A powerful scene in cinema depicts Death inviting his mortal love interest to look into his eyes, promising a glimpse of his true, immortal self. As their eyes meet, a wave of horror washes over the young woman’s face. This raw fear, however, quickly subsides, and she continues their conversation, visibly shaken by the profound and unsettling truth she glimpsed in Death’s eyes. This visceral reaction to mortality, portrayed so vividly on screen, resonates deeply with those of us navigating life with cancer.
When I received my cancer diagnosis in April 2023, I witnessed a similar phenomenon in the reactions of others. Upon sharing my news, a predictable pattern emerged: initial shock and widened eyes, followed by attempts at empathy, and often concluding with a comforting hug or words of encouragement. Yet, beneath these varied responses, an unspoken presence lingered – the specter of Death, or at least the uncomfortable contemplation of mortality. This encounter with the concept of “dancing with death,” though not explicitly stated, was palpable.
During my initial rounds of radiation and chemotherapy last year, I reflected extensively on these reactions. It became clear that my loved ones were often unaware of their own visceral responses. It struck me that such reactions might be deeply ingrained, perhaps even primordial, echoing our fundamental human origins. Could it be that the fear of death is hardwired into our brains? Perhaps people weren’t recoiling from me personally or my illness, but rather from the stark reminder of their own inevitable mortality. Given the common misconception that a cancer diagnosis equates to an immediate death sentence, I decided to extend forgiveness to my unwitting listeners. More importantly, I resolved to navigate this journey openly, demonstrating that cancer need not steal life’s inherent joys. I chose to Dance With Death, not in a macabre sense, but as an acceptance of life’s fragility and a commitment to living fully.
My fascination with death has always been present, yet fear has never accompanied it. This perspective is largely shaped by my unique upbringing. My father was a licensed mortician, a profession he pursued after World War II. We understood that he cared for the deceased, preparing them for their final rituals. Growing up around the paraphernalia of his profession, death became less of an abstract terror. Death couldn’t be frightening if Daddy handled it.
My mother’s views on mortality further solidified this acceptance. Her beliefs were a rich blend of Judeo-Christian principles and African ancestral customs. She taught us that death was not an ending but a joyous homecoming. She often evoked the Sunday School imagery of ancestors gathered at the banks of the Jordan River, jubilantly welcoming a loved one to Paradise. Death was a transition from mortal life to immortal existence, a cause for rejoicing, not dread.
My journey with cancer recurrence this past summer has presented significant physical challenges. The uterine serous metastasis brought considerable abdominal pain, digestive issues, and weight loss. However, the new treatment plan devised with my oncologist is proving effective. My tumor markers have significantly decreased, discomfort has lessened, and my weight is gradually increasing. Throughout this ordeal, my resolve to embrace life and “dance with death” has remained unwavering. While the future remains uncertain, my goal is to live each day to its fullest potential, prioritizing quality of life above all else.
Much like the young woman in that Brad Pitt film who wisely declines Death’s offer to join his immortal realm, I too refuse to be consumed by morbid thoughts. Mortality is a universal human experience; cancer is not the sole harbinger of death. Instead of dwelling on the inevitable end, I choose to celebrate each step of this journey. If life allows, I will witness my grandson grow, see my children flourish in their own lives, and continue to enjoy the piano serenades of my husband of 40 years.
I will not fear death; instead, I embrace the dance. The thought of those ancestors waiting on that distant shore, beckoning me with joyous welcomes, brings a smile to my face. In that moment, I will truly know I am home, having danced gracefully with death and lived fully until the very last step.
