The Unwelcome Guest

I spent a fair amount of time with my grandparents. They lived about two miles from my house growing up. I remember when I was quite young my grandmother seemed upset after a phone call, so I asked what was wrong, she replied "at my age, Cheryl, most of the people I've known have died." It was a look of incredible melancholy and sadness. It's a moment I've never forgotten and in recent years thought about quite a bit. The truth is Patrick and I have seen many of our ALS friends and others pass away.

In the past six months we've attended three funerals. The last one was a week ago and I was thinking afterwards how I'd like a breather from death, grief and loss. It's a bit like having an uninvited unwelcome guest that won't leave.  But this was not to be, as we were sitting on the porch yesterday, I got the phone call, Sam had passed. Sam had ALS and we participated in grief group together and honestly was one of my favorite people. He texted me poems and his thoughts on life while riding along in his wheelchair next to the river. I wasn't the only recipient there were others, but he and I had a connection. I attended grief group in July after being absent for some months. The minute I walked in Sam says, "well look what the cat drug in." That was Sam. He had the great sense of humor and said what he felt. He told me once that although his body doesn't work right, he could still express himself with this - and he held up his middle finger... he made me laugh.

Sam was an artist, poetry writer and teacher. He taught me a number of life lessons over the past few years. He taught me about karma... At one point in Sam's ALS journey, he had to use the bathroom at Barnes and Noble and realized after sitting down that he was stuck on the toilet. This was quite a scary moment and he began asking the various men that came into the restroom for help. Now, picture yourself going into a public restroom and having someone in a stall ask you to come in and help... yep, according to Sam most left pretty quickly. But, as panic starts to set in, one man responded to Sam and said Mr. Sam is that you? Sam remembered the voice with the distinct accent because he had volunteered his time to teach English at the local community center. The man was one of his former students. He helped Sam get cleaned and dressed and back into his wheelchair. Karma.... yes, I believe it was karma.

He taught me about giving back... he said that when he was in public on his walks or at the store he made a point to speak with children. He said, as a child, disabled people scared him, especially wheelchairs. He felt it was important that he showed children that people in wheelchairs were just normal people. I found this very moving, because like Sam, I also was afraid of disabled people as a child. They were different and that made me uncomfortable. I think the more children spend time with people with disabilities, they will as Sam would say, "recognize that they are just people too... but with wheels."

He also taught me about death and dying. Sam did not shy away from the tough discussions or the elephant in the room. Let's be honest, our culture is very uncomfortable with the issues surrounding end of life decisions and dying. Sam was not. He was incredibly candid, he wanted to die. He had spent over 10 years with ALS and felt his journey was complete. By the time I met him he had long since worked his way through the many stages of loss and grief. He never wavered from his belief and acceptance of his own death. It wasn't depression, it was an interesting acceptance. In July, when I saw Sam his health was quite declined and his thinking was the same he was ready to go.

I got the phone call... Sam had passed and chose to exercise his right under the new California End of Life Option Act which went into effect June 9, 2016. A huge rush of grief hit me, my friend was dead and it was by his choice. Initially, I felt a pang of anger, why would he choose this, but it passed quickly, reminding myself, this is what he wanted. I know he is in a better place, but I'll miss his stories, sense of humor and frank discussions. Ultimately, we the living are the ones left to make sense and peace with loss. I will say it was worth the pain of loss to have known him for this brief time.

The family has decided to have a closed service with immediate family members only. That's ok with me, he lives on in my memory. I know he is at peace, there is comfort in that. But, if I'm being honest the world really was a better place with him in it.