The Fear of Death

When you have cancer, the last thing anyone wants to talk to you about is dying. But the fact is this: you are going to die. It might not be today. It might not be from cancer. But there is a 100% chance that it is going to happen.

I have always had an admiration for scary movies and scary books. As a teen, I recall several times I would have my head deeply in the pages of a Stephen King novel and my mom would simply walk into the room and I would scream. Terrified that something from those pages was going to come out and kill me. The fear of death.

As a young adult, my first time living alone, I can remember calling dad at 3am, I hear something in the attic. Something is trying to get in the house. And dad came right over. It was a squirrel. I know he got tired of those calls, and I was trying to be a grown up, so at night when the wind would blow the limbs against the windows I would tell myself It can’t be my time to go, because I’m scared. Growing up in church, I had heard many sermons about dying and how God removes that fear when it is your time to go. So in my mind, being scared was a good thing.  As long as I was scared, I wasn’t going anywhere.

Before cancer, most days I was just going through the motions of life. Work, dinner, sleep, repeat. But something happened when I was diagnosed. I really wanted to live. Not go through the motions, but really live. A real desire to wake up and see the sunrise, to see the sunset, and to cherish and live all the moments in between. To tell my people how much I love them. To see the kids flourish and start their own families. And I was afraid. Afraid I wouldn’t get to do that. Afraid of leaving too soon. Afraid of being sick, of being a burden, of dying.

From the very first day of my diagnosis, I was afraid of dying. I remember celebrating in my heart every time I survived or completed something that could have been life threatening. When I came out of surgery, the first thing in my head was- I made it! After each chemo treatment- I made it! Those days I was able to go to work- I made it!

I had a lot of time to talk to God. I was growing in my spirituality and I was learning. I would find him in odd places and at odd times. I knew I needed him and I knew he could help me. I just really had to let the world go and talk to him. And I learned how to do that.

The chemo assigned to my triple negative breast cancer was brutal. Eight treatments total. Something happened after my 6^th treatment. I was tired. I was weak. Mom was coming over Monday through Friday and sitting with me while Jay was at work. She was a lifesaver. She did this for 20 weeks. Logan was doing good and was away at college, the boys both had careers and were exceling, Jay was busy at work and squeezing in some rounds of golf when he could. Mom was doing good, she had really kicked herself into overdrive to help me. And I was so tired. I realized one day that although I didn’t want to die, I wasn’t afraid anymore. And for the first time in my life I could understand why people give up the fight. I never told anyone about those feelings, mainly because I didn’t want anyone to worry or pity me. But I was really at peace with it.

We had planned a family beach trip to take place a couple of months after my treatments. I began to focus on that trip and visualize the beach, the smell, the wind, the sand. Something to look forward to. I needed that. Something positive to obtain, a goal.

I kept celebrating after each accomplishment…chemo #7 and finally chemo #8, then 26 rounds of radiation. And then, on December 26, 2019, I was done. Surgery and treatments completed. I know that I stared death in the eye during my treatment journey. And I know I won. This round went to me. I may not always be so lucky, but I celebrate the win.

A couple of months later, I was at the beach, Perdido Key, Florida- one of my happy places. With my fat, round, steroid face and my stubbles of hair growing back, my swollen feet and hands distorted with chemo induced neuropathy, and my beautiful family at my side.

On the ride home my mom began texting me about toilet paper shortages and something about a pandemic. By the time we unloaded the car, the country was beginning to unravel. And guess what? I survived that, too.