I just read a novel by Ann Patchett. It’s called Whistler and it’s quite good, but that’s not the point of this post. Near the end of the book one character – John- laments that he did not do enough when he wife was ill. She was being treated for cancer. He always took her to the treatments, but then he left her, and looked for people to talk to so he didn’t have to go back and sit with her during her chemotheraphy treatments. “You did the best you could,” his new wife said. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “not even close….”
This character felt bad. It stirred something in me. When my dad was dying of Alzheimer’s and a subsequent stroke (we think), I went to visit him. I saw him and he recognized me and tried to speak but couldn’t. I wish I knew what he wanted to say. I didn’t even sit down and talk to him. I didn’t tell him that I love him and this was the last time I saw him alive. I have felt bad about this, subconsciously, but now I know just how bad I feel about this.
I could do it now. I could spend the time with him. I could sit and talk to him – I think he could understand me, he just couldn’t communicate back to me. I won’t make the same mistake again if I am ever in such a circumstance. I was afraid back then. I realize it now. I think i would do better now. I hope so.
Thank you, Anne Patchett.
