Recently, I was sat in a middle seat of an aeroplane on the outbound leg of a trip abroad. To my right sat a man separated from his family by the aisle. As the plane was taking off, the man leaned forward, turning his head towards his daughter who was furthest away, sat by the window. He waved gently at her. She gave him a smile and waved back. It seemed important to them to connect before the plane took off, perhaps unconsciously seeking closure in the event of the plane not touching down. It reminded me of my need to connect with my children when we fly together. I often hold their hands during take-off (or at least used to before they hit pre-teen/teenage years). This gesture was my way of connecting with my boys in the face of our heightened sense of mortality at that moment. Feeling connected is so important to us all. That and closure. To be connected with those we love is the biggest privilege and joy of being human and the most soothing feeling we can muster in the face of death.
Regrettably I did not have the privilege of connecting with my mother before she died 31 years ago in Vienna, while I was in Sofia. Neither I, nor my sister, or indeed my mother herself, knew that she had cancer. The norm in Bulgaria at the time, and often still today, was to withhold this critical information from the dying person and their children for fear of traumatising them. My father carried the lonesome burden of knowing the truth, compounded by the incongruity of trying to give off optimism without any prop to lean on.
Recently I have been deeply moved by Dame Deborah James’ inspiring story of courage. The You, Me and the Big C podcast co-host and cancer campaigner is known for her candid account of her life with cancer and her devotion to being of service to others in the face of her imminent demise - raising millions of pounds for Cancer Research UK and the Bowelbabe Fund. James’ journey with cancer has been nothing short of astounding. However, it is her authenticity and honest deep connection with her children that draws me in the most. She provides a masterclass in how to die authentically, meaningfully and with grace. In a recent farewell video produced by the BBC, James shares that she has reached the end of her journey. She speaks of the anguish she feels about having to say farewell to her children whom she loves immensely. She’s had difficult but pivotal conversations with them, we learn.
I wish I had had those difficult conversations with my mother when she was dying, where we would have been saying our goodbyes, she would have told me what she had appreciated most about her life, what she wished she had done differently and what she hoped for my future. Yes, they would have been heartbreaking and life-changing but also healing in the long run, as I hope Deborah James’ difficult conversations with her children will be for them.
I recently asked my two sons (separately) whether they would want to know if I were dying or whether they would want to be spared the truth for as long as possible. They were both adamant that they would want to know. When I asked them why, they gave remarkably similar responses: “so that I can spend all my time with you”; “so that I can be with you and not take you for granted.” Years of deep regret unfolded in my memory. Regret I have felt for not accompanying my mother to Vienna for her operation before she passed away, for not sharing her last days with her, for all the things that were left unsaid. If only I had known…
“Sparing” us the truth for a few months or even years condemns us to a lifetime of yearning for a closure that never came. As humans we have the unparalleled opportunity to live consciously. We owe it to ourselves to choose truth over illusions; to see love in the pain- inducing honesty rather than in false protection, in honouring the authentic story of those we love, including their unhappy endings. They are theirs to own and ours to grow from.
