When I felt frustrated by the constraints which resulted from my cancer, I encountered no pervasive or continual anger. Furthermore, the anger was targeted at the source of my inability to function properly, rather than projecting it toward an innocent companion. Mine was the self-contained anger similar to that which I would feel after entertaining influenza for nearly a week; weary of its limiting effect on my mobility and general well-being, I would hurl devastating thoughts inward, then later proceed to calm my cantankerous spirit and await the arrival of health.
My father held a rather negative view of the possibility that good could prevail over evil; he always expected the worst, and often was quite right in his assumptions. Even so, expectation does not cancel one's disappointment at having supposed correctly, and his broken heart was obvious. A touching moment in a movie, a poignant verse of song or the reading of one of my poems was enough to send a tremor through his voice in a later attempt to speak. Often depressed or angry, he was tormented by the many adversities which had befallen our family. It just didn't seem quite right that he should have such difficult burdens after he had lived a morally conscious life; others, lacking all sense of moral responsibility, seemed to live long and healthy lives, or died simply because of their own ignorance and gluttonous indulgences. Hounded by such sources of resentment, acceptance was gained, then lost once again at varying intervals when he viewed the healthy, but empty lives whose health, he thought, should have been my own.
Aside from the family, my dad had no confidant or close friend. He, like many members of the family, was quite self-sufficient. Unfortunately, one's self-sufficiency, displayed in grave situations, can discourage closeness, whether consciously or not. Thus, when such an individual truly desires someone to hear his concerns, no one is near enough to care. Even persons with whom one had worked on a daily basis can prove to be unenthused listeners; often their association clearly ends within the confines of the job description.
Though not always apparent, my dad was a highly sensitive individual. An injustice or injury persisted, inflicting pain and stress. More than anything I believe my father needed unsolicited affection and demonstrations of sympathy; lacking these, especially from his co-workers, Dad felt himself betrayed by the one group with whom he had spent so much of his time. He could easily have drowned in self-pity, for no one wished to help with the bailing out of his broken heart; sorrow was like a hat which only he could wear.
My father would, on occasion, mention that if he had not married, or had children, he would not have had to experience the pain of losing dear children or seeing them riddled with health disorders. Life without emotional grief would be "easier" and more stable, yet to shelter ones self from close relationships would also be an enormous deprivation; love is the foremost joy of living, and it cannot grow through alienation from society. Even the smallest pleasures seem more meaningful when they are shared, while the tragic moments are buffered by love. To separate ones self from affection for others denies a virtuous human potential to develop, as it simultaneously creates more emptiness than that which occurs upon the death of a loved one; the grief-stricken survivor has memories, but the emotional hermit has only stability. There was indeed, a sacrifice for love. It was one that my dad was willing to take.
In one of our conversations, I once asked my father if he thought he had basically accepted my health disorder. He replied, "I don"t think I will ever accept it, because it's not acceptable." For his part, maybe he just lives with it. What other choice does one have, excluding madness or suicide, but to live with it? (It just doesn't mean that he has to like it!)
Guilt very often accompanies the illness or death of a loved one, and can be released through conversation. The unfounded sort, stemming from regrets such as a patient's unfulfilled dream which the relative felt he impeded, or a mother's inability to detect subtle changes in her child's health, is a counterproductive, if not debilitating, manner of reacting to the problem. These emotions are quite corrosive to the individual, and it is important that they are quickly corrected; this can be done through attentive listening and positive reinforcement.
After discovering the malignancy in my stomach, my mother effectively chastised herself by asserting that she "should have noticed that I was eating less and getting thinner." She held on to her belief while I tried to assure her that the extent to which the cancer had spread was not her fault. I reminded her that many children are rather lanky and thin when they are growing too rapidly for any food which they eat to transform into fat; the body needs the nourishment to sustain itself, and has no excess for insulating purposes. With time and reassurance, she finally dismissed her guilt; I listened to her statements, returning not with, "You shouldn't feel that way," but with reasons which effectively reinforced the pointlessness of her guilt. As with any invitation to change one's outlook, a person fostering guilt must be shown why his view is unreasonable and needs to be altered. Statements such as "Don't feel guilty" define the desired destination, but offer no direction as to the means of attaining that goal. I have sometimes wondered whether this type of guilt is not merely a subconscious means of inflicting punishment upon ones self in order to more deeply share the pain felt by the ill person. Guilt which is evoked through hateful thoughts or malicious wishes toward the ill person is sometimes more difficult to manage, due to the fervor with which the mental darts were hurled at the patient before the onset of illness. Abreast a wave of superstition, the guilty party quietly blames himself, feeling responsible for the evil which befell his victim. It is important for the guilt-stricken individual to realize he does not control the hands of fate. To further complicate matters, often the dying or deceased individual is surrounded by an aura of purity, and it is deemed unfit to denounce his character despite the validity of the statements. Though loss makes memories all the more dear to the heart, I feel that one should not forget that these people, sick though they are, are human; they possess irksome habits and have made foolish mistakes as does all humanity. To elevate an individual beyond his former limitations is an open invitation toward the housing of personal guilt, since any negative emotions concerning the patient will be thought of as hostile and unfounded; one is not only denying the disturbing propensities of the patient, but also, and more important, he is denying his true feelings, thereby trapping himself.
In this scope, I might add that elevating a person who has not yet died can create an undesirable situation for him, in that he may feel threatened by this new and unrealistic public opinion of himself which, consequently, is greater than he is able to uphold.
Another sort of guilt, planted by the patient, is somewhat related to the above. Although conversation is generally thought to be a healthy exchange between concerned individuals, there are those who, unfortunately, take the business of sharing their health problem wholeheartedly. Applying no restrictions on themselves, they continually voice their complaints until a situation is created wherein the complaints are more of a burden to the family than is the illness. I feel that reactions such as these on the part of the afflicted are unfair and completely selfish. Forcing constant awareness of an illness upon a loved one is cruel and emotionally debilitating.