I have always loved the autumn. The autumn represents a time of colour, temperate weather, fresh apples, and fall fairs. And the smell of the forests when I am out for a hike with my dogs is divine.
This October, I just finished reading “Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted” by Suleika Jaouad. Suleika has been in an out of cancer for several years, her initial diagnosis starting as her independent life had just commenced in her early 20s. October has become, for me, a month of reliving life and death; and revisiting the ravages of cancer.
Since 2006, October has transformed into a month that I intuitively dread (even though I do not want to dread it). It was this time in 2006, that my 13-year-old daughter’s (Robin) cancer was taking over her body and annihilating any strength she had left. We knew she was going to die, but there is no way to prepare for this evil fate for a child. “Death never comes at a good time but getting a death sentence when you’re young is a breach of contract with the natural order of things.” (from “Between Two Kingdoms” by Suleika Jaouad, 2021)
There are many dates that stick with me – October 4, 2006 – we left for our “Make a Wish” trip to Malibu, Los Angelos, and San Diego. My daughter Robin was losing her ability to balance and walk on this trip, and often had to be aided with the use of a wheelchair. By the time we flew home, on October 11, 2006, she had lost most of the feeling in her face and was unable to close her mouth completely. I attributed this to the rapid spread of cancer, which had started out as a lump in her hand (rhabdomyosarcoma), and had spread to her bones, lungs, and now her brain. Though her cognition was fine, it was difficult for her to chew, hold food in her mouth, and to drink. Her spirit, though, continued to be intact.
October 19, 2006, was her 14th birthday, and she slept (or was unconscious all day). I was worried that she would die on this, her birthday, that she had so looked forward.
October 20, 2006, the palliative doctor provided Robin with Ritalin in an effort to wake her so that she could enjoy some time with her visitors and her family. The Ritalin did its job – she woke up and joined us - and the friends and visitors arrived. Though she was tired and in pain, she always welcomed anyone for a friendly chat. Playing games became more difficult as she was losing her eyesight and her fatigue was constant.
October 24th – Robin had a lot of visitors that day. Her friend Zenna visited that night, and they discussed backpacking across Europe after they graduated high school. I do not know if Robin was delusional, or if she felt that she needed to keep the spirit of her friends and family alive.
That night I slept on her floor on a mattress beside her in her bedroom. She could not handle me being in bed with her anymore, as the pain in her body was too intense. Even a slight touch could send excruciating pain throughout her body, despite the welcome embrace of morphine. As we shared words in the dark that night, she asked me “What is your worst fear?” and I told her that my absolute worst fear was losing her. I then asked her “What is your worst fear?” and she replied “When I was a little kid, I was always afraid of cancer. But you know what mom, it hasn’t been that bad.” – What? I thought – where did this child come from?
We chatted on and off for a little while, until she slipped into a deep sleep, from which she would never wake.
October 25th – In the afternoon, my sweet girl ‘s breath became laboured, her heart stopped (my son, with his head gently on her chest, heard her last heart beat), and she slipped away from us.
So, this month, like all the years since, I relive all these moments. The memories never leave. Thankfully, the soul crushing, life squeezing pain, does diminish in time. And those that have lived this path…get it.
And sometimes I get signs that she is still here – in spirit – in my heart – in the world. I notice all the little miracles of life. This October (2024) I was blessed with finding for the first time in my life (on October 1) a luna moth – a powerful lime green colour. October 2 - I found a lime green “Robin Rocks” bracelet (the same ones that we had sold as a fundraiser for research funds towards rhabdomyosarcoma) in the middle of my office floor – I still have not figured out how it got there (and I have been wearing it ever since); October 3 – the most stunning stars at night sitting by the fire on the water’s edge; October 4 – I witnessed the rare occurrence of a Muskie swimming with its head above the water for several minutes. Swimming around our dock and ducking back under and coming back up. Amazing!
With the pain of loss, comes the miracle of wakefulness. Seeing all the beauty, that was my daughter, reflected in our living world. Though I will live with the pain of her death forever, and I will continue to reflect and write about this pain, I will continue to search for the divine in everyday life.
“Grief is a ghost that visits without warning. It comes in the night and rips you from your sleep. It fills your chest with shards of glass. It interrupts you mid-laugh when you’re at a party, chastising you that, just for a moment, you’ve forgotten. It haunts you until it becomes part of you, shadowing you breath for breath.” (from “Between Two Kingdoms” by Suleika Jaouad, 2021)
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