Sort of, Kris. Mainly, it’s about what I’ve learned about myself and my extended family over the last few days. It’s a kind of existential dilemma–but one I think I’ve answered for myself–I hope.
My sister has metastasized cancer. She’s dying. Last week, another sister called to say our sister awoke at 3:30 am in terrible pain and was now on morphine and had only a week or two to live. Her children were, understandably, practically hysterical. My husband and I went down the next day to see what was being done and to see if there was anything we could help with. So far, so good.
People were invading the house–visiting nurses, hired caregivers, family. She had no will, so one was drawn up quickly by my older brother and my niece’s divorce lawyer, signed, notarized, and filed in a day and a half. A day-time caregiver arrived and announced she’d brought her own food–which she began to eat. My sister’s youngest, my nephew, cornered anyone he could to say his mother should be taken off the morphine. It was crazy! It was understandable.
I stayed up all night playing solitaire at the dining room table. If my sister died during the night, I didn’t want her to be alone–her family had either left or had gone to bed. M. spent a comfortable night, so I went home the next day. When I went back this past Sun., I was told to leave. M.'s family didn’t want me–or anyone else–around. Only one thing–M. had said I was welcome any time. She asked for me, when she learned I was there, and we had a nice, quiet, conversation before I left. M. texts me when she wakes in the morning so I know she’s made it through the night.
I spent Mon. thinking about what had gone on over the past week and came to the conclusion that it was all more a comedy of errors than anything else. This may be my own denial, but I don’t think so–at least, not all of it.
We all have a certain amount of ‘essence of drama’ --my family and I perhaps more than most. My older niece posts updates about her Mom on FaceBook, for goodness sake! My nephew alternates between crying on my shoulder and ordering me out of the house so his Mother can die in peace. The middle child, pregnant with her second child, has tried to maintain some sort of sanity in the midst of the chaos.
Enough venting. The question is, “Can people die of being loved too much?”
Willie Loman loved his family. He also realized he was an utter failure in life, as were his family members. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used him as a literary example, except he was so conflicted. My sister’s family is also conflicted: do they do what they can to prolong their Mother’s life or do they “do” things just to be doing them and to give them purpose? Do they love their Mom, or do they love themselves? This is the existential dilemma, to me. And it’s probably an unfair set of questions because the answer is the same. Yes.
Remember, in Little Big Man, how the old Chief went up to the mountain top to die, but came back down because it wasn’t his time yet? I don’t think it’s M.s time to die yet. All her symptoms point to gastric problems which have since been exacerbated by a lack of treatment. She isn’t being given the proper ‘binding’ foods, her strength is being sapped by diarrhea and everyone’s acceptance of her coming death from cancer. Is she in danger of dying because of those treatable medical problems or because her children love her too much?
I don’t need to know anyone’s motivation. I want to abstract, to question, and, hopefully, to understand it all to the best of my ability.
Please remember what the thread is about if you decide to reply. It really isn’t about me. It’s living philosophy as you understand philosophy. 
