I'm Not Good At This.

"I hate to see them like that."
"I'm just not good with this sort of thing."

We've all said it, or felt it.

I'm here to tell you - that's total bullshit.

Before you get offended, or even if you want to stay offended - hear me out.

How you feel, when someone is sick or passing away? It doesn't matter. This isn't about you. It isn't about how you feel, how you want to remember someone, how you want to excuse it.

Before I go any further, let me tell you - you can do whatever you want. You are entitled to your opinion. And I won't actually fault you when you do whatever it is you feel is best for you.

But let me remind you of the childhood lesson I know we have all been taught. The universe doesn't revolve around you. And someone's disease or death? It's not the exception. You don't get to make this about you. It's about that person. It's about their loved ones. It's about their friends and family who have gathered around their bedside.

There is nothing that anyone can say to make me feel differently about this. And I'm not even saying that you're wrong you may not want to see someone like that. But guess what - no one does. I didn't wake up this morning and beg baby Jesus for the chance to stare death in its face. I wasn't wondering if I could be so lucky as to hold my Grandmother's hand while she died. I wasn't hoping to win the lottery and be seated next to my Father when he died. But guess what - I did it.

And no one is good at death. Literally no one. I've seen it, felt it, heard it (and that's the worst sound you'll ever hear in your lifetime, trust me) and experienced it firsthand and secondhand with others I care for and about and love. And it's never easy. I'm not good at death. I'm familiar with it. Practice does make perfect, after all.

But all of this just means I set aside my feelings about death, about staring your own mortality in the face, about how we want to remember someone and I did a human thing: I merely existed in the same space at the same time as them.

This doesn't make me better. This makes me a little more blessed than you. Because I realize that death isn't something to fear. Death isn't always only sad. Death brings people together. Death reminds us of stories to share with those that we care about before we aren't able to any longer. The end of someone's life can be filled with peace and caring. Even when it's terrible. Even when it's the worst thing you've ever done in your entire existence? It's beautiful. To be able to know you were there for someone. That you were able to set aside your feelings for yourself and your own well being and you were able to ease someone's transition. And so that - that makes me feel blessed. Not better.

I'm not even sure what makes me so filled with the need to tell anyone this. Other than I have been there. I've been the person who watched my father not have many visitors he would have loved to see because they didn't want to see a big strong man reduced to being confined to a hospital bed in his family room. What they don't know is that they missed out on words of wisdom, funny stories, late night fridge raids. Simply put: you're the one who has to live with the regret on what you missed out on. You missed the stolen moments of laughter. Because you can't set aside your own feelings of yourself. Those moments are going to happen whether you're there or not.

Breaking it down I feel like saying "I don't want to see someone like that" is as selfish as it gets. Is it because you're afraid you'll realize that you will die too? Is it because you don't know that you're missing out on other parts of life? Is it because you just don't know what else to say?

"I'm not good at this." No one is. I said it before and I'll say it until the day I die. Hopefully, some of you will come visit me. No matter if I still have my full head of hair and it's dyed like a unicorn mane still or not. No one is ever going to be good at death. Some of us are just better at not worrying about how it will affect us. And those people are the ones who will pass peacefully, perhaps. Because we know that death isn't terrifying. We know that it's merely a moment in time. We stop being. And that's it. You're there and then you're not. Not nearly as frightening as you think. But you know what makes all of the time between being there and not worthwhile? It's our friends and our families. And hopefully they're there for you, when able, when your time comes. Because that's what death is about. It's about the end of the life you've lived. And how sad to think people's own fear is what may deny you remembering those moments.

There's more to someone's death than the  moment they stop breathing. You're not there for just that. You're there to be a sense of comfort to those around them. To remind them that their loved one was loved by other people. To let them know that you'll be there when that person's clock stops ticking. And it's lonely when the silence sets in. And you remember all the people who where there in the past, all the people that your loved one helped in their lifetime. And how some of them can't be there because: I don't want to see them like that.

Again, it's your prerogative. And I still love each and every one of you who has used this line. Because we all have. Either out loud or to ourselves when we didn't go somewhere we didn't want to. But next time, boil it down to what it really is. Say this out loud: I don't want to come see them. Take your feelings out of it - because this isn't about you. And if you can say that, out loud, to yourself and to their family - then don't go. If it's just because you're worried that it will be sad? You're right. It will.

It will be sad.
It will rip your heart out.
It will make you not sleep, at times.
Those last moments will invade your dreams.
You'll find yourself unable to breathe, sometimes.
You will wish you never saw some of the things you did.
You'll feel nauseous.
You'll wish it would have gone differently, maybe.

But you'll never regret being there for someone. And all their someones. That I can promise you.