Packing My Invisible Suitcases

Since my brother-in-law’s grim diagnosis that the cancer has spread, he has gone back to work. And not just a nine to five shift.  No, he has submerged himself, literally locked himself in his office to continue working against his doctor’s advice to quit his job and enjoy the last few months given to him. Classic denial.

In grief, denial is a stage we all experience. My brother-in-law could be spending this time writing letters to his wife to receive after he is gone. He could be mending fences with his son. He could be resting in hopes that taking care of his health might grant him extra time. Denial has replaced all these opportunities with the need to work rather than face his sentence. I get it. If he doesn’t think about it, it won’t happen.  If he works hard, time will fly, money will come in, needed money to leave his family. It is almost heroic. It is also small picture. This is the sadness of denial.

I have often said that denial is the stage I could live in. It is a stage that protects my heart from the truth. It is a stage that allows me to ignore my hurt and bask in the concept (the hope) that this is not my reality. The reality that there is nothing you can do to change it. Denial shouts inside of you, “THIS IS NOT HAPPENING” as if this scream could change things.  It is loud and upset with God. It keeps me from looking at the big, ugly picture. This is the anger of denial.

And so, when I watch my brother-in-law, I understand. He is living in the stage I go to when the pain is too much.  I am patient with him. This is something he needs to wallow in; the denial of the truth that he will not grow old with his beloved wife. I get it. I just hope that he wants to examine his reality, if even for a couple moments, to ensure that when the time does come, he is leaving this realm personally satisfied in how he spent his last months. 

I selfishly want him to leave this denial stage for just a bit.  There are so many things I want to talk to him about before he goes. There are questions and shared memories and more laughs I want from him before he goes. Knowing he does not have long, I have invisible suitcases that I want to pack full of memories, conversations, understandings that will sustain me after he is gone.

We are told time is not on our side. Who really knows. Past the denial, he is ultimately aware of this. I must remember, this is his life, his time.  I must respect how he wishes to spend it. So, I pack my invisible suitcases with all the love and fondness and the gratitude I have for him; folded next to all the things I want to say to him. When he is ready, I will open it up and share.  And in the sharing, I hope for more memories with him to add to my suitcases. Alas, if time does not give me this, then I will open my suitcases in ceremony to share with the heavens. And that will have to suffice.