ON LOSING MY DAD: WHAT NOT TO SAY

This past Sunday, my dad would have been 63.  Crazy to think of, really.  For the time being, I've sort of run out of new things to say about "waiting" in our adoption, and this post has been brewing in my mind for a long time.  I always intended on including it in this little series on losing my dad.

Other posts in this series:   On Losing My Dad: 10 Years, On Losing My Dad: Legacy, and Remembering My Dad

Cancer.

It's like a bad word.  I remember that saying my dad had cancer was like a freezing wind blowing through any conversation.  That sounds dramatic, but at the time, it really did feel that way.  I went through my dad's entire illness while attending a small, Christian university.  It is a fantastic place that holds many fond memories for me, but in some ways, it was a hard place to go through this.  There was not a lot of anonymity to be had, and because I had shared the story, most people who knew me at all knew that my dad was sick.  (It was also a wonderful place to go through this, because people really did care and really were praying - there are always pros and cons.)

I learned very quickly that people respond all different kinds of ways to news that your dad is sick and may die of cancer.  Some ways are helpful - some are not.  Disclaimer:  By God's grace, I truly do not remember any specific people that said or did any of these things.  It was over 10 years ago.  So, if you are reading this, and you are afraid I am referring to you - I assure you, I am not.  I really don't remember individuals - mostly because I was so self-focused.  Also, it should be noted that people respond differently to having a family member with cancer or going through any sort of stressful situation.  I am writing from my own experiences, and while I think there can be some generalities to take away from this - people all need and want different things while they are grieving.

Here are things that I found very unhelpful, and quite frankly, I would often feel angry about these responses.

-  "Did the doctor tell you how much longer he should live?  Like, how many months?"

-  "Oh, pancreatic cancer.  That is really, really bad.  I knew ______ with that, and they died within a few months.  So sad."

-  I really hated being stopped abruptly when I was going about my daily life, like getting food in the cafeteria for example, and being asked in a deeply sympathetic way with great sadness in the asker's voice, "How's your dad doing?"  Really, I just wanted some ice cream.  I did not want to delve into the hardest thing in my life right at that moment.  Especially with you, dear acquaintance.

-  "I am so sad about your dad."  Cue their tears.  And then I would find myself comforting someone else.  Usually (from my limited and admittedly self-focused perspective), these people were projecting my pain into their lives and imagining how sad it would be to lose one of their own parents.  Not helpful.

-  "God can heal your dad."  I debated on whether or not to include this, because it is theological truth.  God is the Great Physician, and he can certainly heal anyone he chooses to heal.  I believe that with all of my heart.  However, we live in a fallen world where cancer does claim people - even people that we have prayed for and begged to have healed.  I knew that God could heal my dad.  I also knew that there was a strong chance he would choose not to on this side of heaven, and so hearing this felt a bit trite.  His ways are beyond us, and his thoughts are higher than ours.

Here's the reality.  These things all came from very well intentioned people who cared about me, and I had to learn a lot about taking the good intention to heart and not focusing on the sting of the delivery.  One thing specifically comes to mind.  I was given a muumuu that had a poem about "What Cancer Cannot Do" on it.  I personally found it to be cheesy and was also a bit mystified by the choice of a muumuu as the delivery vehicle for the poem.  My roommate and I used this as an opportunity for fun.  We had several of our guy friends take pictures while wearing it when they came and visited our room.

 

I am sure this is not what the giver had in mind, but it turned out to be incredibly funny and served the great purpose of bringing more laughter and light-heartedness into my life.  So for that, I was thankful.

Here are things that were helpful.
-  It was helpful when people knew their level of relationship with me and spoke appropriately to that.  To me that meant that if someone did not know me very well, they would say something like, "I'm so sorry about your dad.  I am/will be/have been praying for you and your family."  And then they left it at that.  It let me know that they were concerned about what was happening but that they weren't asking for voyeuristic details of my pain.  I was always grateful for statements instead of questions with people that didn't know me well.

-  With my good friends, I was so thankful to have safe places to just be myself.  To laugh at things.  To have fun in spite of it all, because I needed laughter and bright places.  My friends really were great through it all.  They gave me hugs and listened when I needed to talk.  They told me they were available, but that they would take my cue, which left me free to live a normal existence even in the midst of a hard time.

-  Prayer.  The power of prayer is invaluable.  Prayer changes things and impacts real situations and real hearts involved in those situations.  I am seeing all over again right now how important prayer is, and when I am going through a rough patch, I want prayer from people I know.  I can also see how important it is to really go before God on behalf of others.  God wants to hear from us, and he wants us to see our need for him in all things.  Prayer does this, and I was always so thankful when I knew people really were praying for our family.

-  Kind notes.  Notes are a wonderful thing, because they reflect caring and concern, but they do not expect or demand a response.  Such a blessing.

-  One really funny thing that a group of friends did was made me a shirt that said, "F*@# Cancer."  Except it really spelled it out.  And though I am not really a cusser by nature, wearing that shirt under sweaters that last winter felt really good.  It acknowledged that cancer is a rough blow, and it is okay to be angry about it.

This was my experience, and I am still learning from it.  I still miss the mark when I encounter people who are grieving, and I know that every person is different.  I hope and pray that God continues to provide his grace to me when I interact with people, both as the comforter and the sufferer.  Pain is not easy to deal with, and I am anxiously awaiting that world without tears that God has promised us one day.  Lord, come quickly.