Dating : Confessions of a Palliative Biographer

I pass the story to him. His life in words. His memories in pictures. His emotions filling up to his eyes, threatening to spill onto the paper. I nod, acknowledging what he wants to say but can’t.

I want to say many things, too.

What do you say to somebody who has opened the door and welcomed you into their memories — their history, their story? What do you say when it’s time to close the door behind you?

What do you say when goodbye seems so breathtakingly final?

This work is voluntary. I’m one of a team of Biographers who drop briefly into the lives of those who are not long for this earth, listening to their stories, collating their rich history. We drink tea and we laugh. We pore over sepia-stained photos, over war medals, and laugh about children and their antics.

They tell me about life in the ‘good ole days’ and I tell them how much it has changed. “Why on earth” one friend wondered, “would you do this? Won’t that be too hard? Too painful? Too close to home?”

“Yes”, I answered.

Yes, it will be. Yes, it is. It is hard to let another soul in knowing full-well they are dying. It’s hard to watch the decline. It’s painful to see the love that is shared between two people, and the life they so desperately cling to in the time before it passes. But I’m not afraid to open my heart up to be impacted by others.

Isn’t this the meaning of life? Isn’t the pain of loss just part of the human condition? As Glennon Doyle so aptly says, grief is the receipt — the proof that we loved.

I close the story, the final chapter. Shut down the laptop. Manage an awkward goodbye. Gentle hugs are exchanged at the doorway of the home that has cradled their life.

I close the door to their home but leave the door to my heart wide open.

I click my son’s seatbelt as we set off to collect his brother from school. We’re halfway there when the tears begin to fall. I sob and I drive, letting myself feel the pain of allowing somebody in.

“Why are you crying, Mummy?” his small voice says from the backseat.

“Because it’s hard to say goodbye.”