May 8, 2024 • 9 mins
On this episode of Our American Stories, Tracy Grant, the former managing editor at the Washington Post, shares the story of why the days taking care of her dying husband were the best 7 months of her life.
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:10):
And we continue with our American stories. Our next story
comes to us from Tracy Grant. Grant is the deputy
managing editor at The Washington Post. She is also the
author of the essay that appeared in the Post. I
was my husband's caregiver as he was dying of cancer.
It was the best seven months of my life. Here's
(00:33):
Tracy to share her story with us.
Speaker 2 (00:36):
Almost twelve years ago, my world as I knew it ended.
My husband of nineteen years, the father of my two sons,
was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Over the course of seven months,
Bill went from beating me silly on the tennis court
(00:58):
to needing my help to go to the band bathroom
and babe. It was the best seven months of my life.
Maybe I don't actually mean that, but it was certainly
the time when I felt most alive. I had lived
forty two years before I heard the phrases we have
(01:21):
a problem, multiple metastases on the brain, probably in the
lung as well. I had become a respected professional, a
responsible and I hope beloved parent, But I had yet
to discover the reason I was put on this earth.
(01:43):
During those seven months, I came to understand that whatever
else I did in my life, nothing would matter more
than this, Even if I didn't really understand what this
was for me, there were no more bad days. I
(02:06):
discovered that the petty day in day out, grievances of
an irksome co worker, a child with the sniffles, or
a flat tire pale in comparison to the beauty of
spontaneous laughter, the night sky, the smells of a bakery.
Some days were more difficult than others, but there were
(02:29):
moments of joy, laughter, tenderness in every day. If I
was just willing to look hard enough, I found I
could train myself to see more beauty than bother, to
set my internal barometer to be more compassionate than callous.
(02:51):
But I also discovered that with each day, my heart
and soul grew more open to seeing this beauty than
it ended any other time in my life. I concede
I was very fortunate when my husband became ill. I
was young and healthy. I had a great employer who
(03:11):
provided even better health insurance. My bosses basically told me
that my full time job, for which I would continue
to be paid, was to care for my husband and children.
In the early days after Bill's diagnosis, and brain surgery.
Being a caregiver called me to be the best reporter
(03:34):
I knew how to be. There was a heady sense
that I could out Maguy for this disease by my resources,
intellect and grit. I found clinical trials, talked to oncologists
in Texas, Pennsylvania, and New York. I knew which chemo
drugs would work in the brain and which would work
(03:55):
in the lungs. I was relentless in making doctors and
insurance companies answer my questions. It gave me a sense
of purpose, and it gave Bill great comfort and more
than a few chuckles to overhear me reading the Riot
Act to some poor insurance rep who had told me
(04:15):
that a treatment wouldn't be covered. I don't know what
it feels like to be an athlete in the zone
where every pitch is a strike, every shot a three pointer.
But those months were as close as I believe I
will ever come. I was at the top of my
(04:36):
game in the latter days. Being Bill's caregiver meant being
fully present for as many moments of every day as possible,
even ones where my formerly strong, independent spouse needed the
type of help that would have seemed unthinkable. Months earlier,
(05:02):
well meaning friends suggested antidepressants or sleeping pills to help
me take the edge off. I can certainly understand needing
to do that, but I didn't want to be less
than one hundred percent present. I didn't want to miss
or forget a moment. When it became hard for Bill
(05:26):
to navigate the stairs, he slept on the family room sofa,
and I slept on the floor next to him, at
the ready if he needed help getting to the bathroom
in the middle of the night. It was in some
ways reminiscent of having premature twins and never sleeping more
than a few hours at a stretch. With the boys,
(05:49):
I prayed for the day I would no longer have
to tend to them in the wee hours. With Bill,
I prayed for another month, another week, another day of
being able to have him to care for. When I
(06:10):
couldn't sleep during those nights, I took to praying the Rosary,
and then began praying it daily even if I had
no difficulty sleeping. For me, the repetition of the Hail
Mary while caressing purlescent beads helped slow my breathing, calm
(06:30):
my mind, I came to feel naked if I didn't
have beads in a pocket or a purse within easy reach.
While scans were performed, ivs dripped, test results waited for.
During Bill's last weekend, we had dinner together. At that point,
(06:54):
we no longer held on to the illusion of maguvering
our way out of this predicament, although we still believed
that he might come home one more time. We sat
by side on his hospital bed, sharing a subway sandwich
and watching television. Later, a relative visited, and I noticed,
(07:16):
almost reflexively to myself that she had changed her appearance,
and not in a favorable way. It was the kind
of thought I'd usually keep to myself. But just then
Bill voiced exactly what I had been thinking, in that
eerily intuitive, ruthlessly truthful way he had, and I found
(07:39):
myself laughing out loud. I could live with this man,
even as compromised as he is, needing as much care
as he does, for the next forty years. I thought
to myself, he would be dead in four days. A
(08:03):
dozen years later, I haven't started a foundation to cure cancer.
I haven't left the news business to get a medical degree.
I work, I pay the bills. I try to be
there for our sons. I will never again be as
good a person as I was when I cared for Bill.
(08:27):
I will never again have that high a purpose. But
every day I try to find and put into practice
the person I was during those seven months. I try
to be a little less judgmental, a little more forgiving,
(08:47):
a little more generous, a little more grateful for the
small moments in life. I am a better person for
having been in Bill's caregiver. It was his last best
(09:09):
gift to me.
Speaker 1 (09:11):
What a spectacular what a beautiful piece, a beautiful story
by Tracy Grant, and a terrific job on the editing
and the production by Greg Hengler. I am a better
person for having been Bill's caregiver. It was his last
and best gift to me and for all of you
(09:34):
caregivers right now. There is a special gift in doing it.
And I hope this gets you through it, and gets
you through it with a grace and the joy and
of course the pain that Tracy did. Tracy Grant's story,
her husband and how he left this world here on
(09:55):
our American story
And we continue with our American stories. Our next story
comes to us from Tracy Grant. Grant is the deputy
managing editor at The Washington Post. She is also the
author of the essay that appeared in the Post. I
was my husband's caregiver as he was dying of cancer.
It was the best seven months of my life. Here's
(00:33):
Tracy to share her story with us.
Speaker 2 (00:36):
Almost twelve years ago, my world as I knew it ended.
My husband of nineteen years, the father of my two sons,
was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Over the course of seven months,
Bill went from beating me silly on the tennis court
(00:58):
to needing my help to go to the band bathroom
and babe. It was the best seven months of my life.
Maybe I don't actually mean that, but it was certainly
the time when I felt most alive. I had lived
forty two years before I heard the phrases we have
(01:21):
a problem, multiple metastases on the brain, probably in the
lung as well. I had become a respected professional, a
responsible and I hope beloved parent, But I had yet
to discover the reason I was put on this earth.
(01:43):
During those seven months, I came to understand that whatever
else I did in my life, nothing would matter more
than this, Even if I didn't really understand what this
was for me, there were no more bad days. I
(02:06):
discovered that the petty day in day out, grievances of
an irksome co worker, a child with the sniffles, or
a flat tire pale in comparison to the beauty of
spontaneous laughter, the night sky, the smells of a bakery.
Some days were more difficult than others, but there were
(02:29):
moments of joy, laughter, tenderness in every day. If I
was just willing to look hard enough, I found I
could train myself to see more beauty than bother, to
set my internal barometer to be more compassionate than callous.
(02:51):
But I also discovered that with each day, my heart
and soul grew more open to seeing this beauty than
it ended any other time in my life. I concede
I was very fortunate when my husband became ill. I
was young and healthy. I had a great employer who
(03:11):
provided even better health insurance. My bosses basically told me
that my full time job, for which I would continue
to be paid, was to care for my husband and children.
In the early days after Bill's diagnosis, and brain surgery.
Being a caregiver called me to be the best reporter
(03:34):
I knew how to be. There was a heady sense
that I could out Maguy for this disease by my resources,
intellect and grit. I found clinical trials, talked to oncologists
in Texas, Pennsylvania, and New York. I knew which chemo
drugs would work in the brain and which would work
(03:55):
in the lungs. I was relentless in making doctors and
insurance companies answer my questions. It gave me a sense
of purpose, and it gave Bill great comfort and more
than a few chuckles to overhear me reading the Riot
Act to some poor insurance rep who had told me
(04:15):
that a treatment wouldn't be covered. I don't know what
it feels like to be an athlete in the zone
where every pitch is a strike, every shot a three pointer.
But those months were as close as I believe I
will ever come. I was at the top of my
(04:36):
game in the latter days. Being Bill's caregiver meant being
fully present for as many moments of every day as possible,
even ones where my formerly strong, independent spouse needed the
type of help that would have seemed unthinkable. Months earlier,
(05:02):
well meaning friends suggested antidepressants or sleeping pills to help
me take the edge off. I can certainly understand needing
to do that, but I didn't want to be less
than one hundred percent present. I didn't want to miss
or forget a moment. When it became hard for Bill
(05:26):
to navigate the stairs, he slept on the family room sofa,
and I slept on the floor next to him, at
the ready if he needed help getting to the bathroom
in the middle of the night. It was in some
ways reminiscent of having premature twins and never sleeping more
than a few hours at a stretch. With the boys,
(05:49):
I prayed for the day I would no longer have
to tend to them in the wee hours. With Bill,
I prayed for another month, another week, another day of
being able to have him to care for. When I
(06:10):
couldn't sleep during those nights, I took to praying the Rosary,
and then began praying it daily even if I had
no difficulty sleeping. For me, the repetition of the Hail
Mary while caressing purlescent beads helped slow my breathing, calm
(06:30):
my mind, I came to feel naked if I didn't
have beads in a pocket or a purse within easy reach.
While scans were performed, ivs dripped, test results waited for.
During Bill's last weekend, we had dinner together. At that point,
(06:54):
we no longer held on to the illusion of maguvering
our way out of this predicament, although we still believed
that he might come home one more time. We sat
by side on his hospital bed, sharing a subway sandwich
and watching television. Later, a relative visited, and I noticed,
(07:16):
almost reflexively to myself that she had changed her appearance,
and not in a favorable way. It was the kind
of thought I'd usually keep to myself. But just then
Bill voiced exactly what I had been thinking, in that
eerily intuitive, ruthlessly truthful way he had, and I found
(07:39):
myself laughing out loud. I could live with this man,
even as compromised as he is, needing as much care
as he does, for the next forty years. I thought
to myself, he would be dead in four days. A
(08:03):
dozen years later, I haven't started a foundation to cure cancer.
I haven't left the news business to get a medical degree.
I work, I pay the bills. I try to be
there for our sons. I will never again be as
good a person as I was when I cared for Bill.
(08:27):
I will never again have that high a purpose. But
every day I try to find and put into practice
the person I was during those seven months. I try
to be a little less judgmental, a little more forgiving,
(08:47):
a little more generous, a little more grateful for the
small moments in life. I am a better person for
having been in Bill's caregiver. It was his last best
(09:09):
gift to me.
Speaker 1 (09:11):
What a spectacular what a beautiful piece, a beautiful story
by Tracy Grant, and a terrific job on the editing
and the production by Greg Hengler. I am a better
person for having been Bill's caregiver. It was his last
and best gift to me and for all of you
(09:34):
caregivers right now. There is a special gift in doing it.
And I hope this gets you through it, and gets
you through it with a grace and the joy and
of course the pain that Tracy did. Tracy Grant's story,
her husband and how he left this world here on
(09:55):
our American story
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