I didn’t visit her before she died.

I didn’t visit her before she died.

Two weeks ago, Liz died. 

And I didn’t go to say goodbye, even though I knew she was dying.

I’m not sad though. Liz made her decision. She wasn’t well for a long time.

But I am furious. I’m furious with myself.

I didn’t go say goodbye because I’m a coward. I couldn’t look death in the face. I wasn’t brave enough, strong enough, to put my own terror of mortality aside and go say goodbye.

She was a friend, a teacher, a mentor and a firecracker of a 70 year old woman. Although she she barely stood 5 feet tall, she was often the biggest force in our Toastmaster meetings, firing off grammatical corrections and unique critiques at 6:15am, a time when I can barely form a full sentence with any intention.

But I didn’t go to tell her any of this. Because I’m a coward. I’m furious and frustrated. Why couldn’t I just go? Why am I so selfish? 

I’m not sad that Liz died because this is the choice she made. I respect her greatly and I respect her decision to die with dignity. I actually think it is the most selfless decision she made in her life—to end the suffering and pain for those bearing witness, to not prolong the inevitable. 

What will I choose to do? Will I prolong it, fight to the end? Will I choose a quiet death, to go out like the last flickering light of a melted candle? Will I even have a choice?

I need to do better. I need to be stronger. This isn’t the last person I’m going to watch die.

Facing mortality at 30 is a funny thing. Before cancer, I never thought about how my life might end. Not ever. Not jumping in a cave to dive with sharks. Not bungee jumping naked in New Zealand. Not skydiving out of a tiny airplane with my husband and mom disappearing a blink ahead of me. 

And Liz isn’t even the first person I’ve done this too.

I quit my support group at the Cancer Support Community because I couldn’t bear to watch my favorite person in the group die of pancreatic cancer in front of my face.

When I first joined, he was chubby, always smiling, always laughing. He’s my husbands age, he had a wife, kids, a job—a quality of life and radiant positivity I desired to have. And then I watched cancer take away those things from him, one by one. 

I couldn’t watch him die. It was too much to bear for me. So, I quit. It was easier.

Do people watch me fade this way and feel the same? 

I recently saw him at Mayo Clinic and he looked not great. I ran away without saying hello before he saw me. Too cowardly to look death in the eye again.

He doesn’t even know that he effected me this way. I don’t know why someone I barely know effected me this way. 

When it comes to facing mortality in front of my face, I feel like I hit an emotional brick wall. I can’t do it, I can’t look past the fear and pain. I can’t rationally handle any of it. 

I want to be stronger. I need to do better for the people around me. People keep saying I’m so strong and brave and inspirational.

But I’m not.

I’m running away as fast as I can. I’m putting my own stupid and irrational feelings before what I know is right by the people who I love and inspire me.

I’m a coward. I’m terrified. I’m selfish. 

I have to be better. I have to be stronger. 

That is my intention.