This weekend was a flurry of wedding stuff. We had the meeting with the Deacon to finalize our wedding service (on to the programs!), the tasting with the hotel to finalize the menu and our cake (cake!), our wedding shower (tea party!), sending out the invitations, and doing the preliminary table assignments (wow). It was all about checking things off the list and moving forward – which I love. Let’s get this party started, right?
While we were having a break from the hubbub, on mother’s day, and sitting around the kitchen watching my dad make hamburgers and sauces and coleslaw, I mentioned how we seemed to be the only one in pre-cana who had really talked about death. We’ve talked about what we want to happen when we die, what we want to happen if we are a vegetable, what we want to happen if we are diagnosed with something terminal, and we’ve talked about needing to write this down because when these difficult decisions pop up, we’ll need each other’s support.
And then it came out that that was the one thing that really freaked my mom out when we became engaged. Suddenly, they weren’t going to be the ones making the decisions about my health and my well being. For 25 years they had been the go-to, they had been the ones who could decide how to care for me if I wasn’t able to care for myself. But once I’m married it will be Kamel. My parents will have no say in any of those things, and neither will Kamel’s. It’s a huge responsibility and I’ve known it was there from the beginning. So we talk.
Kamel has pretty opposite views on death and illness than I do. He’s all for the fight and the holding on and I’m all for the quality of life and the letting go. We do What-Ifs. Like, “What if I have an accident and I’m in a coma and the doctors tell you that I can have a surgery that will make me walk again, but I could die, or I could live and not have the surgery but for sure never walk again? What do you do?” And then we talk about it. We talk and we talk and we talk because this is the most important trust we’re handing each other and I want him to know how I think and I want to know if (when) I need to make any really hard decision, I at least have a general idea of how he wants his health and being handled.
It may come off as morbid, as a whole lot of what we don’t want to talk about, but for me it brings comfort. I think one of the worst things in life is a young widow. It’s a special kind of tragedy. But what’s even worse would be to have no idea how to proceed with anything, having not had any of the conversations, and to be entirely alone in the process. So we talk.