From Life to Death

Three nights ago, I was reminded that life and death are just moments apart.  My aunt succumbed to breast cancer just three nights ago.  She wasn't a related aunt, but rather a good family friend of my parents' whom I have known since my parents moved to New Jersey a decade ago.  And a decade ago was exactly when Aunty learned of her first cancer diagnosis. 

She was in her mid-forties then and her younger child was ten years old.  She underwent chemo and switched to a holistic diet, one that all those Indian gurus preach about on Zee TV.  In the midst of her treatment, her hair fell out and she wore a floppy hat to cover her bare head.  That is around the time that I met her.  I liked the family - Aunty, Uncle and their son.  They were genuine and kind people albeit a bit FOBish.  I stress genuine because a lot of the Indian Jersey crowd is not so genuine.  A lot are fake and quite judgmental.  But, I liked this family immediately and I consider myself finely attuned to the fake factor since I did not grow up surrounded by it.

I saw them here and there over the years.  They were always very supportive of my parents and showed up to my engagement party and wedding, as well as, those of of my brother.  They seemed slightly outcast from the Indian community.  I'm not sure why that is.  They had an estranged daughter that I knew a little about.  I know she had joined the military at 18 and left home.  She ended up in Hawaii where she married her boyfriend while already pregnant.  I do not believe Uncle or Aunty had met their grandchild.  I do not pretend to know what happens in a family behind closed doors but I know that the family did not have much money and did not exhibit that "cool" factor.  Perhaps the daughter needed to get away from New Jersey.  I hope she found her peace.

Aunty fought the cancer and recovered.  My mom saw her three or four years ago at the Indian picnic in Menlo Park and Aunty's thick, black hair had grown to her waist.  She thrived.  She was a cancer survivor.  Strong and proud.

About two years ago, the cancer came back.  It came back more aggressively and vigorously than before.  There was no fighting it this time.  It had spread too quickly.

A year ago, my son was born and I went to visit my parents when he was one month old.  My parents called four or five family friends to come visit the baby that weekend.  Aunty and Uncle showed up the next day and they brought him a gift despite the short notice.  My son was sleeping most of the time but they stayed to catch a few glimpses of his awake time.  None of the other friends came to visit that weekend.   That was the last time I saw Aunty and I remember thinking how nice it was of them to stop by and spend the day and once again show how genuine and kind they were.

Three weeks ago, Aunty was fine.  She was happy and seemingly healthy when my parents saw her then. Three weeks.  Her throat constricted and she was unable to eat within a week.  She became weak and achy.  She lost her ability to speak.  The glare from the lights hurt so much that Uncle taped over her eyes to keep them shut.  She was bedridden and remained at home, occasionally visited by a hospice worker.  A hospital seemed senseless because the family was just awaiting her death at that point.  Her throat constricted even more and she was unable to drink any water.  Slow and painful.  Cancer is cruel.

Three nights ago, my mother visited and Aunty hadn't had water for three days.  She was able to communicate only with her hands.  My mom arrived at  4PM, left at 7PM, and Aunty passed away at 11PM.  Three weeks from life to death.