When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

~ Kahlil Gibran, from"The Prophet"

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Semantics? Perhaps.

We support those whose lives have been 
touched by cancer
is a common phrase used by
cancer societies, foundations and organizations offering assistance.
Touched?

My life was not touched by Erin's cancer diagnosis. I find the word to be much too gentle, too kind, too humane... almost intimate.  Erin certainly felt more than the mere brush of a hand.  A cancer diagnosis brings with it the impact of a hurricane; its winds scatter the debris left by the force that has upended its victim's tidy life, and its torrents of water threaten to drown those of us who work diligently to make headway through the devastation in the aftermath of the upheaval.

Invaded. Assaulted. Broken. Changed.
These feel more accurate.
Touched? I don't think so.
~ ~ ~

This poor mother has lost her child to cancer.
Lost? No.
Erin was taken from me by a disease.
She died. She passed away.

I did not lose my child. I was meticulously conscientious. I understood her diagnosis. I took her to treatments and I gave her treatments. I watched everything.  I saw too much. I followed the instructions of the doctors.  I gave her the correct medication when I was supposed to.  I took her to school. Once she had her license, I leant her my car. She took herself where she needed to go. Out with friends. To radiation. To coach volleyball.  To college. I respected her judgement and I trusted her to be independent yet cautious, but I knew where she was at all times. My instincts told me, even when she was a normal teenager and forgot to call.


I lost carries a connotation of carelessness, a lack of accountability and forgetfulness. I have lost my keys. I've lost phone numbers. I've lost my place in a book and I suppose I've lost my marbles for short periods of time.

But, I was very responsible and always took good care of Erin.
I did not lose her.
How could I possibly lose anything that dear to me?
She died.
~ ~ ~

After a valiant three-year fight, 
Erin Potts lost her battle with cancer.
I personally don't care for the use of lost here either. 
Erin maintained courage, dignity and grace.

Those dying of cancer all have a staggering ability to do just that.
They live with a looming deadline, the unimaginable,
and all the while they enrich the lives of those
who stand with them.
That's not losing, it's rising to another level of being.

Over the course of three years, cancer eventually made its way throughout much of Erin's body. In spite of the attempts of the physical encumbrances to slow her, she persisted on, living until she took her last breath.  She had strong ideas about certain things and made conscious choices until the very end about the way she wanted to live her life.  Her spirit transcended the physical effects of the disease.  We saw her strength outshine her pain. Her smile lit up the room.  She accepted her course and she was the winner.
On the last day, Erin was finally at peace.
She did not lose to cancer.
People who die from cancer are not losers.
~ ~ ~
Semantics? Perhaps.

PS ~ Please click on the comments below, and read the entry written by Barbara about word connotations as they pertain to the subject of suicide. At my first meeting with the TCF group, she shared information about the preferred phraseology concerning her son's death.  Prior to my attendance at group meetings with TCF and due to the fact that my experiences have been limited primarily to the cancer-world, I was naive on many levels about the subject of suicide and about things other families face related to the sudden deaths of their children.  I'm grateful to be enlightened by our group members on an ongoing basis in areas that are foreign to me. Thank you for sharing, Barbara.  As painful as all of this is, we truly do learn from one another's experiences, don't we?
Thank you to Robin as well.

12 comments:

  1. Here, here - I agree with you 100%! Well said.

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  2. I really liked this post! All true. Happy March :)

    Love,
    Liz

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  3. Love this.
    xo
    Eileen~

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  4. Your writing is so amazing Mary! I thought of you this weekend at the Bear Tie Ball...they spoke of a mother "whose child was taken by this terrible disease and the hole in her heart that begins to fill over time but never completely goes away"...but then again, I was with people, who like you, sadly, "get it". Amazing post, just amazing :)

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  5. "Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."

    i love these words of erin's. i think she would love what you wrote here, ever single courageous word.

    i am holding you in my heart of hearts.

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  6. Oh Mary - you do this so well. Semantics indeed. Of course you know we talk in the group about the way people say or phrase things. In my case, the term "committed suicide" is a source of annoyance and is really politically incorrect (although it is used all the time on the TV news and in the press). My son died "by suicide" - he did not "commit" anything - of course that word implies it was a sin (let's not debate that) or a crime (let's not debate that, either - because I don't know what the court appearance would be like, or what the punishment would be). Also heard - the person completed a successful suicide. Oh my - successful? Well, I guess if it was completed, it was successful. Thanks for this one - particularly struck a chord.

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  7. Thank you,Mary and Barbara.Those words never sounded accurate in reference to cancer and death and I appreciate Mary, how you countered those oft repeated but inaccurate phrases.My brother died by suicide at the age of 27 but this is the first I ever heard of another word to use rather than "commit".It gives me a sense of peace.

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  8. Mary, Karen sent me your note about this post. In my Desert Year blog -- http://www.desertyear.blogspot.com -- there is a post, linked in the sidebar, abut language with respect to suicide. It says much of what Barbara says above.

    I've become a little aggressive about telling people that the correct terminology is "died of suicide" or "died by suicide." I am quite sure that my son died of suicide just as someone might died of cancer or heart disease -- that he was completely invaded by something (depression) that overpowered him as surely as cancer invades and overpowers.

    My sad condolences to Barbara and Irene on the deaths of their son and brother.

    Our boys did not "commit" anything.

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  9. Oh, and a couple of other things:

    I agree about the "lost" terminology. Josh used to lose things all the time. (Three retainers in one years @ $600 total, for instance.) We have not carelessly misplaced our child.

    And I despise the battle imagery we use for illness in this culture, with its implication that we must fight and that, if someone dies, it counts as a loss. We live, and we die, and my experience has been that most people who die of cancer and those who love them gain in courage and resiliency and love. Death by cancer is hardly a battle lost.

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  10. Robin, thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts about your son's death. I'm so very sorry for your pain, and I understand and agree with you and Barbara that neither of them "committed" anything. It's a dreadful term to be associated with suicide.

    Oh, Irene. Peace to you, my friend.

    It's all dreadful... and we take a collective deep breath and step out into the world, somehow.

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  11. The post and the the comments continue to remind me of the bottom line, love in what ever way you can! That's the part we leave for others. Erin continues to shine! Snow, kelly green, her smile (like the picture I gave you Mary! An ad for something but that baby sure looked like Erin!) And she shines in YOU. As you continue to do your thing, THAT is her life.

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