NORRATOR – NORRA + narrator
Stories shaped by experience
Living With Uncertainty
To a certain degree, we all live with uncertainty.
We never know for sure how things will turn out, but we try.
We give our best and hope for the best.
We applied the same to our everyday lives, despite knowing where we were headed.
Two months after knowing that Tijani’s cancer had relapsed and there was no treatment that could save her, we tried to live our best lives with each other.
There were many days, especially in the beginning, when Tijani’s body was going through a lot of changes and experiencing a lot of pain.
They were very stressful for me, and I suppose scary and confusing for Tijani.
During those days, we didn’t know what was happening. We were uncertain if it was the same cancer coming back, a new one, or something completely different.
When we knew with certainty that it was the same cancer that had spread, we felt certain that we could fight it back.
Then the doctor said it wasn’t possible.
When we finally accepted that there was nothing that could be done to save her, we had mixed feelings.
The truth was certain – Tijani was dying.
The uncertainty was when – and that was difficult.
There was no timeline. No countdown.
No doctor telling us, “You have three months.”
She could have died later that day.
Or the next day. Or a week later. Or a month later.
We simply didn’t know.
And somehow, we still had to carry on with everyday life.
So we did.
We ate, we had meals together.
We watched TV shows – House Hunters International for me, Brooklyn Nine-Nine for her.
We talked – mainly about food, sometimes about her friends, and of course about faith.
We went out when she was well enough.
We ordered food. We drove around.
We found little things to look forward to.
Sometimes, the smallest things felt like a gift.
A cup of iced coffee. A meal she actually wanted.
A drive to the beach. Looking at the sea.
A conversation that went nowhere and everywhere.
A normal day.
Except there was nothing normal about it.
Because underneath every ordinary moment was the knowledge that there might not be another one.
That was the strange part.
When you know someone is dying but you don’t know when, you start treasuring moments without knowing whether you are overdramatic for treasuring them.
I didn’t want every moment to become some grand, meaningful memory.
Sometimes, I just wanted to be her mother.
Sometimes, I wanted her to eat something.
Sometimes, I wanted to go somewhere without having to think about her illness.
Sometimes, I wanted to laugh about something stupid.
Sometimes, I wanted us to just be us.
I think that was how we lived with the uncertainty. The uncertainty was unbearable.
But every moment that was spared to us was heavenly.
That’s why those ordinary moments became so precious.
Not because we knew exactly how many we had left. But because we knew we didn’t have forever.
We didn’t spend every waking moment talking about death. We lived around it.
That was the strangest part of all.
Death was there. We knew it was coming.
But life was still happening.
There were still meals to order. Still places to go.
Still things to watch. Still things to talk about.
Still moments when she was just Tijani and I was just her mother.
Eventually, though, we had to start preparing for what we knew was coming.
Not because we knew when. But because we knew it would.
There were things we needed to talk about. Things we needed to decide. Things we needed to put in place.
Preparing for death does not mean you have given up on life.
It means you love someone enough to prepare for what comes after it.
Was this post helpful?
If you found this post helpful and you think it can help someone else, please share it.
It takes time to come up with meaningful content. If you appreciate the content and would like to help me rebuild my life after a profound loss, please consider making a contribution.
Think clearly. Live meaningfully. Grow with purpose.
Looking for a Speaker?
A good talk should give people something to think about – and, ideally, something worth taking with them afterwards.
Leave a comment