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But I remember when my dad was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and the doctor told him that not too many people know when they will die, and in one way, that was a gift my dad got--the ability to know how long more he would be alive. We all want to know when our time will be, I think, but we will never know exactly, like my dad.
My mom has always said there are two ways of dying, and each one has its good and its bad. One, that someone have a "good" death--unexpected, but clean and quick. In this case, the person doesn't get to deliberate over the consequences. The second is prolonged, filled with pain, and a slow death. Obviously this is hard on a person, and each day is a challenge to get through.
In the quick death, the family is taken off guard, and it's a lot harder for the family to understand.
In the slower death, the family is caught in the grief early in the process, and ends up, whether they like it or not, hoping the patient doesn't suffer any more than they need to. As a result, the family gets used to the idea that the patient is dying, but the patient ends up suffering for the longer length of time.
Your friend has probably already accepted the outcome, but it's his friends and family that need to come to that acceptance. What comes next is up to the people in that person's life, whether they try to hold him here longer than the time the patient has left, or give them the best they can while he is still here, and give that person the gift of caring without strings attached.
In one capacity or another, my family has been involved with death, whether it's as a cemetary worker, nurse, or woroking for a mortuary. Death isn't something we can bargain away, it's a fact of our life--if we can't believe in the inevitability of the end of life, we might not treasure life itself. Each life is precious, but we have to remember that we aren't immortal, and seize each day as though it were our last.
My thoughts are with your friend and his family and friends.
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