The first person that I was close to who died was my grandmother’s second husband. He died from stomach cancer when I was in my early 20s. He was a big man who had lost a lot of weight and was very thin by the time he entered the hospital. I visited him frequently and saw firsthand the pain that accompanied stomach cancer.
When Graham was diagnosed recently, the memory of that pain was the first thing to hit me, and I heard myself saying it’s time to let him go. The last thing I wanted was to allow another living being to experience so much pain. It would have been the height of selfishness to have even one more night with him.
I miss him terribly, but that’s my accountability, and I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is watching someone else go through cancer, shrinking them down to nothing ,watching their light dimming . I guess that’s selfish, too.
It turns out that while I’m perfectly fine with my own death, I’m not nearly fine with the death of others that I care about. Especially when it’s someone who gave me so much love and sweetness and never asked anything in return. From the beginning, Graham seemed to understand my disability. He would knead me, but only on my paralyzed leg. I still have a few scars that look like pin pricks. I cherish those scars.
Earlier today, I was rolling down the hallway into the living room, and I saw his favorite mouse toy, and I couldn’t help but tear up.
Full disclosure, I’ve been writing this post with tears streaming down my face. I’ve lost other animals throughout my life, but losing Graham hurts more. I think it’s because he had to go before we expected. He was only 8 years old. He really was the best boy.
This will be the last time that I post about Graham, and I’ll leave you with my favorite photo of my perfect little big man.
