Yesterday, as I mindlessly wandered through postings on Facebook, I came across a notice telling me that an acquaintance had made a comment on the Facebook page of another person, a person I do not know and had never heard of. The person’s page announced that the poster was diagnosed, the day before, with terminal bone cancer and was told he could expect the cancer to claim his life within six months. I clicked on the public post and read many of the more than one hundred ‘supportive’ comments made in response to it.
The thing that struck me most about all of the responses was this: every single one of them proclaimed they prayed for him. Many, if not most, of them suggested their prayers would be answered and that the six-month death sentence, therefore, would not be carried out. Perhaps the well-wishers actually believed what they wrote. But I suspect that most anticipate that they will have lost a friend within six months. If that’s so, why do they offer up platitudes? Why pretend a miracle will somehow save this man’s life?
In my view, there’s something decidedly cruel about making such bold assertions about someone’s future, assertions that contrast with a doctor’s diagnosis. I understand, of course, that doctors are just as fallible as the rest of us and that the course of even aggressive, murderous diseases can unexpectedly change. But to essentially promise that prayer will alter the course of a disease seems arrogant and cruel. If the recipient of those delusional platitudes is a rational person, I suspect he will dismiss them as the ramblings of incoherent, deluded idiots and will proceed with plans as if there were no guarantees beyond the immediate future.
While the promises may have been genuine expressions of hope, I see them as far more harmful than helpful. I’ll admit to a strong bias against willing self-delusion, though. Regardless, I feel for the poor guy who received the heartbreaking, earth-shattering diagnosis; what a stark, ugly reminder of one’s mortality.
Holly, my dad died of lung cancer, too. He went much faster than yours; less than four months from diagnosis to his death, maybe even less. He was in horrendous pain, too, eased to some extent with morphine injections. I am not absolutely certain, but I seriously doubt I ever had the conversation you had, even though I knew (or think) my dad was a believer. To this day, when I hear “Amazing Grace,” his favorite hymn, I have a hard time keeping it together. But that’s not because of my attachment to the hymn; it’s because it meant something for my father it can’t mean for me. I didn’t pray for my dad, though I remember wishing there really was some power that would “listen” and respond accordingly. I guess it’s possible I tried, figuring it couldn’t do any harm; but I don’t think I did. By then, I was hardened to the reality I still believe to this day.
John, I hear ya, buddy. I think I’ve shared the story with you before, but just in case I haven’t….
When my dad was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and given year. I can’t remember if I prayed or not. I’m almost certain I never told him that I was praying. Mostly I was just hoping that he would not be in a tremendous amount of pain. It was a forlorn hope. As the year drew to a close, and he was on more and more morphine, looking like in Auschwitz victim, my mother exhausted from caregiving, I decided to talk to God. I told him to stop screwing around and toying with my dad and to just fucking take him so he wouldn’t hurt anymore. My mother called me a few hours later and told me that my father had died.
I don’t know whether I believe in prayer or not. But I don’t think it hurts to have clear, realistic expectations of your desires and communicate those to the universe.
Facebook kinda gives me a pain in the ass.
Far be it from me to withhold hope to someone who wants and needs it, Mary Lou. But I just don’t view the world that way; I mean I don’t think I would reach out for hope in places it hides. But I don’t begrudge people who would. I guess I just can’t wrap my mind around understanding it. I do understand questioning whether one’s life really mattered. I understand that at my core.
Having been through more than my share of loss in my lifetime, I can tell you that what truly matters is how you have treated this person while they are alive and well. Love and friendship is tested when we are ill and dying. And if you are the one going down for the last count, so to speak, you will reach for any lifesaver, even knowing it isn’t there. It is at this time that you realize whether or not your life has mattered to someone, anyone. You review the choices you’ve made in your life and wonder if they mattered if anyone cared. And that is the real message, not false promises.
You are genuinely good, Mary Lou; there’s no question about that. Your generous gift of hope attests to that. But our views diverge sharply here. What I see as cruel, impossible promises you see as hopefulness. If I put myself in the patient’s shoes, my reaction would be to suggest to the prayerful that they spend their energies on someone for whom prayer is equivalent to hope; the two do not share a definition in my world view. But, then, I’m a curmudgeon with sharp edges. 😉
Because hope, no matter how wispy, is the greatest gift you can give someone. The prayers are to give the patient friend hope that he will be at peace. It’s sort of group meditation because we all know we will be in their shoes some day.