Lessons From A Death Bed (Memoir)

As you near the end, what thoughts will consume your mind?

This question weighed heavily on my mind after a profound experience many years ago. At that time, I had been working for two years in my husband’s tax consultancy, attending to clients and managing various tasks and procedures with the freelancers we worked with. It was just a job like any other until my husband was diagnosed with terminal stage-four cancer. This opened my eyes to the harsh reality of wasted time.

The discovery of his cancer occurred during the week of my birthday, towards the end of September. After several tests and a biopsy, paperwork, and multiple appointments with doctors who offered their condolences to me, my husband underwent surgery in Oviedo, Spain, on the other side of the country, at the beginning of December.

Between September and December, my husband realized that either life ends here or maybe he had another chance. We realized that it’s all a matter of perspective thanks to several books with stories of people who had successfully overcome the illness. It was a matter of statistics, and he knew a lot about them.

In the room in Oviedo, he had another cancer patient as his roommate. He had cancer of the vocal cords. He was a man around 70 years old who couldn’t speak because of the disease, and chemotherapy had almost completely robbed him of his hearing.

This man, whom I will refer to as John for the sake of the story, had been an important businessman. The nurses told me that not even the mayor dared to oppose him. He was the kind of person who didn’t care about others and insisted on continuing his life as it was, regardless of the circumstances.

He would get up in the morning and have breakfast. He paid a woman monthly to bring him the newspaper in paper format every day before breakfast at 8:00. His breakfast comprised a brown shake poured through a hole in his throat. He constantly choked and would get angry with the nurse on duty, blaming her for everything. Right after, he would turn on the television to watch the day’s news. He would turn up the volume to the maximum because he could hardly hear. And even though he had headphones, he didn’t use them because he didn’t care if it bothered anyone else.

The days he woke up in a bad mood and in pain were the worst. The nurses wouldn’t show up when he called for them. None of them had any affection for him. His assistant, whom the nurses told us was the one handling his business affairs, obeying the text messages he sent her every day, came once to bring him some requested documents and left in less than half an hour.

He was alone. I’m sure he was hurt because he couldn’t shout at his subordinates like he used to. He blamed anyone who crossed his path, and being a tall, big man, he would raise his arms like a bear and furrow his brow, causing fear.

I felt sorry for him, and so did my husband. We tried to understand him and not bother him by asking him to lower the volume of the television in the initial few days. We offered to help make his bed, organize his things, but he didn’t accept it. He didn’t even look at us, just would wave his hand as if to say, “Stay put.”

One day, while we were watching television (at least in Spanish hospitals, there is only one device per room used by both patients), John grabbed the remote control and changed the channel to watch a basketball game at full volume.

We enjoy watching basketball games, but that night my husband had a severe headache. He had postoperative meningitis and was undergoing strong treatment, and he didn’t want any noise. Moreover, John was taking away the television time we had paid for. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I said that wasn’t fair and changed again.

He confronted us like a wild beast, raising his hands and stretching his body to appear more intimidating. I left the room crying and trembling, not knowing how to react, having mixed feelings. On the one hand, I felt sorry for him, but on the other hand, this guy was crazy! A hospital is not a place to be disruptive and irritate people; it is a place to recuperate.

An older nurse came in and somehow threatened him. From that moment on, he closed the curtain, never turned on the television again, and acted as if we weren’t there for him either.

At first, I thought it wouldn’t be so serious, and maybe he was waiting to recover from the last vocal cord surgery and then go home. But one day, while talking to the nurses, they told us he had been living in that room for 6 months and was waiting for death. The prognosis was another maximum of 6 months. There was nothing they could do for him.

Later, since we became friends with almost all the nurses, they told us he had no heirs. They said the business would be left in the hands of a partner whom he currently didn’t allow to take control because he didn’t trust him. What a stupidity, I thought. Although if you have no one to leave your wealth to, I don’t know, aren’t there needy people throughout the world?

Anyway, I couldn’t understand why someone with such a terrible prognosis would spend their remaining time obsessed with a business they would soon leave behind. Perhaps, I thought, it was his way of saying “I’m not dying. I’m still fine doing what I always do.”

John’s behavior stayed with me, not because of his obsession with work and his questionable work ethic, but because it reflected moments in my own life where (at least back then) I wasted energy, time, and resources on activities that didn’t make sense. On things that had no positive impact on my life. I realized how often I set aside the people who truly mattered to me, keeping them on hold until a more convenient moment when I could appreciate them.

These reflections on John’s decisions and the end-of-life regrets have had a deep influence on me. They have provided me with wisdom, inspiration, and a deeper understanding of my own truth. I have learned several important lessons along the way:

Missing out on opportunities can leave us full of regrets. Looking back, I recognize that the decisions I made in the past were based on the knowledge, interests, and level of comfort of my former self. While some choices may not have been the best for me, I take responsibility for them, knowing that I made the best possible decisions.

Possessions come and go. “Things” demand attention, but it is people who bring us the greatest joy, meaningful connections, and sincere experiences. Every day, we have the opportunity to show the importance of our loved ones in our lives. Be grateful for those who love you, as they will bring you more fulfillment than any possession.

Appreciate and value the limited time we have. Every second counts, so think hard about how you use it and who you spend it with. Time is a limited resource, and we should use it wisely.

While we cannot change our past, we have the power to reshape our future and create a life that is worth living. It is a daily work we should make our number one priority. By sharing a positive message with those around us, we can leave a lasting impact even after we are gone.

John’s story serves to me as a poignant reminder of the importance of living a purposeful life and appreciating the people who matter most to us. As we approach the end, let us reflect on the choices we have made and consider how we want to spend the precious time we have left.

May we find the courage to prioritize what truly holds meaning and fulfillment, leaving a legacy of love, compassion, and positive impact in our wake.

Lessons From a Death Bed: Finding Meaning and Prioritizing What Truly Matters

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