While I smoked a cigarette outside and watched a spectacular lightning storm roll in, it occurred to me that it was arrogantly absurd of me to even pretend I know what life is about. I call myself an atheist, a position I believe I can back up with philosophical logic, but what the hell do I know? I believe the truth is, life is just one great big mystery. It sounds cliche, but no matter how much I contemplate my existence, it always ends with me simply giving up and deciding it's an unanswerable question so I may as well just go on enjoying life while I'm still here. Whether you dress it up with religious ritual and superstition, or you hold a staunch disbelief in god, it's ultimately irrelevant. Some day I will experience what I just watched my uncle experience, although hopefully not in the same manner. I just witnessed my uncle stare death in the face and instead of complaining, or even just laying silent, he mustered the energy to comfort my family and I at his own time of death. What character it must take to put the needs of others before your own in your final hours. I never really though much about Eddie when he was alive. He was always around when I was younger; birthday parties and whatnot, but then after the divorce I just never saw him.

Eddie died five days later. A couple of weeks before he died, he asked my aunt to re-marry him; it was his dying wish. She said "yes", and they had a small ceremony in the house which my dad served as a witness to. I am grateful to my uncle for showing me what real courage and compassion is. I hope I am as strong as my uncle Eddie when my time comes.

[FantasticMuse]

This is sweet but more like...a memory you just whipped out and put on paper. There wasn't a lot of imagery involved. It would've been more dramatic (I do love drama) with little more detail into things like...what the house looked like. The things he'd done to make it his dream. More detail into deeper emotions, like the rage of wanting a cure for cancer. Physical descriptions of what the fear did to you.

[Rolling Pichu]

Yes. it lacks detail and description. The narration aspects are okay, but you could worry more about making a clearer portrait, reaching the readers, making them picture what you see. This always might sound a lot harder than it looks, but you're always better than you think you are. Good write.

~Steven

[jerH]

This is hard....I can't presume to know the life experiences of others, but having lived through experiences similar to this twice, I didn't find anything lacking about this at all. Perhaps its the whole sympathy versus empathy line. I was 24 when my grandfather was diagnosed with leukemia and passed away 72 hours later. His last words to me before they sedated him to make a breathing tube more comfortable were an offer to buy me a new car. I don't think you ever learn to make sense of losing someone, and when they are that selfless in the face of death it just confuses you more. From reading this I took away some comfort from knowing that at least I'm not the only one.

[lizmarienv]

This was wonderful, it made me cry. My uncle passed of cancer two years ago and I had the same experence. Thanks for putting it into words