I wasn’t going to write about this, but, today, Al Mascitti made me cry. He was so choked up as he spoke about Beau and his family. So many memories came flooding back. Painful memories, but memories I wouldn’t give up for the world. I’m also publishing this today due to the comments on the other thread. We’ve obviously “gone there” so let me add my insight.
It’s no secret I was in the “medical privacy” camp, but I sorta stayed out of those debates because I could (sorta) see the other side. It was a different conversation because, imo, it removed the humanity of the obvious situation, and while I didn’t understand that side (and I’m not really here to debate that, altho that will probably happen given the comments on the “memorial” thread) my lack of understanding probably had a lot to do with how many times I’ve been up close and personal to this type of situation.
Dying trumps everything. There are no politics, no career moves, no family squabbles, no test scores – These. Things. Do. Not. Matter. At. All. If they matter to you, then that is your luxury.
Here’s the truth: There are no rules, no shoulds, no have tos, in regards to a terminal illness. Just like there are no rules to grief. Death is a solitary experience. No one can tell you how to handle this. There isn’t a “correct” way of doing this. The dying person gets to set the rules.
I’ve written about my experience with my best friend in 2011. Allow me to pull a passage from this post.
When a person faces a terminal illness their perspective changes. Instead of focusing on being “cured” – which they accept isn’t an option – they focus on how much time they can buy. As a 47 year old, divorced mother of two teenage boys my friend was obsessed with buying time. I completely understood.
Time Mattered.
And yet, time was the one thing not discussed. Not by her, or me, or her doctor. It was the elephant in the room. All of us knew time was running out. None of us discussed it. Sometimes saying things out loud makes them more real… too real?
Announcing you are dying is not a simple or easy thing to do – and you get to decide who you share it with and when. If you think it is easy then you have probably not experienced death up close – especially the death of a young person with children. Saying this truth out loud is nearly impossible. It changes everything. It is admitting defeat. Every day is precious. Every day is a fight and a gift. Every day might be your last.
And telling your children, or having them have to face this reality through the constant chatter of talking heads (“Joe Biden went to Delaware. Is he visiting his dying son?”) or newspaper articles, is the hardest thing you will ever experience. Dying people don’t care about “your” concerns or issues – nor should they, because in the big scheme of things any concerns other than their children, spouse and family are things they have moved beyond. Your and our concerns are petty. Politics is a silly issue they have moved beyond. (and I love politics, but it goes out the window in this situation.)
And the one thing that really matters is control. Control over how you die – over how you live your last days or months or years. And once everyone “knows” (or your illness progresses) you lose control. You become your disease. So, I can completely understand why Beau Biden held onto control as long as possible. That was his right. And in the end, it was his only right and the only thing he could control. He didn’t “owe” anybody anything. Sorry, but he didn’t.
Ugh. I’m rereading this and I know I sound preachy. I don’t mean to. It’s just when his illness first came to light and his public appearances diminished… I knew. I just knew. I had traveled this path before. It was so heartbreakingly familiar. Talk of politics in regards to his situation made me queasy. It just didn’t matter. There were more important things on the table. And no one – no one – gets to prioritize that for him.
I am not saying questions about politics didn’t matter (Okay, I sorta am). What I’m saying, as someone who has experienced impending deaths of loved ones, is that all this stuff simply doesn’t matter to those facing their own deaths. And the real reason it didn’t matter was because that issue would tragically resolve itself on its own – as it did. I knew that – and dreaded it. Those facing this prognosis know that. The only people a dying person should be concerned about is themselves and their loved ones. Everyone else, and what they think they should know, doesn’t matter. No one has a right to trump a dying person’s wishes on how they leave this world.
Yes, this is deeply personal to me. Call me out all you want, you won’t sway me. I have lived this too many times. And… when it comes to the political landscape and what would happen, anyone who claims they didn’t really know are probably too stupid (too harsh? probably.) to hold office, or else they should thank whatever god they pray to that this situation has never touched their life. Because that’s really the only reason for not understanding what was really going on. Sorry, but it is.
Rest in peace, Beau. You didn’t owe anyone but your family a damned thing.