Sometimes sadness creeps into every life. My family is experiencing such a moment. We all have family members that are closer than others. I am no different. I have a cousin who is approaching 70. Some of my friends are surprised that the two of us are so close because we are so very different.
My cousin is, in my opinion, the epitome of intolerance. That does not mean that I do not love him. And, it does not mean that I have spent my time with him trying to change his belief system. In fact, I have tried to accept him as he is and for the most part I have found lots of good.
So, here is his story, in brief. This particular cousin had a son that was gay. I know he loved his son. How could anyone not love his child? But, this man could not accept — would not accept — that his son was gay. The two became estranged. Even at family gatherings there was a strain between the two of them. As my cousin aged, he all too often would say things to or about his son that made me cringe with disgust. But, I have maintained my relationship with this cousin although we have exchanged rather harsh words at times, mostly over his attitude towards his son.
A few days ago, my cousin rang me up to say that his son, in his early forties, had cancer. It was detected late and although there had been massive treatment in the past three weeks, the son had only a day or two to live. The day before the son died the father went to his son’s bedside. The child did not know his father, or anyone for that matter. I felt sad that the son never knew the father was there. Or, who knows, maybe he did and could not respond?
When the hospital began limiting visitation to immediate family, the son’s life partner was denied visitation. The two had been together for almost 15 years, as devoted to one another as my husband and I are to our relationship. I could not help but think how I would feel if I were denied visitation with my husband during his last days.
My cousin arrived for his one and only visit to his son’s bedside. The son’s partner was sitting in a straight back chair outside the door to the hospital room. A security officer appeared to tell the man that he could not sit in the hallway but would have to move to a waiting room. Isn’t that a terrible thought? Sitting in a waiting room awaiting death? The man refused to move. My cousin observed the confrontation briefly and started to enter the room.
The man who was being forced even farther from his partner had tears in his eyes as he pleaded to just sit outside the room. He tried to explain to the security officer that he had spent 15 years by the side of the patient, through good times and bad.
The unexpected happened. My cousin interrupted the confrontation, telling the officer that the man who had been sitting by the door each day for over a week was family, that in fact, the man was his son-in-law and that he would give up his opportunity to see his son if the officer would allow the man into the room. The officer did not budge. He grabbed the younger man’s arm and began to escort him from the hospital.
Perhaps, it was fate. I don’t know. But, the doctor who had treated the patient was passing by. My cousin intervened to ask permission for the two of them to visit the son together. At first the doctor refused, saying that it was dangerous for patient because of germs, etc. My cousin responded that the hours were limited and that another germ or bacteria would make no difference in the outcome.
At last, the doctor gave in and allowed the two visitors to enter the room. As I understand it, for the first time in 15 years my cousin and his son’s life partner talked and talked and talked as they sat by the patients bedside. The partner shared to best of times and the worst of times with my cousin. They sat together side by side, one telling the other about the life of the man in the bed.
When the son stopped breathing and the long drone of the machine signaling death took over, the nurses and doctor entered the room. My cousin and his son’s partner were crying, locked in an embrace of sadness and heartbreak.
I am thankful that my cousin finally found a place in his heart to accept his son. I am thankful that the partner found it in his heart to share stories of fifteen years with my cousin. Nothing will bring the son back. Those lost years cannot be recovered, not even with talk of the son’s life.
There is nothing more to say. I know we all have our prejudices and biases, whether we choose to admit them or not. We know what they. But, to let our hate or dislike or fear keep us from the most precious moments of life —
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