That thing that streaked by faster than my dog running toward the sound of a banana being peeled.
Yeah, that was November. Did you miss it too?
If you’re a writer/author, you probably empathize given the craziness that is National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo (if you chose to participate).
If you’re not a writer but you’re in the U.S., then the last week or two of the month was probably a blur for you too, with preparing to stuff your face and then actually stuffing your face—and giving thanks, of course.
So now that the month is over and I’m back to blogging (only to prepare for another break in a couple of months…more on that in a future blog post), I thought it was a good time to take a look back at what happened in the month of Thanksgiving.
Not long ago I found out a man I used to work with was diagnosed with ALS. In my day job, I help employees who have disabilities and need a leave of absence or help performing their jobs because of those disabilities. Naturally he called me.
He was the exact opposite of how I’d be if I just found out I had a protracted, terminal illness: calm, plan-full, laughing, resigned. Although, he did tell me a secret: “I have a wife and daughters, and I have to be strong for them. But when I’m in the shower, that’s when the tears come. I do my best crying in the shower.”
We talked about the company’s different leave of absence programs, medical plans, life insurance, and short- and long-term disability benefits. He told me he hoped he would realize when he was no longer able to work and “bring value.”
“I don’t want someone to have to force me to leave.”
Of course, I wondered what would I do if I were him. And the answer came to me without hesitation, like an eager understudy waiting in the wings.
I would commit suicide.
Not right away.
Not while I was still relatively healthy.
Not while I could still take care of myself.
But right before I felt like I was becoming a burden on my family.
Just before I felt like I didn’t have control over my life anymore.
I knew this because of the man I’d watched die a few years before.
John Zaritsky, the Canadian director, received a lot of flack for showing the actual moment of Ewert’s death. But he had a good reason to do so: “It would be less than honest if we were to make a film about the process and not actually be able to see the ‘hole in the hat’ as it were,” he said. “We would be left open to charges that the death was unpleasant, cruel or wasn’t even done willingly. People can judge for themselves.”