45 Years Ago Yesterday, or When Should a Parent Tell Offspring That Other Parent is Terminal?

[JBG]

Exactly 45 years yesterday, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer resected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

When I came home she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my reading at the library what the real outlook for his disease was. I insisted on calling his doctor, since teh lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. my father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

 

[Rogue Valley]

I would venture to say it depends on their age, their maturity level, and their ability to handle/cope with perhaps the very worst that adversity can offer.

 

[Lutherf]

There's no right answer that works for everyone.

 

[JBG]

I would venture to say it depends on their age, their maturity level, and their ability to handle/cope with perhaps the very worst that adversity can offer.

There's no right answer that works for everyone.

I am working under the assumption that the person is average maturity and average intelligence. My IQ is 79 so I don't quite fit the bill.

 

[SmokeAndMirrors]

My father told me right away. I was 24 at the time. I believe that was the correct decision.

The shock that goes along with sudden loss can be devastating, above and beyond the death itself. That is part of why suicides and accidents often hit people much harder than natural/disease-related deaths. It is cruel to keep it from them. It also denies the dying the opportunity to be supported on their journey out, as it were.

 

[justabubba]

Exactly 45 years yesterday, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer resected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

When I came home she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my reading at the library what the real outlook for his disease was. I insisted on calling his doctor, since teh lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. my father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

if the roles were reversed, such that you were the dying father, would you tell your teen son that he was not long to have a living father?

my situation was somewhat different, as i learned from him when i was 37 and he was 66, that Dad was terminal with pancreatic cancer. he had already gotten all of his affairs and paperwork in order. discussed these matters with me and explained that he did not want to pauperize my Mom by pursuing expensive treatments which might nominally extend his life. near the very end he, my brother and i met and said those things that had theretofore remained unspoken. then i was stunned to hear that he suspected my Mom was on the verge of a terrible illness. he was right; she would be in stage one alzheimers within a year. he wanted to make sure we would look after her
in this way, Dad taught me how to die with dignity. and i am very thankful for it. it strikes me that maybe your father was trying to do the same for you

 

[JBG]

if the roles were reversed, such that you were the dying father, would you tell your teen son that he was not long to have a living father?

my situation was somewhat different, as i learned from him when i was 37 and he was 66, that Dad was terminal with pancreatic cancer. he had already gotten all of his affairs and paperwork in order. discussed these matters with me and explained that he did not want to pauperize my Mom by pursuing expensive treatments which might nominally extend his life. near the very end he, my brother and i met and said those things that had theretofore remained unspoken. then i was stunned to hear that he suspected my Mom was on the verge of a terrible illness. he was right; she would be in stage one alzheimers within a year. he wanted to make sure we would look after her
in this way, Dad taught me how to die with dignity. and i am very thankful for it. it strikes me that maybe your father was trying to do the same for you

Your post is very touching and matters were handled well.

In my case my mother, the survivor, was the one who kept the information from my father and, until that sleety day in December from me.

 

[nota bene]

My father told no one, and so his death at 58 was a hideous shock. I even received a letter from him on the day he died claiming he'd never felt better.

 

[cuban smokes]

IMO if a parent doesn't believe their progeny can handle learning the truth of a terminal parent then the parent has no business being a parent .........

what's worse IMO is the doctor & the married partner keeping such important info from the one dying; that is just ****ed up to El Paso ..............

 

[JBG]

IMO if a parent doesn't believe their progeny can handle learning the truth of a terminal parent then the parent has no business being a parent .........

what's worse IMO is the doctor & the married partner keeping such important info from the one dying; that is just ****ed up to El Paso ..............

Both ends were pretty lame. When I spoke to the doctor that afternoon I made that quite clear. I had to be gentler with my mother because I was hers exclusively until she remarried (luckily sooner than later) and partially until I was on my own (about 13 1/2 years).

 

[Soopairik]

It would depend on the situations.

 

[JBG]

On New Years Eve, 45 years ago we visited my father in the hospital. While he had a "good day" the day before, he was semi-conscious, his legs waving in the air and the rest of him tied securely to the bed. The providers had unhooked the feeding tube, telling us that he (involuntarily) struggled too much. We understood it to mean that they knew the end was near and there was no point.

His sister and her significant other showed up after a New Years Eve engagement. My mother was told by the nurse that she was in party gear and wreaked of alcohol. She ordered the tubes reconnected, so they tied my father more securely (the way you would tie a cord of lumber) and put him back on. When I came back to the hospital I was livid. My mother said to just "let it be."

I went back to school the next day at the end of the holiday break. With a few dimes in my pocket to keep my tabs on what was going on. He died Thursday night/Friday morning.

 

[JBG]

45 Years Ago Today...

...in the wee hours of the morning, my father passed away after his battle with cancer. The trip to the Jewish funeral home was beyond disgusting. Seeing my mother and I, both red heads (coincidence) sitting there the guy said "you know, this is a Jewish funeral home." Then he tried to convince us to buy a casket that was more expensive than we needed, for a cremation. Flatly against Jewish custom if not law. Now lets stop with the bad things.

28 years ago tomorrow, I met my (now) wife for the first time. She is the love of my life. The moral of the story; good things follow bad things.

 

[Fishking]

Exactly 45 years yesterday, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer resected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

When I came home she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my reading at the library what the real outlook for his disease was. I insisted on calling his doctor, since teh lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. my father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

I think right away, no matter the age. That's just me, though, but I think kids should have the right to know what's going on and have time to really cherish their remaining time together.

 

[JBG]

I think right away, no matter the age. That's just me, though, but I think kids should have the right to know what's going on and have time to really cherish their remaining time together.

Generally my thoughts as well. Maybe not during the period of remission,which might last a while but certainly as the end becomes foreseeably near and obvious.

 

[jet57]

Exactly 45 years yesterday, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer resected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

When I came home she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my reading at the library what the real outlook for his disease was. I insisted on calling his doctor, since teh lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. my father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

When they become terminal. How it's articulated can be a bit daunting, but the hard truth is best taken over time. One must wrestle with the 5 steps of Acceptance and get to know the parent in a new way.

 

[JBG]

When they become terminal. How it's articulated can be a bit daunting, but the hard truth is best taken over time. One must wrestle with the 5 steps of Acceptance and get to know the parent in a new way.

I couldn't agree more. I will share something I don't often. My 1971-2 school year, my start to the freshman year, was not good. The people who came up from Junior High School with me were, on balance, not helpful. One of my previously closer friends, Barry, acted like he didn't even want to know me. I had joined our families together as friends. From Fourth to Eighth grades we spent many happy hours and days on the ski slopes and at Catskill resort hotels. Our families went to Barbados in February 1972. He didn't talk. The same thing happened when I returned to sleepaway camp. In hindsight it was in part because I was in the "anger" stage. I wasn't much fun to be with.

Not that any one was much help with these stages. We did go to family therapy and I went to group therapy with my peers. But starting with a base of lies, query, what use was it?