I feel I have to pay tribute, and also to share what may be comforting to some of you who have loved ones who are dying, or who themselves fear death in a distressing way.

My husband has had bad news, and it is not likely he will live long; his chemotherapy is making him lose weight and the replacement therapy, the oncologist has told us, is not nearly as potent.
Yet he is pleasant, cheerful and co-operative. Yesterday he tried going outdoors and had a fall. He injured his back in two areas, but refused medical help. This morning he asked for pain pills for bruised ribs, and when I asked him if he wanted anything else, he said 'Yes. A hug and a kiss,' with a mischievous look.

And it is not only him. When we go for his chemotherapy, we meet others taking it, mostly elderly but some middle aged and one or two quite young, and although I don't know their individual prognosis, and one can't ask, I know they have all considered that they may be dying.

And I an always touched by their pleasant, patient and positive attitudes. Several are infused with their various toxic cocktails in one room; they lounge almost supine in chairs, and some chat in quiet tones about trivial things. But none seem angry or depressed. Yet I know that given the nature of their illness, all must have faced the increased possibility that they are dying. They even joke about their side effects, rather than complaining.

These are people of all backgrounds; I'm sure only about the usual 15% are atheist/agnostic, and the rest must have some belief in an afterlife; but there is an overall sense of serenity.

By chance I have had no close touch with death in the past; my siblings and my children and grandchildren are all alive; my dad died, literally laughing, of stroke. Later my mother died following a car accident, never regaining consciousness.

My best friend died of leukemia at age 23; she was calm, serene and accepting. But I thought she was exceptional. She certainly was exceptional in other ways; she was the sweetest person!

My husband doesn't talk about it much, but he has said that he feels lucky to have lived in a wonderful country, in a time of freedom and prosperity, and to have lived most of his life in very good health. He has always been a cup-is-half-full kind of guy! He says it is the young people who have terrible illnesses he pities, not himself.

I'm sure he adopts a positive attitude for my sake; but I know there is a real serenity beneath it.

I wonder how general this attitude is? It's certainly not what is depicted in dramas on television or film, or in books!

Babs, I am so sorry to hear that the prognosis is not good and hope you're both able to fit the important stuff into the time remaining.

My Grandma Lily left when I was quite young... she knew pretty much to the hour when she would go and did such a noble and loving job of preparing me that I've never feared dying.

In my late teens, my best friend's mom was paralyzed in a car accident and before she died of the resulting complications, she told me that she was ready, sorry to leave us, but that she looked forward to dancing again.
A few years later I became involved with several AIDS groups and thus spent a great deal of my time among the dying and the overwhelming majority displayed a degree of grace and courage that made me feel humbled to be of the same species... My beloved and deeply missed Michael Sommers was among the first people to have a name for what he had, this was when an AIDS diagnosis was thought to be a not just a death notice but an immediate one and Michael lived his last years (15 of them) with an easy charm and a serenity that I envy still.... Eric, a cherished friend whom I lost to cancer in 2002, had a rocky time of it... he seriously loved being alive and was loathe to accept that his time was short... we did everything we could to fight it and even in the darkest moments, he retained his sense of humour... he was especially amused by the macabre fact that during one phase of treatment, his urine had it's very own Hazardous Material designation, distinct from the codes for medical waste and infectious waste... Until his last days, he remained the same funny, warm, sarcastic, insightful man I'd known for over two decades.... and we had a wonderful time planning trips we would not be able to take. There were moments of deep anger, of course, at the unfairness of it all, and fear,and dispair but fleeting moments.

I don't know how general this incredible grace is, but it does permeate the majority of my observation... the exceptions I've known were generally miserable, bitter,self pitying, angry people when they were healthy and so their attitude came as no shock.

Gosh, you've had more than your share of loss! I'm sorry to hear of that. And how is your grandmother now? And are you still on pretty good terms with your grandfather?

I used to think that Alzheimer's and senile dementia were blessings in disguise, because they would numb the minds of the dying and relieve their anxiety. But it seems that most people deal well with it.

Yes, my husband knows how to live. Right now he's in his glider chair, which gives his legs a bit of very light exercise to help his circulation. His chair is facing the big west window, and framed in it is our gorgeous lilac, with its blossoms their most vivid because they are not quite open.

My daughter made a massive planting (pots of flowers) on the south deck, and I put up a Coolaroo so he gets filtered light, not direct sunlight when he sits outside. So he knows he is well loved.

And now, under the gentler chemo, his hair is growing back. It's about half an inch long now, and vivid brown, like in his younger days. He's really chuffed about that!

When the oldest granddaughter (34) saw him, she exclaimed "Grandpa! Your head is the perfect shape! I never noticed before when you had hair!"

If I've suffered more than the average number of terrible losses, it is only because my life has been filled with a greater than average number of wonderful, loving, remarkable people... to paraphrase M*A*S*H, If I've lost the most, it's only because I've had the most to lose.

And thank you for asking, yes, Grandpa and I are still moving forward into a much better relationship than we've had in the past... and speaking of grace and serenity, I find it amazing that in the face of your own problems, you still find the emotional energy to be interested in mine. You're a gem, Babs, you really are.

Babs, I spent several years in Home Health Nursing working frequently with Hospice. It was astounding and hunbling to recognize the number of family members and patients that dealt with the inevitable passing with dignity, humor and grace.

I agree with Shana that your loving support and humor is beautiful to see and I feel that both you and your spouse are fortunate indeed to have each other.

My Father died on my 21st birthday, from a heart attack. He was just 46 years old and I did CPR on him. That was quite a traumatic death for me. All of my Grandparents have died... 3 of them with longer drawn-out Nursing Home illnesses such as Alzheimers.

It was difficult seeing my Grandmother look so sweet and lovely and not know who any of us were. I was privileged to take care of her for a summer before she needed more support than I could give. She was a beautiful woman and never lost her grace and delicacy of manner.

Thank you both, this is really very comforting to me. My internet pen pals are more important now than ever because living in the country as we do, someone who is nursing someone seriously ill becomes a bit of a shut-in too.

I know you both understand that, because of the experiences you've had.

Babs, my heart is still breaking for you. I hope you can extract at least some small measure of comfort from these postings.

I lost a very dear friend of over 30 years to cancer about 2 years ago. He, too, was surprisingly un-depressed about his predicament. Despite repeat courses of chemo and the need to take round-the-clock opioids, he lived out his days in as close to a normal routine as he could muster.

As an inveterate do-it-yourselfer, he could be found fixing the plumbing under his sink on the day after chemotherapy; on the day he died (rather suddenly, since despite his poor prognosis he was not yet "terminal") he had worked on a friend's car. You might say he had the fortitude to look death directly in the eye without blinking. I miss his companionship greatly, and though he had served as something of a role model for me during our decades of camaraderie, I like to think that he taught me not only how to live, but indeed how to die as well -- with dignity, with courage, and with an absolute refusal to let cancer steal his remaining days of activity.

Your dying husband sounds like a remarkable man. My sincere best wishes to both of you.

Babs, I'm so sorry to hear all of this but I do hope your husband can keep up his spirits and you can support each other through this to the end. I'll be thinking of you both.

Thank you again, these messages and memories are very comforting.

He took a bad turn (that's the expression they used to use when people being nursed at home had problems for no apparent reason) and became really weak, shaky, so severely so I thought he was having seizures, irrational. He would not take more than one sip of water through a straw at a time, and would be angry if I came back too soon to offer him more. He was in bed and shaking and when I asked if he was cold he would not answer so I just kept adding covers. I took his temperature - 38.2 C. - and I wondered if the fall he took the day before had punctured a lung so I asked him again if he would go to emergency. Very adamant 'no'. I

It was very, very hard to get him safely to the bathroom, that was the worst part. I was afraid he would fall. He would not put his whole weight on me (fireman's carry) so I reminded him he was wearing continence underclothes but he insisted on going to the toilet himself. The whole trip, about 30 feet and return, took about 45 minutes, and he was unable to relax enough to pee when he got there.

But I decided he was dehydrated so called the home care nurse to come and infuse him since he refused to drink (or eat, for that matter) and she said she had to get a doctor to order it, then later our family doctor called me and I described what was happening so he said he would come out after office hours.

He has a very nice manner and so E., my husband, spoke to him. I left them alone so E. could talk freely. Later the doctor came out (I was working in the yard) and told me E. had agreed to go to hospital; but an assessment by him had showed no broken ribs, and no serious dehydration, also the doctor had got him to the toilet and he had peed and the color was 'not bad'.

I asked if the severe palsy were true 'seizures' and he said they were, he had observed one. When I asked what caused them, he said nothing specific, apart from extreme weakness his reflexes were not bad. He said the cancer in his liver is very large, and the liver very swollen, so it's just the cancer that is making him so ill intermittently. He suggested the cancer could be in his brain or somewhere in his nervous system, and it is really no use to try to diagnose it more carefully at this time. He would not be treatable.

So I asked if he would be better off at home and the D. said yes, of course, since he doesn't need anything but basic care, but he thought it is too much for me to have to deal with. So I told him not at all, I just wanted him to go to hospital when I thought he was dehydrated and possibly fighting an infection, but since that was not the case, I would prefer him at home. And he had said he would prefer to be at home.

So the D. asked me how I would deal, if he fell. I said my neighbor was always home and had offered to come anytime, day or night, and she's a strong young woman, small but wiry. And I said there is always the ambulance. So the D. told me to phone that neighbor right away, and alert her, so that if we needed help she would be ready to come. Also to phone him at any time for any reason or concern. He said he will come out again tonight after office hours.

So that is how we left it and E. slept quietly all night and woke clear-headed this morning. He ate a decent breakfast, and had a cup of tea, and is now watching television. (He even remembers -- without prompting -- swearing it me when I was pestering him to drink! I told him I'd been called worse things -- by better people, and he just grinned. ) The doctor will talk to the oncologist about E's next chemo treatment which is set for Friday.

He called this morning and was happy to hear that E. is alert and calm.

But the doctor told me the illness is progressing fast. This is what I have to accept.

Dear Babs,
I have to say something, write something, call you and speak to you - but I can't. I'm a mess. The tears are streaming down on my keyboard, as I try to offer a word of comfort but you have enough on your plate without a blubbering idiot to contend with. Just know that the spirit is willing and my thoughts are with you and Ern. Call me whenever you feel like it.

Oh, Frank, it was never my intention to upset you! It's just that I can't talk to family about these things, it would be just too awful for them. Frank, my dear, I have so much enjoyed our talks, I should have realized that our friendship was a little more personal than just e-pals, and not given distressing details. I do thank you for your concern, but it's awful that you are distressed. Your kind heart is what is causing your suffering now; your good and gentle nature is what makes you vulnerable.

Babs...I think it is nature that makes dying so peaceful...most healthy people are terrified of death but the sick and old seem very accepting of it...My mom was sick for several years and toward the end she was fine with it...She went very peacefully...The day we took her to the hospital she said I know I won't be coming home again...she said goodbye to the cat and had a good look around..she really didn't seem sad.

I don't have your number Babs but my e-amil is in my profile if you want to talk please use it...and I am so sorry for you Bab...it is so hard to watch someone you love like that.

Oh, My Dearling, I am so sorry for the painful realities you're both facing and I am so glad that you have friends, neighbors and caring professionals to look to at the bad moments... and I'm deeply grateful that you're able to deal with the part where you get blessed out without taking it too personally or too seriously... I have no magic words that will ease the pain or frustration, but you and yours are very much in my thoughts.

I do have some positive news, our doctor sent out a home-care nurse to see if we could use any of their services. There are all kinds of things available and free, all the way from incontinence products, equipment such as wheelchairs, commodes to save that dangerous walk to the bathroom, respite care on a regular basis so the 'primary care giver' can go shopping and socializing. There is even a visitor whose specialty is the psychological well-being of the caregiver!

We already have a home-care nurse who comes once a week to flush the tube and clean the dressing for his PICC line.

After yesterday, I was planning on getting the wheelchair and commode anyhow, but now it will be free.

More important, a home-care RN will come out once a week to assess his condition.

The oncology department had given me a pamphlet about all these services, but I had so much to read at the time, about drug side effects for the twelve prescription drugs or infused drugs, and how to deal with side effects, and so on, that I totally forgot to read the home care pamphlet.

The home care nurse also gave me reading material about how to handle the lack of appetite and thirst problems. The approach is different in the later stages, which it appears is where Ern is now.

So it appears that Ern can stay at home, and sun on his own deck, and watch his local birds, and enjoy the flowers and trees, and chat with neighbors who drop by, and I will have an easier time and less responsibility.

I was at a low ebb yesterday, it was the worst day, and I'm afraid I vented here, and distressed some of you. For that I'm sorry. But things will be better now.

Thank you all for posting, it was very comforting, and I am overwhelmed by the good wishes, warmth, and kindness you have shown.

Hi Babs

Yes, I have noticed that the dying do display a tremendous amount of courage and dignity.

Ern's attitude is exceptional though, and in part comes down to the time he has had to think about his life, and of course to your wonderful caring support and love. Of course the two of you have had to reach an acceptance of the situation, however heartbreaking it might be.

I listened to a piece on the CBC once, and people were being interviewed about the taboos of talking about the subject of death and bereavement. Something one person said stuck in my mind, and that was that we talk about people having had "a good life" but we should also hope for them to have "a good death" . By that I think she meant a coming to terms with the process, being comfortable and pain free, and also knowing that it is alright that they leave us. Even the terminally ill try to protect us from being hurt. They know so much more that they let on, and just don't say anything because they know it hurts us so much to hear it.

Like Frank, I find it incredibly hard to write to you. My heart goes out to you and Ern right now, and I wish I could say something really positive and insightful.

I don't want to hijack your thread, because this is about you and Ern. But I just wanted to add a little about the acceptance of death, and the way the terminally ill person knows so much more about what they face than their loved ones are sometimes prepared to acknowledge.

As you know my son is 16, and is recovering from a major operation to improve the quality of his life. The disease he has is muscular dystrophy, and involves a gradual wasting of the muscles to the point that it compromises his ability to breath. There is no cure. Many boys with the condition die before they are 20. I never got around to discussing the prognosis in depth with him, just touched on it. I knew he had a pretty good idea though.

As he has been in bed for several months, I have been bringing him home movies from the library to watch. I pick up a handful when I finish work, and hardly look at the content of them . I look for action and teen movies. Basically anything I don't like, I know he will like!

Well anyway, a few weeks ago he had his cousin over to visit, and they decided to watch one of these movies together. Completely unknown to me, one of them was a movie called "Rory O'Shea", about a young guy, dying of MD, who basically wanted to lead a fun, normal life with his friends. What a horrible coincidence that I should have picked this film out for for my son.

His cousin watched the movie with him, and told me about it afterwards. I was mortified that I had made such an awful mistake. I cursed to myself over and over, before going into his bedroom to face him.
I went into Tom and asked him about it. He said it had had been a great movie. I said , " Well it probably had a sad ending though?"
He answered "Yes, the guy died in the end, but it was all OK . I'm OK Mum, I already know"

So you see all the time he has been protecting me from this information. While at the same time I had been avoiding discussing it with him. I'm not sure why. Possibly because it was too hard for me to hurt him, or I was protecting my own feelings maybe?
The lines of communication didn't open up any further after that day. There was just that acknowledgement that we both knew.

I really don't want this thread to start to be about me, or my situation, but I do want to say that I admire the way you and Ern have dealt with the fact that you and he only have a short time left together.
Your love for each other shines out from your posts here. That's a wonderful thing you know... to be able to speak about your spouse with such tenderness and respect.
I know I will never get to meet Ern, but I hope some day to meet this wonderful, courageous woman who has become my friend. Take care, both of you, and continue to enjoy each others' company.

You haven't hijacked a thing, Dancer. I titled the post 'The courage of the dying' because, like you, I was struck by the calm acceptance of those, including Ern, who know they are dying, or know, as your son does, that it could well happen. It was about all of them.

But my emotional post yesterday was a mistake, because I forgot that you had to deal with a very very ill young son, and Frank had very recently gone through a scary situation with his much-loved wife. (She is much better now.) My tone was too personal, and had the ability to painfully sadden other people in similar circumstances.

About the only thing I can say is that this thread displays a lot of compassion on the part of other posters, and some insight into what nursing someone through his last illness at home can be like -- on a bad day.

And of course we'll get together when this sad time has passed. Your son will be healthy again, and able to get around and go back to school. Ern's long and benevolent life will be over and he will be remembered with love and deep respect.

My Sweet Friend,
You owe no apologies for being "too personal" but I'm sure I speak for many when I say that your delicacy and concern about upsetting others is but a small part of why you're treasured.
I'm turning on my e-mail in my profile, if I can offer anything, shout.

I'm feeling a little overwhelmed right now, thank you all, but really -- I'm beginning to feel humble in my own presence! (This is not a Good Thing.)

So time to say good-night, and see you all tomorrow, my friends.

Wow...I wasn't sure I could even respond in this thread but feel compelled

Babs and dancegirl both...your strength in the face of a terminally ill spouse and child is incredible...and the strength of those two men, one old and one young, is also.

This entire thread brings to light some things that many people will never know...and we all HOPE they never will, but could face someday.

I hope that if ever faced with caring for someone I dearly loved in this situation, I could be even half as gracious and sane. Thank you for your inspiration.

You both know my email is there for you also

Wonderful visitors came bringing this adorable card for Ern, hand made by my grandchildren. I think I'll make a poster of it. My daughter (their mother) asked them to write a word or two about what Ern meant to them.

Here's the card.

And here are the comments:

Extremely funny, handsome, kind, brilliant, and an all-round fabulous grandpa. Love,Winnie.

Helpful, patient, calm, wise. Dan.

Sensible, interesting, perceptive, loves animals, excellent pitcher, and one of the last true trout fishermen. Christopher.

Strong, brave, sweet. Sally.

An amazing person! Funny, smart, cool, hard-working, outdoorsy, kind. James.

The best, sweetest, cheekiest, grandpa I have ever had! Thank you for being a steady rock for Babbits, too. Emily.

Funny, loves baseball, smart, interesting. Becka.

Good at fishing. Tim.

Balance for Babbits, grandpa for my clan. Eric.

Charming, wise, thoughtful. Jessie.

Our own baseball STAR!

:cool nice sensitive awesome friendy kind. I hope you’re better soon. Elijah

Smart, funny, athletic, kind. Alexander.

Adventurous, gentle and quiet. Ginny

WE LOVE YOU ! The best gardener, fisherman, and caring man. A fantastic husband, too!