I just finished reading a memoir titled,
"Life's That Way," by Jim Beaver. It is a first hand, real time, account of a year in which his wife of 18+ years was diagnosed with (and subsequently taken by) cancer.
Definitely outside of my comfort zone as far as books go, for several reasons, though namely because it is non-fiction.
At any rate, I found the storytelling heart-wrenchingly beautiful, yet painful at times. Both my grandparents were taken by lung cancer as well. There were times where I had to put the book down and just let the tears fall. Whether overcome by my own grief or from the love story I was reading, who can say.
The element I enjoyed most about this book was the emotions he went through were sometimes exactly what I went through. While I do not know what it is to be in love, I do know what it is to lose someone you love. Yet nearly 3 years removed from my Grandmother's death, I found much comfort in reading Jim's account.
From the sudden diagnosis, to his wife's quick demise, to dealing with another death so close to hers...it was all too familiar. The biggest parallel for me was the way all hell broke loose so rapidly. His wife was diagnosed in October, and was gone by March. My Grandmother was diagnosed in October and gone by Thanksgiving of that same year.
Her death hit me like a Peterbilt. You see, my Grandfather had been diagnosed much earlier that year. There was time to gather information, to start treatment, time to wrap my mind around the idea that I might not have him around much longer. With my Grandmother's sudden diagnosis, there was no time. And me being 1,600 miles away from the people that practically raised me the first decade of my life, in their time of dying, was a hard pill to swallow.
Much like in Jim's memoir, my Grandmother's death hit me 10 times harder than my Grandfather's. (He lost his father 5 months after his wife, but felt that there were no words left unspoken between he and his father.) I felt like I never got the chance to say my goodbyes to my Grandmother, and that is what hurts the most. It still does.
In an effort not to turn into a blubbering mess in front of my computer, I don't want to make this about reliving my Grandparent's death. What I found cathartic about Jim's story is how forward he was about what he was feeling. The memoir is a series of emails he sent to friends and family for a year, keeping them abreast of the situation. There were emails that read exactly like thoughts I'd kept in my own personal journals. How can it be that someone I have never (nor will ever) meet feel the exact same thing that I was feeling?
I wish I were brave enough to be open with the people I hold most dear. I have tried this year to express how I feel, but I can do better. Life is too fragile, too short to be so selfish as to withhold love from the ones I love.
To those of you that I care for (and it's more people than I let on), you are important to me, no matter how infrequently we speak.
For someone who is a self-proclaimed misanthrope, I recommend this book to anyone who is looking for a reason to believe that people are still kind, nurturing, and self-less.
Life's That Way by Jim Beaver. Definitely worth a read.
