From: Dr. D. Kossove <doctordee@wandata.com>
To: Keith Symcox <keith-symcox@utulsa.edu>
Subject: 
Date: Monday, June 03, 2002 11:07 AM

Date:    Sun, 2 Jun 2002 20:11:27 -0500
From:    Keith Symcox <keith-symcox@UTULSA.EDU>
Subject: Michael G.

Dear Michael,

Your post about grief has greatly touched me.  I want to say something
to you that will be like a little band aid for your broken heart.  But
the fact of the matter is that you know more than I do about about the
journey of cancer.  Your family crossed the threshold of death, while
mine has not.

I have gleaned from this list over the years, that our personal problems
are not unique.  What you said about grieving for two years and cancer
being a slow insidious decline resonated with me.  I understand about
grieving for years.  I grieved non-stop until I became too ill to do
anything but take sedatives and sleep.  Then I was numb and stoned, but
not at peace.   But, I think there is a better way to view the
experience. (see below).

Cancer is a crab.  Cancer forces you to stare into the firing squad for
months on end.  Have you read Tuesdays with Morrie?  Morrie prized his
slow death with ALS.  He said it gave him plenty of time to resolve end
of life issues, and that a slow death was an opportunity to mend fences
and make peace with the universe.  He pitied those who died a quick
death because they did not have time to make their peace and relish
their own mortality as if mortality were a gift.  Morrie was pretty
special.  Probably there are instances with Melinda's slow decline that
brought you the opportunities about which Morrie speaks.  Perhaps they
are needles in a hay stack or flecks of gold in a river of despair.  But
I bet that they are there.  Mine for them.  Cultivate them and highlight
them.  Mount them in trophies and admire them daily.  They will ease
your pain.

I want to free you somehow from your guilt.  Don't be guilty that you
stayed up at night researching cancer rather than going to bed with her.
 Melinda doesn't want you to feel guilty.  The truth is that that little
bit of extra time would not have satisfied you.  Her life was too short,
plain and simple.  You would be craving more time today even if you had
been with her every second.  Only when we live a long full life, do we
feel that we have had a satisfying serving of life or "our fair share."
 And even then, some 95 yr. old people yearn for more.  What if you had
not spent the time researching cancer?  I suggest that today you would
be feeling guilty that you had not done enough for her.  You would be
flogging yourself that perhaps you would have found a cure/treatment if
only you had looked harder and longer.   Release yourself from regrets.
 I've discovered for myself that if you are given a second opportunity
to do things over...you don't do things differently.  You act the same
as you did the first go around...that is because what you did the first
time was mostly reasonable given the context of the circumstances.

Below is something that I wrote to Doreen Fattore a few months ago. She
too was ridden with guilt about Carmine.  I took these same words and
replaced the names with Melinda and Michael.  The advice is good for you
too.  It was good for Doreen.  Our experiences are mostly all the same.
 We continuously re-invent the emotional wheel.

Michael, get yourself a copy of Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for
Meaning.  If you can find a purpose or meaning in Melinda's death, then
your grief will be soothed.  Can you do something pro-active today that
you could not have done before Melinda was diagnosed?  I bet the answer
is yes.  You have to find it.

Marina

What would Melinda say to you if she telephoned tomorrow?  I think that
she would say something like she was sorry that the hard part of death was
now on your shoulders. She would ask you to carefully select the issues
for which you must grieve, and he would ask you to discard some of others into the wind
as dust.  You must reserve a certain amount of your heart
for living.  Above all things, Melinda wants you to be 'okay.'  You can
not be 'okay' if you overwhelm yourself with guilt over matters that are
unworthy of your tears. Melinda would say, "Grieve to cleanse your
soul, but don't grieve to punish it or to break it.  Find one thing to
laugh about today, and laugh with a warm heart and a free spirit.  Then
go out into the world and live, live for both of us."  That Michael, is
what Melinda would say to you.

I have a favorite quote from Anna Quindlen, who writes about her
mother's ovarian cancer:
"'Before' and 'after' for me was not just before my mother's illness and
after her death.  It was the dividing line between seeing the world in
black and white, and in Technicolor.  The lights came on, for the
darkest possible reason."   I saw the Technicolor for a couple of
years.  It is very bright, and sometimes overwhelming.  Then Gleevec
came along, and I lost the color.  I now see the world in black and
white, as do the vast majority of people whom I know.   Technicolor
renders a person hypersensitive to human conflicts and sorrows.  From
your posts, I believe that you are blinded and disoriented with
Technicolor.  You are grieving over issues for which individuals with
black and white vision don't even see or at least, don't worry too much
about.   I don't think that a person ever learns how to harness the
Technicolor.  Its not something to which a person can adapt, rather like
staring directly into the sun.  Instead, the dazzling brilliance of
Technicolor, which stings the eyes of your soul, will fade gradually
into soothing black and white.


>> For the record everyone, in the end I was cranky, scared, angry and so
>> very tired.  I fought with Carmine far more than I should have
>

The EXACT same thing was happening at my house.  Most of it was a
reaction to the unbelievable stress and despair of a slow death, day in
and day out for months, no relief, and no happy ending in sight.  But
some element of it was a most natural reaction of pushing each other
away as we anticipated splitting up, the winding down of our long
relationship, a preparation for our ultimate separation, each of us
retreating to our private spheres of isolation.  Forgive yourself, and
accept that your experience is common.

At my house, we are in a unique
position of getting to do it (the hospice thing) all over again, if
gleevec fails.  I understand so clearly that the crankiness and anger is
completely natural, and I fully anticipate that if I enter hospice
again, we will repeat the same pattern.  As for your comment about SAY
MORE NOW...honestly human nature doesn't work that way.  The SAY MORE
NOW state of mind requires the stinging and dazzling intensity of
Technicolor awareness.  At my house, we have the opportunity to SAY MORE
NOW...and gosh, we don't.  We have slipped back into complacent black
and white vision, and frankly we are content and calm.  That is just
human nature.  Don't beat yourself up over the SAY MORE NOW issues.  If
you had to do over, you still wouldn't SAY MORE NOW.   Throw this issue
into the wind.


>>All,
>>Thank you all for the support that you have shown both me and my late
>>wife Melinda Geurtjens.
>>
>>Since Melindas death last month I have been trying to work my way
>>through the grief process.  I have looked back at all the good times and
>>the bad times and have drawn conclusions from that.
>>
>>My advice to carers is to enjoy the remaining time you have with your
>>partner.  Talk about those things you want to take about and don't be
>>afraid to talk about their wishes after they are gone.  To put it more
>>bluntly, talk about their impending death if they want to.
>>
>>I always put off this conversation, opting to talk about when the cure
>>is found or what we will do in ten years.  I continued to talk about
>>this when the cancer was now in every organ of her body, refusing to
>>face the truth.  I should have read more on palliative care.
>>
>>My regret was not going to bed when she went to bed but instead
>>researching.  Now I realize it was my way of coping with what could be
>>seen as a hopeless situation.  If I had my time over again I would have
>>spent less time researching and more time laughing, having fun and being
>>with her.
>>
>>Cancer is a slow deteriorating illness.  She didn't just die, she slowly
>>got weaker, had less energy.  Grief began upon diagnosis two years ago,
>>grief continued in the potentiality of loss each time she got sick and
>>the grieving process really kicked in after she died.  Grief is alive
>>and well in my life today.
>>
>>The memories of those last moments of her life continue to replay in my
>>mind, blocking out most other memories.
>>
>>Now I am left empty, regretful and very very sad.
>>
>>Michael.
>>
>>-
>>

 