Letting Go

Sometimes death is the healing

Photo by Bharath Kumar on Unsplash

“If you love me, you’ll let me go.”

Peggy’s husband of thirty years was still young, in his early fifties, when he was diagnosed with cancer. The chemo made him so sick that after a few infusions, he said to Peggy, “If you love me, you’ll let me go.” She loved him enough to let him go, even though more than anything, she wanted him to stay.

I’ve seen this before in my work. I’m a Bereavement Care Specialist with a Ph.D. in psychology and a Fellowship in Thanatology from the Association for Death Education and Counseling. I’ve spent more than forty years working in death, dying, and bereavement.

In Being Mortal, Atul Gawande makes clear that more treatment isn’t the same as quality living. It can extend time and still take the life out of it.

When a doctor tells a patient they have a terminal disease, the patient and family want to know if the doctor can help. The doctor will usually say yes. If the doctor suggests hospice instead, many people become angry and look for someone who will “do something.”

A hematological oncologist once told me that when a patient has only months to live, he tells them the truth. He says, “Get your affairs in order and take that vacation you’ve always wanted.” Often, the patient and family respond with fury, refusing to believe he’s not just giving up.

Most doctors aren’t that direct. They soften the truth to preserve hope. But it’s false hope.

Here’s the problem: many doctors are trained to treat death as failure. So if you ask, “Can you help me,” you’re likely to get the answer you want.

But maybe you’re asking the wrong question.

A better one is: If we go ahead with this treatment, will I get my life back? Will I still be able to do the things that make my life meaningful?

You might say, “I love playing pickleball.” And the doctor may say, “No, you won’t be able to do that.” Or the question might be, “Will I walk again if I have the surgery?” Then you have something real to weigh. You’re not choosing between life and death. You’re choosing between different ways of living the time you have left.

Many people tell their loved one to keep fighting. But what are they fighting for?

I’ve seen what happens when we fight a disease that will eventually win. Each treatment buys a little time, and each time the cost is higher. Harder procedures. More pain. Less of the person they were.

We may think we’re helping when we say “keep fighting,” but we need to ask ourselves: is this for them, or for us?

I’ve witnessed how people will themselves to stay alive long past when they wanted to, long past the pain they could endure, because a family member refused to let go. I understand how hard it is to let go. But each of us gets our own death. We should ask what the other person wants. It’s not fair to ask them to keep fighting when their bodies are breaking down in pain and agony. When it’s our turn, shouldn’t we have the final choice in what the end of our life looks like?

You may be surprised by the choice many doctors make for themselves. Although not a formal study, in his essay “How Doctors Die,” Dr. Ken Murray writes that doctors, having seen what aggressive end-of-life care can do, often say they would choose less or none of it for themselves.

Think about that.

Can we love someone enough to let them go?

Bob and I have talked about this. I know what he would want. I also know I will never want to live without him, but I will honor his wishes when the time comes. He will do the same for me.

The time to have these conversations is not in the middle of a crisis. It’s now.

♥ If this made you think, consider subscribing to The Other Side of Young. I write about life viewed from the perspective of time, and about things other people might not say.