I Don’t Know What to Say . . .

Insights to Achieve a Meaningful Visit

Hanna

"Why are they sending me a get well card?" asks Hanna, her brows wrinkling as she gazes up from the bed. "They know I’m not going to get well."

I hesitate, trying to find an answer. "Sometimes people just don’t know what to say. In our culture, it’s as if we don’t want to acknowledge that we die. So we sweep it under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind."

She picks up the card and reads, "Here’s hoping you’ll be kicking up your heels again soon! Wishing you a speedy recovery . . ." She frowns. Then a light flashes in her eyes. "You know, if I were up to kicking up my heels again, I’d start a business making greeting cards for a time like this."

"What would the cards say?"

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"Lots of things. Things I’d like to talk with my friends about. Things I wish they could understand. Things I wish they could help me understand."

"Sounds like a worthwhile endeavor." She nods. "Hand me that pad of paper, will you? I’m going to write this down. Maybe somebody else will do it. Better yet, will you write it down? My handwriting isn’t so good these days."

I sit and perch the pad on my lap.

"You know, it’s not just greeting cards," she says. "Cards are just where you start. What I really wish is that when people come to visit we could have a really meaningful conversation."

"That would be nice."

"It doesn’t have to be sad and gloomy, either. I still laugh. Even with all this. Laughing is good. You can talk about meaning and hope and all those things, and still laugh."

I smile and scribble a note. Laugh with me.

"People don"t understand that there"s still hope—not for a cure, but for something else, a good day, a good visit with a friend, a little sunshine . . . There"s hope for bigger things, too, like hope for quality time with the people I love, hope for closure, for knowing that my kids will be okay when I"m gone, that I"ve left them with the ability to live a meaningful life. And, yes, when the end does come, I hope for peace. Every day there"s still something to hope for. I don"t think they get that.

"And another thing . . . Sometimes people just come in and tell me what they think. They don"t really want to hear what I think, or what worries me, or what I hope for. They just say things like, ‘You"re going to beat this." " She frowns. "Like that"s helpful. Or another one: ‘Doctors are wrong all the time. You"re going to be fine." " She sighs. "How helpful is it to tell me my doctor is wrong? That I should question all the really difficult decisions I"ve made? How helpful is it to tell me that my being sick, that my facing death is all some mistake?

"Why can"t we talk about what our friendship—what the life we share together—means? Why can"t they look at me and not turn away, or wince because I have no hair? Why can"t they look at me and acknowledge the courage it takes to walk down this road, to make these choices, to believe in myself, to live the best I can, for however long I can?"

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she adds, "Why can"t they tell me I have courage? That I have strength? Even though I"m sick and don"t have long to live, why can"t they tell me I have value? That what I leave behind—the time we"ve spent together—has value?"

She reaches for my hand and squeezes. Then she leans against me. I hold her. For a long time she sobs. Then she straightens and wipes her eyes. "Pick up that pad of paper again, will you? I have something to say."

I Don't Know What to Say . . .

Suggestions for Meaningful Communication Words to Try

  • Laugh with me.
  • Talk with me about the times we shared, and what these times mean to you.
  • Talk with me about what you"ve learned from me and from the journey I"m taking, a journey that someday you, too, will take.
  • Talk with me about our friends. Include me by sharing news about gatherings or activities in which I can no longer participate.
  • When possible, bring these gatherings or activities to me.
  • Choose cards with themes of friendship, laughter, or courage.
  • Respect that I may be tired and need to rest. Visit me more frequently, but for short periods of time.
  • Respect that I have done the best I could to make good decisions with a team of people I trust. Support me by honoring these choices.
  • Find a way to feel comfortable with silence, with just sitting beside me or holding my hand. I may not always feel like talking, and having a friend just be with me is sometimes a great comfort.
  • Listen. Support me while I find my own answers to questions about meaning, peace, and other issues. Recognize that what"s right for you may not be what"s right for me.
  • If I tell you what I"m afraid of, or what worries me, please just listen. Allow me to talk. Sometimes just talking about something helps me to work through it. In most cases, you won"t be able to "fix" it, but you can listen, and that will help a lot.
  • Accept that when my time is very near, I will have very little energy, and may want only family or very close friends around me.
  • Most important, know that time is short. We go though life with too much small talk. If there are important, meaningful things that you want to say to me, say them now. There will never be a better time.