“There is always time to repent, even after death,” he finally said. “But more importantly, God loves us, and He does not want us to suffer.”
The lump in my throat swelled. I closed my eyes, saying a silent prayer. Asking a million questions and begging for one answer—why? Why me, and why at only twenty-eight years old? Why couldn’t I have my happily-ever-after with Kyle and our future family?
Why, God…why?
Sniffing back tears, I tried to get out my final question, cracked and broken. “If He doesn’t want suffering, why is He letting me suffer now?”
Father Jack sighed again. I could feel his anguish mixing with my own. “I wish I knew, dear child. I wish I knew. All I do know is whatever you decide, He loves you. That will not change.”
He loves me. That will not change.
I thanked Father Jack and left the confessional booth with a stack of reading materials and verses from him. Returning to my car, I sat in the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. I went to turn it but couldn’t bring myself to actually make the move. Instead, I just sat there, staring at the steering wheel and letting tears cascade down my cheeks.
Opening the piece of folded paper Father Jack had given me, I turned to the first verse in the Bible that he had scrawled out that he wanted me to read. I opened the Bible app on my phone that was mostly there for decorative purposes—I admittedly didn’t read it nearly enough—and looked it up.
For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Romans 8:38-39]
Something clicked in my heart and the tears poured even harder than before. He loves me. That will not change. The Bible tells me so. It’s written right there in black and white.
He loves me. That will not change.
I knew without a doubt what I wanted to do now.
I was just so damn terrified to do it.
Chapter Seventeen
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
* * *
Beast was the only one in the house when I returned home from my “confession” with Father Jack. He greeted me at the door, tail wagging, and rolled onto his back, presenting me with his belly to scratch. Too exhausted to bend, I rubbed him with my foot for a minute before heading into the kitchen.
My stomach growled slightly, but my throat felt sore from crying so much earlier. After I’d left church, I’d sobbed in my car for what felt like hours. There was sadness, there was frustration, but the majority of my tears were relief.
I had made my decision.
I would die, and there’s nothing I could do about the end result, but how I got there was in my control. The idea of being a slave to my own body, unable to move or breathe on my own, was terrifying. Losing the ability to see my loved ones, gripping seizures...I could choose differently.
I could choose when I would die, and who would be there. I didn’t have to go out alone like my mother, her husband at work and her children with the sitter. I could squeeze their hands and say goodbye, and, for me, that’s the right decision.
Dreading this choice, I’d thought it would feel like giving up, but it didn’t. It felt like taking charge. It didn’t feel like a sin. It felt powerful, calming, and even healing.
“Hungry, sunshine?”
I startled, turning toward the kitchen entrance to see my dad with a white paper bag, smiling at me. “Hey, Dad. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Lost in thought, huh? Come on, sit down. I got us some broccoli and cheddar soup from the deli on the corner.”
“Sounds perfect.” He dished out two servings into glass bowls and placed them both on the table, then joined me. The aroma made my stomach growl eagerly. “Thank you, Dad.”
He waved his hand like it was no big deal. “Don’t worry about it. So, what’d you do today?”
I swallowed my first bite, relishing the creamy taste. “I went to church.”
He paused, a spoonful of soup midway to his mouth. “Church?”
I smiled, understanding his surprise. “Yep, church. I came to a decision. I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks, but I know for sure now. It’s what I want to do.”
“You know I’ll support you in anything, sunshine,” he assured me, placing his hand on my forearm before returning to his soup.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied and looked him in the eyes. “I want to move to Vermont.”
“What?” His brows lifted almost to his hairline as his spoon paused mid-air again. “Tessa, why on earth would you want to move now? And Vermont?”
“Vermont is the closest state to us with the Death with Dignity act. A doctor will prescribe me medication to help me...” I paused, still unsure of how to phrase it. “I want medication to help me die.”
Dad’s spoon fell to the table with a clatter, droplets of creamy soup splattering against the table top. “What the fuck?”
I dropped my hands to my lap, fidgeting and looking down at my soup, steam still billowing. His response unarmed me, my nerve gone.
My dad stood and walked over to the counter, grabbing paper towels and returning to wipe up his mess. “Sorry, Tessy. Caught me a little off guard with that, but I’m digesting it. I’m…I’m digesting it.” He sat down after the table was cleaned, and rested his chin on his hands. “So, you have to move to Vermont for this? Nothing closer?”
I shook my head. “It’s not allowed everywhere—only in three states.”
“That seems odd. Politics for you, huh? Always trying to tell us what to do with our own bodies.” He returned to eating his soup with a shrug. “Bunch of criminals, if you ask me.”
“You’re not mad?” I asked, surprised by the quick shift from shock to lunch.
“I’m far too old to be taking politics personally anymore, sunshine.”
“Not that. I meant, my decision. About the medication…about dying.”
His hand squeezed my forearm again. “Tessy, a few months ago, all I wanted was for you to have the family of your dreams. A month ago, all I wanted was for that tumor to shrink. But today? All I want is for you to live the rest of your days without pain and with as much happiness as possible. When life says you can’t have your dreams, you don’t give up, you just pick a different dream.”
My chest swelled with pride at being his daughter. Kind blue eyes smiled back at me. There was pain in his expression—an overwhelming amount of pain—but something else was there, too, and so much stronger. He loved me enough to let me make the right decision for me.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, my voice small and childlike.
“Nothing to thank, baby girl.” He fidgeted with a napkin for a moment. “Can I ask you one question, though?”
“Of course.”
“If you do move and get the medication…” he glanced at the floor as he trailed off, then he took a deep breath and raised his eyes, not quite meeting mine. “If you do this, when is it going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” I told him, honestly. “Not soon. I’ll wait as long as I can. A few months, maybe?”
He nodded thoughtfully, still not meeting my gaze. “I don’t like this, but I’ll support anything you want, sunshine.”
I sniffed back tears and stared down at my soup. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Like I said, nothing to thank. Plus, I’m not the one you need to convince. Kyle’s not going to like this, and don’t get me started on your sister.”
Kyle walked into the kitchen and dropped a few grocery bags on the counter, catching the tail end of my dad’s rant. “What am I not going to like?”
Standing, my dad picked up his bowl. “I’m going to go eat out on the porch.”
I frowned. Elly would definitely hate it, mainly because she hated the idea of me dying. To her, this would be me stealing more time from her. She’d struggle to understand I don’t want her last memories to be of me unconscious in
a hospital bed. But Kyle? I had no idea how he’d react. We’d already barely been talking because of my decision to stop treatment. Now I wanted to end my life.
Honestly, I might be ending my marriage.
“Okay, I’m getting nervous now.” Kyle frowned and looked between me at the table and my dad’s retreating figure. “What’s going on, Tessa?”
I told him everything.
He sat staring at me intently as I explained everything; the move, the medication, the priest, the doctor, every last ounce of thought I’d put into making this decision. I laid it all out for him and begged him to understand.
Kyle’s green eyes stared back at me, incredulously. He shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what he had heard. Then in an abrupt move, he stood up from the table and slapped his palm against its surface.
I jumped in reaction. It wasn’t frightening, but it was loud.
“Not a chance,” he said firmly between gritted teeth. “This isn’t a game, Tessa. This is your life. No, it’s our life. You can’t just make such a rash decision like this when it affects so many other people.”
“It’s not rash—” I began.
He shook his head again, cutting me off. “Tessa, you can’t be serious.”
“I’ve spent the last month thinking about it, Kyle. I’ve prayed about it, talked to multiple doctors, and researched the hell out of it.” I kept my eyes locked on his. “I’ve decided.”
Guilt swarmed in my gut and I felt like the world’s biggest bitch. Doubt crept through me and I swallowed hard, trying to remind myself why I’d made this decision in the first place. It was for them. So they wouldn’t see me suffer. So they wouldn’t stand by my side for hours, days, weeks, months watching me waste away into nothing. I didn’t want that for them as much as I didn’t want that for me.
Kyle stepped away from me, turning to face the counter. His palms on the granite, his chin against his chest, his shoulders trembling as a sob left his throat. “You can’t kill yourself, Tessa.” His face hidden, his voice strangled. “You can’t.”
“I’m already dying.” My voice dropped to a whisper. I wrapped my arms around my own waist in a much-needed hug. “It’s already happening.”
He shook his head and turned for the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, wanting to reach for him but frozen in place.
He paused in the doorway and ran the palms of his hands across his face and over the top of his head.
“We need to talk, Kyle.” I stood to follow him, my limbs feeling weak. The fight already leaving me.
His hand on the doorknob, he looked back at me, but his eyes never actually met mine. “I can’t even look at you right now, Tessa.”
With that, he left.
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
* * *
“I get it, Tessa. You want to take control of what’s happening.” Elly sighed into the other end of the phone, sniffling intermittently. “But have you tried everything?”
She emphasized the last word so strongly, I felt her desperation through the phone.
“You heard the doctors, Elly.” I looked at my feet where Beast had curled on the end of the bed, covering my toes. Kyle’s spot was empty. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fall asleep without him there. “There’s no miracle coming.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t know,” Elly immediately interjected. She was so young—bad things don’t happen to good people, and death can be defeated. “There could be new breakthroughs in oncology, and if you took those pills, you’d miss it.”
“Elly,” I started, the most confident tone I could muster. “I’m okay with what’s happening.” That wasn’t entirely true. “Or at least, I will be. I’m trying to be. Death comes for everybody at some point.”
“You’re twenty-eight,” she reminded me. “You’re supposed to have another sixty years. I’m supposed to have another sixty years with my sister.”
“I know, baby girl,” I said, sighing. “I wanted that, too. At least this way I have time to enjoy the end, say my goodbyes? That’s certainly better than being hit by a bus and it all being over in an instant.”
She groaned. “If those are my only two options, that’s pretty shitty.”
I chuckled, pulling my sweater tighter around me.
“Let’s talk about something else. This is just… it’s too early,” Elly said. “Is Kyle home yet?”
I looked toward my bedroom door, as if he’d burst through. Fiddling with the edge of the blankets, I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head. “Not yet. He’s not answering his phone either. I have no idea where he is, or when he’s coming home.”
“I’m sure he’s on his way. He probably needed a walk to clear his head.”
“An eight-hour walk? I’m sure.” Sarcasm dripped from my lips. I was angry. I was really fucking angry he’d made this all about him when I was the one going through the worst of it. Hell, he’d made the last few weeks about him with his stony silence. I wanted to be understanding because I knew this was hard for everyone, but I was angry. And, damn it, I had a right to be.
“You okay?” Elly asked after a moment of silence passed between us.
“I’m a little ticked off, honestly. I’m not trying to be selfish, but I needed his support, or at least his understanding, or willingness, to talk it through with me,” I confessed. “For him to up and disappear for hours without telling me where he’s going, or if he’s coming back... it’s mean.”
“I don’t think he’s trying to be mean…” Elly started. I recognized the tone she gets when she’s about to launch into a lecture, which I always found funny coming from my little sister. “There’s no manual on how to behave when you get news like this. He married you expecting more than half a century together, and he barely got a few years. Then you tell us you want to die even earlier than you would have. I’d be angry if I were him. Hell, I am angry and I’m not him. This isn’t fair. None of it is.”
I let a beat of silence pass before I answered. I know she’s right, because I felt the same way they did. I wanted half a century with my husband, a lifetime with my sister. I wanted all of that, but I didn’t have a choice. And in the midst of it all, they got to point their frustrations at me, when I’ve nowhere to point mine. Cancer was the enemy, and, yet, I seemed to be the only one to remember. “You’re right, Elly. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”
“Definitely. Don’t wait up for him though, it’s already pretty late. You need sleep.”
“I won’t. Not sure I could, even if I wanted to. My energy level is not what it used to be.”
There was a heavy pause from her. “I was going to say feel better, but...”
“You can still say it,” I assured her. “Just because I’m not getting better doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel it.”
“Okay. Feel better, Tessa.”
“Thanks, baby girl.”
We said our good nights and then hung up the phone. Reaching down, I lifted Beast and brought him to my chest. Pressing my face into his soft fur, I cuddled him. He squirmed and fought me, pulling away and burrowing his way under the blankets.
Sighing, I turned off the bedside lamp. Grabbing my pillbox and glass off the nightstand, I dumped tonight’s medication into my hand and swallowed them with a gulp of water. I’d become a pro at it now. Months ago, I’d barely taken multivitamins because swallowing seemed impossible. I panicked and gagged up the soggy pills every time. Now, I took a handful at once without a second thought.
Tucking myself into the blankets and hugging my pillow, I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come. Every part of me was exhausted, craving the relief sleep could provide. But my body resisted. I lay there for minutes, or hours—I couldn’t be sure after a while. My mind circled everything from the past few months, how much my life had changed, how much it still would.
Until my diagnosis, I’d never talked much about death. My mother had died, but it wasn’t a topic
we brought up often as a family. It hurt my dad too much to mention her, so Elly and I avoided the topic. Soon it was like she’d never existed. The few memories I have of her are fuzzy and warm, but so far away, as if I have to wade through my mind to find them.
I wonder if that will happen to me.
If in ten years, I’ll be a faded memory in Kyle’s mind. Just a woman he once kissed, once loved, once married. If I’ll be the sister Elly once trusted, once adored, once looked up to. The reality was they would live longer without me than they ever did with me.
Fear gripped me—not at the thought of dying, but of being forgotten.
Maybe that’s why I wanted to write this book. Maybe it’s why I wanted to leave something behind to remind people I was here, I mattered…once.
A creaking sound from behind startled me as a sliver of light fell across my arm. “Are you still awake?” Kyle’s voice was husky and low; the way it always was when he’d been drinking.
“Yeah,” I whispered, not turning to look at him.
I didn’t know what I was feeling—angry, hurt, embarrassed. It just felt safer not to make eye contact. I felt exposed and vulnerable, and that’s not usually who I was, or who I wanted to be, even in the little time I had left.
The bed shifted behind me and a breeze hit my shoulders as the cover lifted enough for him to crawl under. The smell of whiskey tickled my nose when he pressed his body against my back, his arm around my waist. A wave of nausea rolled through me, but I pushed it down. My sense of smell had become so sensitive during treatment that anything strong left me feeling sick.
Kyle didn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he sighed deeply, his breath hitting the top of my fuzzy scalp. “I’m sorry, Tessa.”
“Never be sorry for what you feel,” I replied, not really meaning it.
“Well, I am sorry for how I reacted, and for the things I said. For how I’ve been acting the last few weeks. I was cruel, and no matter how I feel, there’s no excuse for that.” His words were ever so slightly slurred, but the anguish in his tone was unmistakable.
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