Life can be cut very short,
so it’s up to each and every one of us to make the most of our time here on
Earth. But, what do you do when you find
out that you have no more than a few months to live? Do you start living life to the hilt, doing
everything that’s bad for you? Do you
forsake everyone and everything in your life to do the things you always wanted
to do but had never done? Or, do you
think of the other humans in your life that need you? It’s not an easy question to answer. If I were to find out that my life was going
to end too soon, I would have to do some heavy thinking about what’s really
important to me. After all, when the
“day of reckoning” comes, one has to account for all of one’s screw-ups
somehow. I imagined that God, in his
infinite wisdom, would most likely forgive those who had somehow minimized
their most pressing problems and maximized their biggest accomplishments in
life. Or, perhaps God would simply
forgive those who could forgive themselves for their own mistakes. I had a good friend who was experiencing some
very serious problems in life. Being
terminal was never meant to be one of those problems. And, being a good person didn’t seem to
matter at all.
Jillian was my best friend
and one of the sweetest people you’d ever want to meet. Unfortunately, she was married to a
less-than-wonderful guy named Curtis who treated her with very little respect
or love. How and why she met and married
him, I did not know. All I know was that
he was a very obnoxious and argumentative person who found fault in almost
everyone he knew, especially his lovely wife and his two young daughters. He must have been very frustrated with his
flagging academic career as a would-be college professor and was constantly
taking out his frustrations on others. I
felt so sorry for Jillian and the girls, but she loved him nevertheless and was
committed to the marriage, as imperfect as it was.
Jillian did everything for
her family and friends and asked for nothing in return. For her family, she cooked the meals, cleaned
the house, did the laundry, was a ready-made chauffeur for the kids to their
activities, and was a good listener to their daily woes. To her friends, she was a very kind and compassionate
companion, ready to be there for anyone who needed to lean on her for
support. This wonderful person truly
deserved the best life had to offer.
Yet, having to cope with her horrible husband was something she did
without complaining. It seemed that she
felt she had to stay in the marriage for her kids’ sake, but she never once
complained about his poor treatment of her.
She even supported him, emotionally, as much as she could whenever he
needed it.
One day, I was with Jillian
as she was picking the girls up from school to take them home. We were waiting in front of the public
elementary school that they attended for the final bell to ring, signaling
their anticipated exit. The two girls
came out and piled into the car excitedly, talking about school. They were hot and breathless on this lovely
spring day. But, as Jillian started the
car, she suddenly raised her hand to her forehead and winced, as if in pain. She stopped the car momentarily while she
wiped the sweat that was standing out on her forehead. For a moment, it looked like she was just hot
from the warm weather, however, it didn’t seem that hot out to me. She also looked flushed and I wondered
whether she was feeling ill. I asked her
if I should drive home instead, but she waved me off, finally starting the car,
driving along and telling me she was fine.
So, I guessed it was just a momentary lapse of concentration.
The next day, Jillian started
out to take the girls to school, as usual.
When she was halfway to the school, she suddenly completely forgot where
the school was located. She knew she was
in the right neighborhood, one that we both knew well, but could no longer
remember what street the school was on or how to get there. Finally, she had to turn back home, phone me
and ask me for the details. It was a
very strange scene and I didn’t know what to make of it all, but I had a strong
feeling that something was very wrong.
It just wasn’t like her to forget even small things, especially if they
were things she had done many times before.
I hoped it was just a temporary lapse, brought on by exhaustion or
something like that. Why else would she
be suffering from such forgetfulness? It
was totally out of character for this type of thing to happen to her.
The following weekend, we
decided to go shopping together. We
planned to buy some much-needed clothes and then groceries. On Saturday afternoon, I was to pick Jillian
up at home. When I arrived at her place,
on time, I knocked at her door. Not just
once, but several times. I was puzzled
that no one was answering my knock.
Finally, Jillian answered the door and looked really surprised to see me
there. I asked her if she was ready to
go shopping yet, but she just looked at me questioningly. I repeated my request. She said that she could not recall our plan
to go shopping today. Surprised, I asked
her when she thought we were supposed to go and she replied that she could not
remember even planning such a trip. I
then got very alarmed at her admission.
It was so uncharacteristic of her to forget anything that I started then
to seriously think something was wrong with her.
I was so upset that I went
home instead of going shopping to think about Jillian’s recent strange
behavior. I could not imagine what it
was that was causing her to forget places and dates. What was next? Was she going to forget who her friends and
family members were? I decided to leave
the whole situation alone for a little while before I called her again. Maybe she just needed to rest and relax. When I did call again, it was about a week
later. This was very unusual for us,
since we were close friends and talked to each other almost daily.
When I phoned, her elder
daughter, Jenny, answered my call. I
asked to speak to her mother. Jenny sounded
very upset, as if she’d been crying. She
said her mother was in the hospital, very ill.
Startled, I asked why. Jenny said
that her mother had a very bad case of amnesia.
She couldn’t seem to remember even her own children’s names
anymore! And, she was having recurring
headaches and fever, so her doctor had recommended some essential tests to find
out the reason. I would either have to
try to see her at the hospital or wait and see what the test results would
be. I decided to wait and see for a
little bit, but it was very difficult for me to wait.
A few days later, I decided
to phone the hospital and see if I could visit Jillian. The nurses said that I could, but that the
visit would have to be fairly short. I
asked how she was and they said she was resting comfortably, under the
circumstances. I drove to the hospital,
full of trepidation, afraid of what I would find there. Would she get better? It never occurred to me that she wouldn’t
somehow. When would she get better? I still had no clear idea of what exactly was
wrong and whether the doctors had been able to diagnose and treat her
condition. What was her prognosis for
the future?
I soon got to the hospital,
which happened to be a very prominent one that specialized in internal medicine
and related internal illnesses. The
doctor who was her attending physician, Dr. Luther, was the chief internist
there. I asked the nurses at the station
if I could speak to him in person.
However, since I wasn’t a direct relative, only a family friend, the
doctor would only talk to me in generalities.
He said that Jillian was suffering from amnesia because of a brain
infection that was causing certain areas of her brain to swell. The condition was causing her a lot of pain
and fever, but the medication was controlling it for the most part. I asked him how soon she could come home, but
he would not tell me. He said that only
time would tell how her case would develop.
After our conversation, I still felt no closer to knowing the truth
about her condition or what to expect.
When I went in to see her, she was asleep, so I didn’t disturb her and
shortly afterward, left the hospital.
I decided to go and talk to
her husband, Curtis, for some much-needed answers. I wasn’t thrilled at all about having to talk
to him, but there was no choice. I was
more interested in getting to the root of Jillian’s problem and her
prognosis. He opened the door when I
knocked and looked at me resentfully. I
guess he wasn’t very happy to see me – who knew why? When we went into the living room to talk, he
didn’t invite me to sit down or offer me anything to drink. I ignored his rudeness and got right to the
point. I asked him bluntly what the
matter really was with Jillian, since the doctor would tell me nothing substantial
– at least, that’s the way I felt.
Curtis, obnoxious as usual, told me right out that Jillian was never
going to recover and come home! I was
totally shocked and I asked why not. He
said she had cancer! I couldn’t believe
it! I wanted to know what kind of cancer
she had and he said it was a brain tumor.
He said that she only had a short time to live – maybe a few weeks or a
couple of months – and that she would be staying in the hospital until the day
she died.
I wanted to know who was
going to look after his daughters and he said that he himself would. I told him that I was more than willing to
take them overnight or for the weekend if he needed a break, but I was really making
the offer for Jillian’s sake. I was at a
total loss as to how to cope with this disaster. This was something that had never before
happened to me. What could I do? I felt completely helpless and hopeless. I was going to lose the best friend I’d ever
had and there was nothing I could do to prevent it from happening. I resolved to see Jillian as much as I could
for the time she had left. But, it would
soon get worse for all of us.
When I went to see Jillian a
few days later, she was awake but groggy from the heavy narcotics they were
giving her for the pain. I could
appreciate that she needed to be pain free.
No one should have to suffer needlessly.
If I could have taken away some of her pain myself, I would have done
so. I couldn’t help remembering what I
had gone through when I’d been seriously injured in a skiing accident. Not that I could compare that to cancer. There was no comparison to that. When you feel deep and lasting pain and
absolutely nothing helps except frequent shots of morphine, you gladly accept
them – even beg for them occasionally. I
fervently hoped that she was not in any pain and that she could still
communicate with me somehow. I kissed
and hugged her gently, trying to hold back my tears. It wouldn’t help her to see me cry. She looked so small and forlorn in her big
white hospital bed. She didn’t look at
all like the Jillian I knew who was so energetic and involved in everyday
life. That Jillian was almost gone now. But, she did manage a little smile at me.
I stayed for a short while,
talking briefly about her daughters and everyday things about my own life, and
then asked her if there was anything I could get or do for her. She asked me to please read to her from a
book, “The Tales of Shakespeare”, a collection of Shakespearean plays written
in prose form. She said that it soothed
her to listen to something not related to her illness. She also said she didn’t want to talk about
her illness. If anything, she wanted to
talk about the good times she’d spent with her family (daughters) and with me,
her best friend. She sort of knew what
the matter with her was, but not exactly how serious it was. The doctors had apparently made the decision
not to tell her she was dying. So, it
was going to be imperative that she stay in as good spirits as possible in the
meantime. I resolved to help her to do
just that.
Each day for the next few
weeks, after I left the hospital and went home, I felt an enduring deep sadness
and depression. I told myself that I had
to be positive for Jillian’s sake, but it became harder and harder to do
that. I felt like I was always waiting
for the dreaded phone call that would tell me she was dead. And then, I would start crying so hard, I
thought my heart would break. Why does
God have to take the best people away? I
asked myself this question over and over again.
It’s so unfair. They say death is
a fact of life, which to me doesn’t make sense, somehow; yet, I had to come to
terms with the horrible reality that was going to rob her of precious
life. It was rapidly becoming impossible
to cope any longer.
The day I finally got the bad
news, Jillian had been hospitalized for just three weeks. Jenny called me at home in the early morning
hours. She said that her mother had
quietly slipped into a deep coma and then passed away in the middle of the
night. Jenny said that she and her
mother had talked about what was to be expected of her now and she gladly
accepted her new responsibilities at home.
They had had a very intimate mother-daughter discussion about Jenny’s
future, as well. Finally, she said that
Jillian had told her she loved me like a sister and that I was the best friend
she’d ever had. I had never felt as full
of emotion as I did then. In a way
though, I was glad that Jillian was finally resting in peace, away from the
pain. There would no longer be pain or
suffering for her. I supposed that was
something to be very grateful for, and I was.
I knew that she was now in God’s hands in a good place.
Jillian’s life and death
taught me some significant things. She
had known how to cope and make the most of her life. She had made the effort to be happy, even
though her husband was miserable. Her
attitude had made a positive impact on everyone who knew her. I resolved not to take my own life for
granted, to spend every waking minute being as happy and positive as possible,
and above all, to help my fellow man, as needed. We should all be kind, caring and
compassionate to each other because life on Earth can be cut short in a
flash. One minute, life is everything
you want it to be and the next second, life as you know it is over. Life can end so abruptly and you never know
when that is going to happen. That’s why
it’s so important to make the most of every waking minute, as Jillian did. She must have been wise beyond her years to
be able to do such a thing.
published by Authorhouse, copyright 2011, Anne Shier. All rights reserved.
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