A friend of mine was given six months to live

Back in 1999, my aunt was suffering from the effects of diabetes after having a TIA. She did not recover. One day, I was really behind on chores around the house, which my dad's partner chided me about, but he and Dad went to visit my aunt.

When they came back, Mark told me she did not look good, and he said, "you should have been there." I didn't think much of it then. Later that night, my grandmother called. My aunt was being taken to the hospital. I was downstairs in the basement watching T.V.

At 10:04 p.m., the phone rang again. Somehow, while watching Fleetwood Mac perform "Stand Back" on repeat on the VCR down there, I knew why the phone was ringing. I bolted up the basement stairs, zoomed through the kitchen to the foyer. I can still point you exactly where I was standing when I heard Mark (my dad's partner) say "She DIED?!"

This was a Sunday night, May 16, 1999. I had a busy as hell day lined up for Monday that I didn't know how I was going to be able to fit everything in. All of a sudden, that went by the wayside. I can remember talking to Mark and he asked me if he should wake my father up and tell him about my aunt. I told him he had to. The next thing I can remember hearing is my father's grief-stricken question: "When?"

We all got in the car and drove to the hospital. I remember sending e-mails to all the people with whom I had obligations letting them know my aunt died. I remember a few days later talking to a guy I'd started being friendly with that semester and seeing him take the news hard.

I didn't get to say goodbye to my aunt, so I spoke at her funeral. That was my way of saying goodbye. In a larger sense, though, I still haven't recovered from her loss.

She was more than just an aunt. She was almost the third parent. I was a premature baby and my mother and father were both impossibly young. She took a month off work to help my mother take care of me. I spent a lot of time with her and her husband as a little boy, then later as I grew up a little. When I got older, our relationship changed. She went from being my third parent to being the sister I never had as an only child. At least a sister I got along with. I had a stepsister. This was different.

Losing someone close to you is a void you can never fill. But for your own healing, visit your friend in the hospital. Let your children visit. Be there for them, for him, but most importantly, for yourself.

 

Do it now no matter how hard it is.

 

KC. . .

Find a good time and go and see your friend. Find out what his diet is and take something that he would enjoy. Shoot the shit with him and relive all the fun you had with him over time. You won't regret taking the time.

Hospitals are only scary to walk in. Once you are there and you see your friend, you will quickly forget where you are.

The other reason you should go is because if situations were reversed, he would come see you so suck it up, keep the emotions in check and visit your friend. As for your family, I agree with previous posts that you should check on how he is doing before and make sure he wants to see them. Some times, guys are happy seeing very few people when they are sick.

My thoughts are with you.

(On a side note, I just found out this morning that one of my student-athletes has colon cancer and is slated for surgery next week. I worked with her sport but she was just a freshman this past year so I don't know her well but just the thought of a 19-year old girl having this illness is a bit much to take).

 

kc, you've gotten some great advice already on this thread. I think you should follow it, and not just because you will feel guilty later if you don't see your friend. Go see him because you care about him, because he is going through something horrible and terrifying and he deserves every bit of support he can get.

One more thing. Your kids will see you doing the right thing and being there for somebody you care about no matter how hard it is. That alone is worth going.

 

Go and try to make his day. Try to ignore the elephant in the room and make the conversation as lively as possible. No need to be all gloomy now. He's still here. There will be plenty of time for tears later.

 

King, I'll echo the others on here and tell you to go see your friend.

I told this story on another thread, but I'll tell it again. 20 years ago, my grandmother had a heart attack and was in the hospital for a month. I went and saw her several times. The last time, the doctors didn't want me to see her because I had a nasty cold. But they finally agreed if I wore one of those surgical masks.

As I'm ready to go in, my mom and my aunt tell me not to hug her or kiss her, even if she insists. I go in and visit for a few minutes. As I'm ready to leave, Grandma asked for a kiss on the cheek, and said it was all right. So I did.

Later that week, she died.

I've never regretted giving her that last kiss goodbye.

 

Baron's post made me think about this a little more, as did re-reading kingcreole's initial post.

kingcreole, I understand the point you made about seeing people when they are so sick they aren't even the person you know any more, but I don't think that should stop you. The last time I saw my grandmother, she was so loopy on pain drugs she didn't know where she was. She recognized me, but she thought we were getting on a bus to go someplace. It was really odd because I don't think we had ever taken a bus anywhere.

The room was dark and the only decoration was a picture of my little cousin, who was a toddler at the time. His presence had been a real comfort to her close to the end, but damn if it wasn't depressing in there. She was weak and confused, which was such a change for her. She had always been a smart, tough woman, right up until those last days. But seeing her so sick didn't ruin my memories of her. It just gave me one more.

She wasn't with it enough to ask for anybody. She probably wouldn't even have noticed if I had never gone in, but as hard as it was to see her that way, I never regretted going in that room. Not once.

 

The fear of seeing your friend is totally understandable. But you'll find you had strength you didn't know you had once you walk in that hospital.

Understandable, too, is your reluctance to see your friend in a potentially unrecognizable state. But that (potentially) last image won't be the one you'll think of when you think of him. If/when he dies, you'll still think of and see him as that vibrant, funny, mile-a-minute guy.

 

Totally agree with the above two posts. The last time I saw my dad, he was in a coma and on a breathing tube. It was horrible but it doesn't at all affect my memories of him as an active and able person. I know it's my third post on this thread but I guess that's because I feel so strongly that you need to go.

 

My story is similar.

Was 13, grandpa was having another bypass operation and had a slim chance the surgery would work and an even greater one it wouldn't. I wanted to be up at the hospital that day, but my family made me go to school. I went up after school was over, and he died at 6 that night on the operating table.

To this day, my mom said she regrets not letting me skip school. Part of regrets not being there, but I know if he had made it through the surgery, my grandpa would have scolded me for skipping school.

KC, I wish you and your friend the best.

 

KC, can't say it with better than all of the above posts.

By all means, go see your friend... please. You won't regret it.

 

Told the queen today that we're going next week. I thought "Elvis" would appreciate me seeing him on a furlough day. I'm sure he'll get a kick out of that.

Thanks everyone. Elvis, FWIW, is a long time sports journalist around the midwest. He always laughs when he sees Hal McRae's infamous tirade, because he knows pretty much every reporter that you can see in the room.