Om-t

When I was twelve years old, I watched my aunt die of stage four, adenocarcinoma lung cancer.

It took eleven months for her to stop suffering. Eleven months of fighting, struggling, and clinging for life: clinging for a few more painful minutes with her children.

Towards the end, she received levels of morphine no person was supposed to be able to withstand while remaining conscious. She clung for every extra second, for every extra breath.

For several weeks straight, I went directly from school to the hospital in a heartbreaking effort to soak up as much visiting time with her that we had left. I wanted more than anything to help tame the fear we knew her unconscious form was experiencing.

I quite literally watched her slowly be consumed by the cancer.

She was born on the first day of summer and she held on until the last day of summer. She took a difficult breath in and finally let it out for the last time in the form of a peaceful sigh of release.

Although this period of time was quite possibly the most difficult of my existence, I’m grateful. My parents didn’t force me into visiting, they asked if I wanted to go after informing me of the state she was in. They respected my decision and allowed me to have some final, deep moments with my aunt that I will never forget. Like sitting beside her hospital bed and holding her hand, internalizing the feel of her soft palm while witnessing a brief, weak smile spread across her face when I whispered I was there.

Though sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

Throughout the eleven months, my parents were aware of many more horrific details of my aunt’s illness than I was.

I was aware of the fate before her and what her illness was. But I didn't know the extent of suffering. I didn't know how sick the chemo was making her, or that by the time she was diagnosed, the cancer had already spread into her spine, or that the simple task of breathing was a constant struggle. The only reason I know now is because I've only recently asked.

There are certain ages at which people can handle things. At the age of twelve, in the heat of all that was happening, I quite honestly would have crumbled and snapped if I was aware of everything. My mental stability would have plummeted into the abyss where I, towards the end, so quickly lost hope of any sort of recovery or return of normality. At sixteen I still feel the stab wound within the crevice of my chest bleeding out when the thought of my second mother suffering sprints across my mind. However, I’m able to handle it in healthier ways.

The article, “Learning to Lie” by Po Bronson describes the origins and reasoning behind lying. However, the article fails to discuss the idea of omission. And yes, omission is connected to lying.

Lying most commonly has good intentions. Although the actions being lied about may be wrong, not many people lie with the intention of getting caught and upsetting the others involved. Omission works in the same way. Details are left out in an act of protection, either for yourself or individuals around you.

“Learning to Lie” also mentions, “A child who is going to lie must recognize the truth, intellectually conceive of an alternate reality, and be able to convincingly sell that new reality to someone else. Therefore, lying demands both advanced cognitive development and social skills that honesty simply doesn't require.” Omission works in the same way. In order to exclude details, one must first think of the details, make a mental category for the good versus bad, and finally re-sort the story in a way that it will make sense to the receiver without the omitted sections.

To give an example, if a five year child asks where babies come from, the odds of a parent responding with an in-depth explanation of the human anatomy and the process of reproduction is fairly slim. Common responses preserve the child’s innocence through omission, while also explaining in a way the child may easily comprehend. Perhaps even with the stork lie.

Similarly, a child of the same age who happened to see the news displaying the 9/11 attack and in response asked why, in the sweet, beautiful world around them, someone would want to harm so many innocent people. An adult quite probably wouldn't respond with a documentary-like description of radical, Muslim terrorists groups who practice suicide bombings with Al Qaeda. They’d probably say something around the idea of there being bad people in the world, with a brief, PG explanation of why.

Take note of how in each example, the parent/adult would still give an answer. They wouldn't simply pretend the question was in some strange, alien language.

If they did happen to brush the question off and categorize it into the group of topics the child will figure out for themselves later on in life, they’d be sending their child off into the world at an extreme, blind disadvantage.

Ignorance is bliss.

Though respecting a child’s wish to know is necessary not only for the survival of the child, but the survival of humanity.

Every child eventually becomes a teenager, who eventually becomes an adult and in turn is forced to enter the dark, cruel reality of, well, life. Going into life thinking everything is beautiful in the world IS a lie. There is pain just like there is reality. Sending anyone off with a mind clouded by a shield filled with too much omission is in for a rude awakening that will in fact be much more difficult to deal with than if they had been given information before walking through the door of adulthood. It’s like going into a test without taking the course. Your chance of success is far lower than that of someone who studied for three months.

Similarly, sending a child off with awareness will only benefit them.

Because I watched my aunt go through such a painful death, I've never had issues with refusing the pressures to smoke marijuana in high school nor have I ever had the urge to pick up a cigarette because of the fact that I've seen the possible outcome.

Because of the fact that when I had a question, I received an answer, I won’t have to figure it all out on my own. As I get older, my view of darkness may grow larger. But with the awareness of it already being there, I will be prepared for the horrific truths within the absence of light to crawl out from under my bed, reach out to grasp my hand and attempt to drag me under.

And perhaps I’ll be aware enough to bring a flashlight.

“Truth is not something outside to be discovered, it is something inside to be realized.” — Osho