Cancer Diary: Icon or Ogre?
When a spouse dies, memory plays tricks on us. Grief is not just about missing someone—it’s about trying to make sense of a life that is now suddenly only past tense. One of the most complicated truths of bereavement is that we often don't remember our loved ones as they truly were. We remember them as either an icon—glorified, idealized, a figure bathed in soft light—or as an ogre, the shadowy figure who made life hard in their final days. Neither version tells the full truth.
The "icon" memory is seductive. It’s easier to remember only the best—the laughter, the shared victories, the warm touches and private jokes. We place them on a pedestal so high we forget the arguments, the disappointments, the human flaws. It's a comforting illusion, but it can leave us feeling confused when our true memories sneak back in. We wonder if we’re betraying them by remembering anything less than perfection.
On the other end of the spectrum is the "ogre" narrative, especially if the last months were hard—full of pain, fear, frustration, and dependency. Hospice care can be beautiful, but it’s also brutally honest. The person we loved may have been demanding, angry, or withdrawn, and we may have been exhausted, hurt, or even resentful. These feelings are real. That part of the story matters too. Dying is messy. It doesn’t erase the years before, but it can distort how we feel about the whole relationship if we don't find space to integrate the pain.
The truth lies somewhere in between. Our spouses were neither saints nor villains. They were complicated, beloved, infuriating, irreplaceable, human. Part of grieving is reclaiming the full picture—remembering the good, acknowledging the bad, and allowing ourselves to hold both at once. That’s where healing begins.
That was the situation I experienced with Carl. First, I lionized him -- and spent days in tears. Then, I demonized him -- and spent days in anger. Finally -- and it took time -- I was able to see the good things he had done during 51 years of marriage, accept that there were (and no matter what would have been) things I would have liked him to do differently, and the fact that some of his difficult moments while dying were from pain and fear that I did not recognize at the time and was therefore unable to address.
Ah, hindsight...but at least, over time, reason finally overtook unreasonableness. I imagine it is that way with a good many people.
For other Cancer Diary posts, click HERE.
Blog editor's note: As a memorial to Carl Leaver, MSI Press graphic arts director and designer, who died of Cancer of Unknown Primary August 16, 2021, and simply because it is truly needed, MSI Press is now hosting a web page, Carl's Cancer Compendium, as a one-stop starting point for all things cancer, to make it easier for those with cancer to find answers to questions that can otherwise take hours to track down on the Internet and/or from professionals. The web page is in its infancy but expected to expand into robustness. To that end, it is expanded and updated weekly. As part of this effort, each week, on Monday, this blog carries an informative, cancer-related story -- and is open to guest posts: Cancer Diary.
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