BRIAN:Last night—
DAWN:I don’t know what time I’ll be home.
(He pours coffee into a travel mug.)
BRIAN:Is Meret—
DAWN:She’s not going to camp today. Or ever again.
(A beat.)
BRIAN:I’ll bring in something for dinner.
(He exits.)
(End scene.)
—
THINGS YOU SHOULDN’Tdo when someone is dying:
Don’t talk about when your aunt or your grandmother or your dog died. This isn’t about you, and the sick person shouldn’t have to comfort you; it should be the other way around. There are concentric circles of grief: the patient is at the center, the next layer is the caregiver, then their kids, then close friends, and so on. Figure out what circle you’re in. If you are looking into the concentric circles, you give comfort. If you’re looking out, you receive it.
Don’t say things that aren’t true:You’re going to beat this cancer! It’s all about a positive outlook! You look stronger!You aren’t fooling anyone.
Don’t overact your happiness. It’s okay to be sad with someone who is dying. They’ve invited you close at a very tender time, and that’s a moment of grace you can share.
Don’t think you have to discuss the illness. Sometimes, a sick person needs a break. And if you ask up front if he wants to talk about how he feels—or doesn’t—you’re giving him control at a time when he doesn’t have a lot of choices.
Don’t be afraid of the silence. It’s okay to say nothing.
Don’t forget: No one knows what to say to someone who’s dying. Everyone is afraid of saying the wrong thing. It’s more important to be there than to be right.
Win and I have reached the stage where we can sit in quiet, without a background noise of NPR on the radio or the television murmuring. That’s an important part of the process. I know that Win is turning over memories as if they are treasured jewels. I am going over everything Meret told me the night before, and trying to pick a path forward through comfort and courage.
Win is figuring out how to die; I am figuring out how to live.
She is having a bad day. She hasn’t eaten. For the first time, she didn’t try to get out of bed. There’s a point in the process of dying when it really hits you. You have the diagnosis, you know that your body isn’t acting the way you want—but one morning you wake up and realize that you really weren’t sure that youwouldwake up. You understand that there’s a curtain you cannot see behind, and your toes are brushing the edge of it, and you aren’t able to reverse course.
Win clears her throat, and I immediately offer her a glass of water with a straw in it. She sips, wets her lips. “What’s the strangest request you’ve ever had?”
“To make someone’s ashes into a diamond. There’s a company called LifeGem that does it.”
“Of course there is,” Win murmurs.
“My client’s widow wore it until she died, too, and then she was buried wearing the necklace.” I glance at her. “Why? Do you want to make Felix a piece of jewelry?”
“Weave me into a hair shirt instead,” she says. She is listless, tired.
“Maybe you should close your eyes for a bit,” I suggest.
“I’m afraid if I do, I may not open them again.”
“And that makes you anxious?”
“Shouldn’t it?” She raises her brows. “I just wish I could get a peek at what’s coming. Other than a whole mess of fear served up with a side of who the hell knows.”
“People fear different things about death,” I tell her. “Pain. Not finishing something you’re working on. Leaving someone you love. There’s even real FOMO, fear of missing out, of the world going on and you not being here to see it.”
