A few years ago, a dear friend of mine died of breast cancer. About two months before she passed away, I was talking to her on the phone about how she was feeling. In the five years since her diagnosis, she had never, ever, even one time mentioned the possibility of death to me. She was a very stubborn, determined person, and she believed that she could and would beat it. Even as she became sicker and sicker, and even as those of us who loved her allowed ourselves to think about the worst, it was never something that was openly discussed with her.
But on this day, in that phone call, she finally brought it up herself, telling me that she simply could not come to peace with the idea of death for one reason only: she could not bear the thought of her then-middle-school aged daughter growing up without her. The idea that her beloved only child would have to navigate adolescence without her mother by her side to cheer her on, hold her hand, and catch her when she fell was too painful for my friend to contemplate. She believed that her job as a mama was not finished, and she told me that her only prayer, every single night was that God would please, please allow her to live long enough to see her child grow up. Then and only then, she explained, could she die at peace.
But she did die...at home, in her own bed, with her husband and daughter there with her. I know her last conscious thought was of her child, and if - as some believe - she is able to "check in" with those of us she left behind, I know she's always right there with her daughter, keeping watch. While my friend did not get to mother her child all the way into adulthood, she obviously did a damn good job in the 13 years she put in on the job. My friend's daughter is one of the most remarkable, accomplished, self-confident, and mature teenage girls I've ever known. Her mother would be so proud. I am proud of her. I know she misses her mama a lot, but I always tell her how beautifully she's honoring her mother's memory in the way she's living the values my friend worked to instill in her.
I thought about my friend yesterday when I heard that Farrah Fawcett had finally succumbed to her own cancer battle at the young age of 62. I have a family connection to the O'Neals, and so I've always kind of paid attention to what their latest troubles are. And although she was always a controversial figure in a lot of ways, Farrah Fawcett clearly adored being a mother, and loved her only child, Redmond O'Neal.
Unfortunately, Redmond apparently lost the genetic lottery, inheriting the multigenerational O'Neal history of addiction and mental illness. He has been in and out of rehab since he was 14, and today, at age 24, he is actually in prison as the result of his latest drug arrest. He last visited his mother a few weeks ago, when he got a compassionate furlough to see her on her deathbed. Press reports say that family and friends tried to hide the shackles and prison jumpsuit from his mother, who was drifting in and out of consciousness. They all wanted to spare her the pain of seeing her child as an inmate. I hope they were successful. I hope she didn't realize that he was visiting her from prison. But I suspect that she did know.
Mothers know when their children are hurting, even if they are hurting too.
And even if she didn't clearly understand the specifics of his current circumstances, Farrah Fawcett surely died fully aware of the fact that her son is still very ill. I suspect that this was the one thing with which she was unable to make her peace as death approached; just like any mother, she was probably horror-stricken at the idea that she would leave her child behind when he still needs his mama. Because even though Redmond O'Neal is 24 years old, he clearly isn't grown up yet, and he suffers from a cruel, chronic and often fatal disease. I'll bet that just as with my friend, Farrah Fawcett's last conscious thought was of her baby boy, and her last prayers were for his recovery.
Peace be with her, and with my friend, and with their children. Peace be with all the children who lost a mother yesterday, just as Redmond O'Neal did. And peace be with all the mothers and fathers and grandparents and other family members of young people currently suffering with mental illness and addiction. You are in my prayers.
Have you ever experienced the death of a friend or family member who still had children in her care? Was she able to make peace with saying goodbye? Do you ever allow yourself to think about leaving your children too soon?
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