Page 63 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

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The day after I told Alex that I had been diagnosed with a terminal disease we began to research how teenagers react to the death of a parent, and what he could do to help them get through it.

The prospect was daunting. On the plus side, he wouldn’t have to explain the concept to them. Adolescents understand that dying is a part of life, and they grasp the finality of it. But how they deal with death is wildly unpredictable.

“How did you cope when your mother died?” he asked me. “Did your schoolwork suffer?”

“Not a bit,” I said.

“Did you isolate, get headaches, wet the bed?” he asked, reading from a long list we had compiled from various websites.

“None of the above,” I said.

“Oh, wait, here’s a good one,” he said. “Teenagers may put on a brave front and act out by displaying risk-taking escapist behavior, such as turning to drugs, alcohol, or more sexual contact.”

“Bingo,” I said. “That’s me, the textbook teenage risk-taker.”

“Swell,” he said. “Let’s hope it skips a generation.”

“Hey, so far we’ve amassed thirty-six possible reactions,” I said. “Maybe you’ll get lucky, and they’ll just wet the bed.”

We worked hard getting Alex ready for his role as a single parent to two grieving teenagers. And suddenly, it all fell to me.

Luckily, I had help.

Lizzie was great with Katie. They were two pragmatists in a pod. If they formed a club, their motto would be, I feel terrible. There’s nothing I can do. I’ve got to get on with my life .

My father, despite his outgoing charm and personal charisma, has never been one to dig down deep and get in touch with his feelings, but with Alex gone, Finn stepped up as the male role model in Kevin’s life. They spent hours together, and to his credit Finn did more listening than talking.

And when he did talk, he didn’t try to deconstruct or analyze Alex’s death. He stuck to simple messages. Your father did what he did—there is nothing that you did to cause it, and nothing you could have done to prevent it. He loved you, adored you, cherished you. Your family loves you, and we will always be there for you.

Misty talked to both kids about what it’s like to face the suicide of your father when you’re a teenager, and she stressed the importance of reaching out and asking for help. Wisely, she left out the part about Arnold Sinclair murdering his wife and son before taking his own life.

I did my best to be a touchstone of normalcy in their lives. Even though they spent time getting support from their friends, we ate many of our meals together, and every evening after dinner we would talk.

Their questions were predictable—why did he do it, why didn’t he leave a note, what’s going to happen to our family now that he’s gone?

Esther gave me a crash course in how to respond. “Be honest, acknowledge their feelings, share your own feelings, and reassure them that they are safe.”

“Tell them they’re safe,” I repeated. “So, I guess this would not be the best time to let them know their mother is dying.”

“Good call. It would be even better if you didn’t die at all,” she said, tossing out a typical throwaway Esther Gottleib ad lib. “And hugs. Physical contact is important. Even if they try to shrug it off?—”

I held up my hand. “Would you mind repeating that?” I said.

“I said hug them,” she said.”

“No, before that.”

“I said, ‘It would be even better if you didn’t die at all.’”

“That’s good advice, Esther.”

“‘Don’t die’ is brilliant advice, but it’s not exactly something I can write a scrip for.”

“What about ‘Don’t die so fast’? Could you write a scrip for that?”

“You lost me,” she said.

“When Dr. Byrne gave me the bad news back in June, he tried to convince me to go for chemo, or stem cell, or sign up for a clinical trial, but I said no. All that would do is buy me some time, and having watched my mother I knew it was shit time, and I didn’t want to go through what she went through. I’ve been so locked into my decision that I forgot I had other options.”

Esther leaned forward in her chair. “You would consider chemo?”

“Not then, but now I would. If it could keep me alive for another six months or a year, I’d suffer the indignities of chemo. Kevin and Katie just had one parent taken from them without warning. I can’t ‘ not die ,’ but I think Dr. Byrne can help me postpone the inevitable. That would give the kids a chance to brace themselves and find some stability after losing Alex. What do you think?”

She shook her head. “I think it’s a difficult choice, Maggie. But you know the rules—it’s one you’ll have to make on your own.”