He walks out of my bedroom and closes my door.
I sit back on my bed and read the last words my mother will ever say to me.
To my boys,
I’ve spent my entire life studying writing. No writing course . . . no amount of college . . . no life experience could ever prepare a person to write an adequate suicide note for their children. But I’m sure as hell going to try.
First, I want to explain why I’ve done this. I know you don’t understand it. And Ben, you’re probably the first one reading this, since I’m sure you were the first to find me. So please read this letter in its entirety before you decide to hate me.
I found out four months ago that I have ovarian cancer. Brutal, unbeatable, silent cancer that spread before I even developed symptoms. And before you get angry and say I gave up, that’s the last thing I would do. If my illness was something I could fight, you boys know I would have fought it with everything I have. But that’s the thing about cancer. They call it the fight, as if the stronger ones win and the weaker ones lose, but that’s not what cancer is at all.
Cancer isn’t one of the players in the game. Cancer is the game.
It doesn’t matter how much endurance you have. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve practiced. Cancer is the be-all and end-all of the sport, and the only thing you can do is show up to the game with your jersey on. Because you never know . . . you might be forced to sit the bench for the entire game. You may not even be given the chance to compete.
That’s me. I’m being forced to sit the bench until the game is over, because there’s nothing more that can be done for me. I could go into all the details, but the fact of the matter is, they caught it too late.
So now comes the tricky part.
Do I wait it out? Do I allow the cancer to slowly rob me of everything I have? You boys remember Grandpa Dwight, and how cancer completely swallowed him up, but refused to spit him out for months. Grandma had to alter her entire life to care for him. She lost her job, the home medical bills piled up, and they eventually lost their house. She was evicted two weeks after he finally died. All because the cancer took its precious time with him.
I don’t want that. I can’t bear the thought of you boys having to take care of me. I know if I don’t end my own life, I might be lucky enough to live on this earth for another six months. Maybe nine. But those months will rob each of you of the mother you knew. And then, when my dignity and my cells aren’t enough to satisfy it anymore, the cancer will take everything else it can get, too. The house. Savings. Your college funds. All the happy memories we’ve shared together.
I know as much as I try and justify my decision, it’s still going to hurt the three of you more than you’ve ever hurt in your life. But I knew if I spoke to you about this prior to doing it, you would have talked me out of it.
I’m especially sorry to you, Ben. My sweet, sweet baby boy. I’m so sorry. I’m sure I could have done it a better way, because no child should have to see their mother in that condition. But I know if I don’t do it tonight before you come home, I might never do it. And to me, that would be an even more selfish decision than this one. I know you’ll find me in the morning, and I know it will gut you because it’s gutting me just thinking about it. But either way, I’m going to be dead before you turn seventeen. At least this way, it will be quick and easy. You can call 911, they’ll take away my body, and it’ll be over in less than a few hours. A few hours for me to die and be removed from the house is so much better than the several months it could potentially take for the cancer to do its job.
I know this will be difficult for you to deal with, so I’ve tried to make it as easy as possible. Someone will need to clean up after they take my body, so I’ve left a card on the kitchen counter for who you should call. There’s plenty of cash in my purse. I’ve left it in the kitchen, on the counter.
If you look in my office, third drawer down on the right, you’ll find that I’ve prepared all the necessary paperwork to file for survivor benefits. Make sure you do this right away. Once the paperwork is filed, you’ll get a check in a matter of weeks. There’s still a mortgage on the house, but there will be enough left to cover tuition for each of you. I’ve set all that up through our lawyer.
Please keep the house until you’re all grown and settled. It’s a good house and despite this one thing, we had a lot of good memories here.
Please know that you three boys made every second of my life worth living. And if I could take away this cancer, I would do it. I would be so selfish about it; I’d probably give it to someone else to suffer through just so I could spend more time with each of you. That’s how much I love you.
Please forgive me. I had two poor choices to choose from, neither of which I wanted. I just went with what would be more beneficial to all of us in the end. I hope one day you can understand. And I hope that by choosing to do this, I don’t ruin this date for you. November 9th is significant to me, in that it’s the same day Dylan Thomas died. And you boys know how much his poetry means to me. It’s gotten me through a lot in life, especially your father’s death. But my hope for you is that this date will just be a date for you in the future with little significance and little excuse to mourn.
And please don’t worry about me. My suffering is over. In the wise words of Dylan Thomas . . . After the first death, there is no other.
With all my love,
Mom
I can barely read my mother’s signature through my tears. Ian walks back into the room several minutes later and sits beside me.