will happen when it happens,’ he nodded.
I waited to see if there was more, or whether Daniel would close the conversation. He might have used up all his extra energy for the day, and he still had to drive home.
His voice had become subdued. ‘I just hate all the pressure to have to will this cancer away with my mind. The stress comes from all those books Lin keeps leaving by my bed, the ones that tell me that my mind is stronger than the cancer. If I could do that, I would have already done it, right? Of course I want to live, but this cancer has got the better of me.’ He paused, as though an unbidden thought was pushing up against him. ‘This is not my fault is it, Janie, getting cancer?’
‘Of course it’s not your fault,’ I said, with a vehemence that surprised me. ‘Life deals us this stuff and then we have to handle it, and how we do that affects not just our own life but the lives of all the people we love, into the next generation and the next. If you can find compassion for yourself, Daniel, then your daughters will learn from you. Your dignity and self-respect will accompany them throughout their lives.’ I felt the warmth of emotion build up behind my eyes at the thought of his daughters growing up without this fine man.
Daniel had perked up, sitting taller, as though his hope was being redefined. Instead of hoping for survival, he could hope for continued meaningful moments with his family, for as long as possible.
‘Perhaps we should check on Emily?’ Daniel suggested. I stood up and opened the door to the waiting room. Emily looked up expectantly.
She entered the counselling room and plonked herself down on the couch close to her dad and looked at me with wide eyes.
‘What were you and Daddy talking about?’ she asked.
I looked at Daniel to determine if he wanted to speak. He nodded at me to respond.
‘Your daddy and I were talking about what it’s like to be sick.’
Emily looked up at her dad. His eyes were moist.
‘Do you know what’s going on with your daddy?’ I asked.
‘Yes, he has cancer, and he’s going to die,’ Emily said, matter-of-factly.
I raised my eyes to the maple outside, to seek brief solace from the heartbreak of the moment, and I noticed the new tender leaves shivering in the April breeze. When I looked at Daniel, a plea for help radiated from his eyes.
I took his cue and responded. ‘It will be very sad for you and your mommy, and for your sister, won’t it, when Daddy dies?’ I said. Choosing to be honest in a situation like this feels like jumping into an abyss.
‘Yes, it will,’ she said. ‘Daddy, I don’t want you to die.’
She looked up at him and Daniel reached out with both arms and drew her in against his frail body. Witnessing the intimacy of father and daughter took me to my own father dying, and to all the daughters and sons who must say goodbye to parents too soon. I felt oddly comforted by remembering my father’s love and the deep ache of my own loss.
Daniel whispered into Emily’s ear. ‘I’ll always love you, Em, no matter whether I’m here or not. Will you remember that?’ Her head acknowledged his question with a slight nod. Daniel continued, ‘I would move a mountain or drink the whole ocean or never eat another candy if it meant I could stay here and be your dad.’
‘Would you eat Muffy’s cat food?’ Emily looked up with a mischievous smile.
‘I most certainly would,’ he said.
Emily smacked her lips together in satisfaction. ‘Good.’
I leaned towards her. ‘Sometimes it can help to talk about the things you’re going to miss when Daddy dies, because they become the happy memories that can help you feel better when you’re sad,’ I said.
Emily’s eyes lit up. ‘I’d like to talk about those things.’
‘Maybe you and Daddy can make a memory box together? First, you remember all the things you love about Daddy, and then you find something at home or make something to put in the box to remind you of that special memory. We could start talking about the memories today, and then when you go home, perhaps you and Claire can finish the memory box together, with your dad?’
Emily nodded with enthusiasm.
‘What is one thing you love about Daddy?’ I asked.
Without any hesitation she answered, ‘I love Daddy’s kisses.’ She smiled up at him.
‘Of course you do,’ I said. ‘How do you think we could put Daddy’s kisses in the memory box, so that you can pull one out when you want to remember?’
‘I know,’ she said, excitedly. ‘I could put Mommy’s lipstick on Daddy and then he could kiss pieces of paper and then we could put them in the box.’ She giggled.
Daniel and I looked at one another with raised eyebrows. Creativity had wrapped the pain of imminent loss in delight. His kisses would survive long after he was gone.
‘Daddy, what do you think? Will you do it?’ Emily asked.
‘Of course,’ Daniel said.
We talked then about other ideas for objects to go in the memory box. Children sometimes choose favourite photographs from vacations or celebrations, or saved letters or cards written from one to the other. Some parents write letters to their children or make audiotapes or videos of them reading favourite stories. Children might pick items of clothing, or jewellery, or objects from nature like shells or rocks collected from a special beach. They might paint and decorate the memory box together.
‘Will you bring your memory box to show me next time you come?’ I asked Emily. She nodded.
Children need to make preparations, too.
Lin asked her daughters if they wanted to see their dad after he died and they both said they did. Daniel had been admitted to hospital suddenly one day when his pain had escalated and he died forty-eight hours later, from what the doctor thought was likely a blood clot. Lin thought the girls might want to do something special for their dad, and she left it up to them to decide what they wanted that to be.
Emily asked Lin if she and her sister Claire could take all the petals off the flowers in the vases along the window ledge, and she had agreed. The girls then slowly and carefully pulled the petals off each flower and piled them up on the tray table next to the bed. There were tulips and lilies, anemones and roses, petals of all sizes and colours, and some that still held fragrance. The girls carefully overlapped the petals, one at a time, and shaped them into the words ‘WE LOVE YOU DADDY’ on top of the white blanket covering Daniel’s lifeless body. All the while they did this, they chatted to him, telling him the stories they would never forget.
3
RACHEL: Pod of Orcas
Rachel asked me to check the small lump on her inner right thigh, just above her knee.
‘It feels like a cyst,’ I said, my fingers palpating the interloper just under the surface of Rachel’s skin. I didn’t think
