It's Time to Let Go

My uncle is dying. Any day now.

I've been saying those words for the last six months now.

He's dying of smoking induced cancer. It started with emphysema and graduated to cancer. Now it's riddling his body and has insinuated itself into his brain. About eight months ago, he was given about two months left to live. I like to say that he's past his expiration date.

It is so unbelievably taxing and draining to have someone constantly on the brink of death. Imagine forever having that tickling nose like you're about to sneeze--but you can't. Imagine being right up against that moment when you're about to come--but never achieving full release. Imagine hearing Shave and a Haircut, but never the Two Bits.

Simplistic, corny and inappropriate metaphors. I'm trying to convey the stress of this edge and I'm doing a piss-poor job.

I'm not even close to my uncle. If this were my mother was was taking so very long to finally let go? I can only imagine that drawn-out pain.

With my distance, though. I feel no guilt in knowing that it is time for him to LET GO. He needs to release from life and in turn release his loved ones from being shackled to his never-ending ever-impending death.

I do, however, feel guilt with my anger. I'm angry at him for still holding on. I'm angry at him for refusing to pass on. I'm angry at him for valuing his life of no remaining quality enough to drain the quality from the lives of those he is leaving behind.

At first, I chided myself for thinking that way. It isn't very generous, loving or light-filled.

Maybe it isn't the blissed-out super spiritual tack. But it's real and it's valid. I'm not ignoring or denying the anger, even if I'm not entirely comfortable with it. Anger at the dead or dying is not the most socially sanctioned of emotions, but it's more common than people like to admit.

And it's even more common than that.