
20 January 2025
Dealing With The Limbo Between Life and Death
EMER CONNOLLY
Yesterday, in my unemployed state—with too much time on my hands and not enough jobs to apply for that aren’t in recruitment*—I found myself doomscrolling.
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When I say doomscrolling, however, I don’t mean stalking your situationships ex-girlfriend on Instagram or watching Mormon tradwives make lube from scratch on TikTok. I mean doomscrolling in its most literal form: reading endless articles on death.
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I said "death" for dramatic effect; in reality, I was actually reading about grief. I delved into the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I read that talking about your feelings, baths, and yoga are helpful coping mechanisms, while drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, and gambling are not. I learned that Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking is considered the bible for grievers, and that there’s a seemingly endless supply of articles on every form and stage of grief.
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My masochistic exploration of grief was, in some way, an effort to prepare for what’s to come—like how one would religiously read Elena Ferrante before going to Naples or watch every episode of Sex in the City in the lead up to a trip to New York.
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It’s a strange thing when one of your loved ones is terminally ill. Stranger still when that person is your parent, and suddenly the lines between parent (carer) and child (caree) blur. It’s also strange when your parent is dying and you’re in your twenties—you feel too old to indulge in self-pity, yet too young for this to be your reality.
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My sister and I recently joked that the most-used phrase in our family is, “It is what it is.” It’s a phrase I’ve seen heavily criticised online. Some say it’s equivalent to “I don’t care,” dismissing the experiences and feelings of others, or that it tolerates societal problems without a desire for change. These observations have merit. For my family, however, “It is what it is” offers a sense of acceptance and solace, acknowledging that there are some things, however unpleasant, that you simply cannot change. In these situations, all you can do is get on with it.
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This notion of “getting on with it” has come up among my friends, some of whom worry that my apparent ability to ignore the sad reality of my father’s health and live life normally is a form of repression—one that will eventually haunt me. They believe to healthily process this awful situation, I must talk about it, and in particular, how I feel about it. But when you’re dealing with this unknown limbo between life and death, there’s simply nothing you can do, and nothing my dad would want me to do, except, get on with it.
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Don’t get me wrong – I’m not some cold-hearted sociopath that feels nothing. I had a complete mental breakdown when I found out he was sick again – after which I dried my tears and continued to write my dissertation. I turned to the unfortunate stranger sat next to me in the library who looked deeply concerned and said, ‘Uni am I right?!’ I speak to my mum about how she feels about everything – to which she responds, ‘well it’s a bit shit really.’ I watch as my dad struggles to breathe after yet another round of chemo-radio-cancer-killing therapy – to which he has never once complained about.
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I want to make it clear that in so many ways, I am extremely fortunate; for one, not many people have the opportunity to fully cherish and appreciate the time spent with a dying loved one. However, as fortunate as I am, it’s strange knowing my dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle. (To clarify, I haven’t even decided if I believe in marriage, so this example feels less important to me, but it’s more about the symbolism of my dad missing significant future milestones.)
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How does one come to terms with the knowledge of an impending death? Well, I frequently make ‘dead dad’ jokes and am quick to shut down almost all conversations about the situation. Perhaps my friends are right after all, and I am ignoring how I feel. Perhaps even my use of words like “situation” and "strange" distances me from the anger, fear and utter despair that comes with dealing with the limbo between life and death.
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That being said, I don’t necessarily resonate with the idea that I’m repressing my feelings. I don’t think any amount of talking about my father’s inevitable death will allow me to fully come to terms with the reality that, at some point, he will no longer be here. So for me, the rational way of coping with this is to live life as normally as possible. Yes, my friends have a point: speaking about and acknowledging it is undoubtedly an important part of processing what is currently happening and preparing myself for what’s to come. However, maybe my “dead dad jokes” are my way of acknowledging what’s happening while, at the same time, getting on with life.
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Here, I’m reminded of the dichotomy between emotion and rationality—a relationship that has preoccupied humanity for thousands of years. Rational decision-making being that based on logical reasoning, while emotional decision-making being that influenced by feelings. Historically, they have been pitted against each other, seen as two opposite, and completely contrasting forces. For instance, the Stoics argued that emotions are false judgments, while the Romans likened anger to madness. In recent times, however, there’s been a greater understanding that emotion and rationality don’t have to be in conflict; instead, they’re two sides of the same coin—or rather, the same neurological system. We need both.
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The shift toward recognising the importance of both emotion and rationality was crucial for increasing awareness of the validity and significance of emotions— which have long been, and often still are, subordinated to rationality. Here, I don’t want to fall into the common trap that white, Western, middle-class writers in their therapy-and-wellness echo chambers often do by claiming that we now talk about our emotions too much. For many people, emotions are still something to be bottled up, never to be released—even buried with them when they die. However, equally, within this newfound, and rightly emphasised, encouragement to express and accept emotions – a perspective I encounter – I believe it’s also valid to acknowledge that sometimes, moving forward involves accepting emotions without having to ponder or speak about them all the time.
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So, while it’s essential to listen to your emotions and lean on the support of others when needed, it’s also valuable, at times, to make the rational decision that nothing can be done about a situation except to get on with it.
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PS: This article is a self-indulgent reflection of how I feel about my dad dying. I can assure you that I am aware that this situation is far from being all about me. But that’s not the purpose of this article.
*while it’s a thought for another day, how is it even possible that the only jobs available are in recruiting—who the fuck are they recruiting anyway?!