Death without fear

One warm spring day, I heard a faint "meow -" by the lake. My first reaction was to ignore it. There's so much going on lately that I can't even take care of myself.

Three months ago, at the age of 37, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Because the cancer had spread, the doctor advised me to have my breasts removed, and the date was scheduled for the end of that month. I still remember overhearing my husband Gehry on the phone. He said, "She might lose her boobs." I can still feel the shock and disbelief to this day. The words seemed to pierce me with sharp knives. No, no! I cried out silently to God: I'm still young!

A few weeks later, as I was slowly recovering from the mastectomy, the doctors brought even worse news. The cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, and chemotherapy was the best option to survive. Hearing the news, I stayed there and thought: Oh my gosh, I'm going to die.

I am afraid of death. Many friends have taken a lot of comfort from the thought of being born and reincarnated, but I cannot blindly believe what I can't see or touch. I need proof. I pray that God will show me the truth about death.

Fearing death, I decided to take a radical approach: high doses of chemotherapy, followed by long-term hormone-blocking antibodies.

Chemotherapy completely destroyed me. Even though I took anti-nausea medication, it didn't work at all. For two months of chemotherapy, what I did every day was: get dressed and eat something to fill my stomach. My husband, in addition to going to work, has to take care of the family and take care of me. Although my husband has no complaints, these days have been difficult for me and him, I know. Most of the time, I feel lonely and get angry easily. This is the first time I've been out of the house in so many days, by the lake.

"Meow, meow!" The pleading voice was intermittent.

Now I really can't take care of another animal, I thought. Suddenly, shrill shouts and defiant sounds broke into my ears - four jays rushed towards the "meow" bush. I hissed away the birds and ran into the bush. A 3-week-old tawny tabby cat stood trembling, head bowed, still meowing. It has bright blue eyes. I took it in my arms and walked to the lake, hoping to find its owner, or a kind person willing to adopt it.

The wind was blowing, and the kitten shrank tighter in my arms, still seeming scared. We sat by the lake together, waiting for someone to take it home. I asked several passers-by, and none of them wanted to take it home. I decided to take it home first for now.

I was so tired from the chemotherapy that I spent most of the day curled up on the couch while the kitten snuggled up on my chest and purred. One night, my husband was going to a party, and I asked him to bring the cat with him. "Find him a good home," I said, putting the kitten in a box. I didn't realize that my heart had been stolen by then.

An hour later, I called my husband. "Have you found a home for it?"

"I just gave it to someone," the husband replied.

"Don't give it," I blurted. "Bring it back, I need it."

When my husband and the kitten came home, the kitten snuggled into my arms again, as if it had never left.

For the next week, I was bedridden and the kitten stayed with me. He loved to snuggle up to me, and sometimes, he would snuggle under my chin. He didn't even notice that I had no hair and an unbalanced chest. Love and be loved unconditionally, and he thinks that's fine.

I named my kitten "Dharma" because in Hindi, Dharma means "fulfilling the ambition of life". Cancer recovery surveys show that finding and following your well-being or ambition can support your immune system and improve your chances of survival. For me, I have two ambitions: to write and to benefit others. The name Dharma reminds me of my ambitions, but of course it doesn't stop there.

Once every two weeks when I come home from the hospital, I carry Dharma like a baby and walk around the house. I hold it even when I go to the laundry. We are inseparable. With Dharma by my side, I no longer long for Gehry so much, and I no longer get mad at him at him at all. Dharma still grunts a lot, and it's very loud. It's very comforting to hear him express his love so freely.

Dharma grew up. Fighting, biting, and scratching furniture became his favorite ways to play. When Dharma was too wild, I would let him play outside with the neighbor's cat.

Dharma also likes to catch butterflies. So I planted a lot of flowers in the yard to attract butterflies. The whole yard is often filled with colorful butterflies, which has become Dharma's playground. Dharma seems to have never caught a butterfly. Countless afternoons, I sat on the porch in the backyard and watched Dharma enjoy its happiness and carefree. Watching Dharma live happily, my mood improved. I decided, I want to be like Dharma too.

At the end of December, I scheduled my last surgery and called the office to say I would go back to work next February.

The third day after my surgery, something unexpected happened. Dharma ran out of the yard by himself, was hit by a speeding car, and died on the spot. At that moment, my life seemed to stop. I broke down, and no one could comfort me, not even my husband. I sat on the sofa where Dharma and I shared a lot of love, and cried for hours. Why, God, why? I asked desperately. I want to go back to the past, and I will never let it go out again.

Finally, my husband asked me, "Do you want to see it again?"

I'd never wanted to see a dead animal before, but this time I said, "Okay."

My husband put Dharma on a towel and delivered it to me. I held it and cried. We decided to bury Dharma in our flowery yard.

As my husband dug the hole, I held Dharma one last time and told it how important it was to me and how much I loved it. I thought about the gifts Dharma has brought me during this short period of time with me: unconditional love, laughter, lively emotions, Dharma always reminds me to live to the fullest and reminds me of my ambitions in life.

My husband said to me, "I think Dharma was sent by God to help you through this difficult time. Now that you have passed the hardest time, it is time for Dharma to help others."

"Do you really think so?" How I wish my husband was telling the truth.

"Look at all the timing," the husband said. "You haven't been to the lake in months, but the day you went, you found Dharma a few blocks away from our house in desperate need of help. In saving it, you were also saved. All the gifts that Dharma brings are not accidental. It must have been in your life for a reason, and it disappeared for a reason. Dharma is your little angel."

"Thank you." I bathed myself in my husband's words to heal.

Watching Dharma lie so peacefully in my arms, my questions about death were answered. I realized that Dharma will always live in my life, just as I will always live in the lives of the people I have touched. Dharma gave his life and I got peace. Dharma's death revived me spiritually. I am no longer afraid of death. Through Dharma, I learned that there is nothing to fear in the world. As long as there is that peace, as long as there is love.

We buried Dharma under its "butterfly bush," and on its tombstone I wrote: "Dharma - my little angel." Now, whenever I sit on the porch in the backyard, I can see Dharma chasing butterflies.