Cancer

Life

The first time he had an incident, his wife was terrified. Rushing him off to the hospital, checking up on him with a litany of medical tests. He was an old and stubborn man but he sucked up his pride, letting the doctors perform all their different diagnostic techniques and allowing them to find their verdicts.

Cancer. It was an interesting enough word. Two syllables capable of completely upending his life, throwing his mind into turbulent waves of thought. What would he do? What could he do? Why was he the one this had to happen to?

But of course, life kicked him in the teeth again and again. A stroke-like event the doctors called it. It left him delirious and drifting in and out of lucidity through the days. Eventually the decision was mad and he was transported back to his home, deemed to have such little chance of survival that it was simply kinder to move him back to his own house, the comforts of home allowing him to have a gentler passing.

His wife, understandably, was crushed emotionally. She wasn't strong enough for this, she'd spent fifty years with this man only to watch him slowly waste away before her eyes. In the front room of their house, she had assembled a sofa-bed which took up a majority of the space in the room. He was placed there and wallowed around in his sadness and delirium, only broken up by the brief periods of brutally, painfully clear sanity. There were days taken up by staring upwards at the ceiling. This was barely an existence worth living.

One particularly brutal day, he tossed and turned, agonising thoughts circling around his mind. How was he supposed to work if he couldn't move? His family was large, he couldn't simply sit around and practically bleed money. It was a difficult time and he needed the money that was floating ever further out of reach. He gently flopped onto his side, letting his distressed eyes meet the sitting form of his wife. She was sitting down, slumped down into a chair that was placed at his bedside. He just couldn't understand how she remained so calm, surely she was having issues even being able to buy food or pay their various bills.

She met his eyes, letting out a choking sob before letting out a few strings of words. He didn't understand what she was talking about. He couldn't understand the information she was telling him. He was stuck in bed, weeks of time flying past him and his wife seemed delusional. How could he sit back and accept that he was wrong, that he wasn't still working as a chimney sweep for his family, that sixty or so years had apparently passed him by without him knowing.His wife spent the evening crying.

Days later, during a period of time where he could actually comprehend the goings on of daily life, his family began trickling in for visits. His youngest daughter lived the closest, visited the most, and brought his grandchildren to visit occasionally. He was trapped in his own mind at this point, rarely ever even being able to choke out more than a few words. Death seemed to loom over him, an obvious and conspicuous demonic companion clinging to his every waking hour. This didn't qualify as life.

His daughter walked into the room. He angled his head slightly and made eye contact with her before trying to bite out a greeting and a small smile. She took her seat down in the nearby chair and tried to begin a small conversation. Taking the role of the main speaker, she told him of her time since she last saw him, of her work and of her children. He wanted to speak back but was content in his time with her, staving off the boredom was a major task for him at this point in time, even with the TV and his wife being near constant companions. His daughter continued her long and winding story before eventually faltering to a finish. She inhaled roughly before leaning over him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders and standing. She stood and moved to the door before halting for a second. He stared up at her, arms too weak to reach out to her, and his thoughts went wild. He didn't want to go back to being alone here, stuck in his coffin of a bed.

"Goodbye, dad..."

He sat there, lying in his tomb for days on end, alone with his thoughts. How long would he be stuck like this? His sadness drove him further into the melancholy that consumed him constantly. Every day was monotonous torture, each blending together in their similarity. He was confident that even if he could talk properly, he'd find it incredibly difficult to even keep track of the date or distinguish each day. Even when he was lucid, he felt unhappy and had issues with just making the time pass. He didn't think growing old would be quite this hard.

He was glad that at the very least, he'd written his will years ago. A simple thing, detailing the wishes for his passing and the dissemination of his possessions. The morbidity of his thoughts led him onward, down through his ever increasing negative spiral. He obviously didn't have much longer left, even his room was filling with a rancid smell but he sat there and hung on, desperately clinging to the life that'd been his for the last eighty years.  At the very least, he supposed, he'd get the funeral he desired.

His grand-nephew came to visit a few weeks after this had all started. He was glad to see him, it had been such a long time after all. It was different this time though, the usually buoyant and talkative man seemed sombre and quiet. He sat back in the chair and simply stared, crestfallen. Gathering some of his remaining strength he gently raised his arm up and moved it off to his nephew. His nephew smiled slightly, holding his hand before getting up. He walked away, closing the door behind him and cloaking the room back into darkness. Even if he didn't get the conversation he would've liked, it at least was some interaction. 

The day later, he was confused by his wife's enquiry. He didn't remember his grandson visiting but he simply chalked it up to bad memory and illness clouding his memory.

 That day, his wife stuck by him, almost mimicking glue. He took this time to examine her, letting his eyes roam and trace the deepening wrinkles, tracking her slowing movements. He tried to hold her hand that day but he lacked the strength to even raise his arm the distance to pass the armrest of the chair. His wife leaned down and clasped his hand within her own and simply sat there for a time. When she finally hungered, she began get up. He watched her struggle to stand upright, exhaling raggedly and slowly stretching out. He remained in his bed but delved ever deeper into his sadness. He couldn't help her now.

As it always did, time passed, marching forward. For him, that day actually seemed rather good. He still couldn't chew out of the words he wanted to but he was happy for once, and that alone made it a rather brilliant day in it's uniqueness. Letting out a soft smile, he let his wife run through her stories, updating him on all that had happened, the various daily lives of his grandchildren and his various sons and daughters. It made him happy, just the knowledge that people weren't sitting about moping because of him. He even managed to eat by himself for a while, a near monumental achievement at that point. Feeling joyous, he eventually allowed himself to drift off to sleep, vaguely being aware of his wife's retreating form.

That night, he passed away. Too frail and weak, he lacked the strength to continue on clinging onto life, the bonds tethering his soul and body together fraying and gently snapping apart. In the end, it was a far more gracious and merciful way to pass. When life became agony and endless effort, there comes a point where letting go, retreating and allowing for yourself to be defeated was the best choice. He'd lived in that dim room for weeks, in a coffin of a bed, slowly transforming his own home into something reminiscent of his personal catacomb. It was for the best, all to escape the prison sentence his life had turned into.

His funeral proceeded as he would've wished. A service with his family which ended in the cremation of his body. His ashes were funnelled off, shifted into an urn which found itself placed on a shelf, overlooking the dining table. Eventually the wife moved out, unable or unwilling to maintain the large home and he was moved with her. After another year, the ashes were finally spread, a last freedom for the man. Finally he passed fully, a happy man's life ending in pain and lacking in dignity.

Prostate cancer exists lads, get yourself checked.

Fun fact, I actually featured in this, he didn't recognise me. I'm sorry I wasn't better while I had the chance to be.