If my dying daughter could face her mortality, why couldn’t the rest of us?

If my dying daughter could face her mortality, why couldn’t the rest of us? 
DNYUZ, appearing first in The New York Times; Ms. Wildman; 11/25/24 
The first week of March 2022, I flew to Miami with my 13-year-old daughter, Orli; her 8-year-old sister, Hana; and my partner, Ian. We were, by all appearances, healthy. Robust, even. In reality, we were at the end of a reprieve. Orli’s liver cancer had by then been assaulted by two years of treatments — chemotherapy, a liver transplant, more chemotherapy, seven surgeries. Now new metastases lit up a corner of one lung on scans, asymptomatic but foreboding. We asked her medical team if we might show her a bit of the world before more procedures. Our oncologist balked. Hence, this brief weekend away. When we arrived at the beach Orli ran directly to the water, then came back and stretched out on a lounge chair. She turned to me and asked, “What if this is the best I ever feel again?” Three hundred and seventy-six days later, she was dead. In the time since she left us, I have thought often of Orli’s question. All that spring, Orli asked, pointedly, why did we think a cure was still possible, that cancer would not continue to return? Left unspoken: Was she going to die from her disease? It was a conversation she wanted to have. And yet what we found over the wild course of her illness was that such conversations are often discouraged, in the doctor’s office and outside it. ... [Click on the title's link to continue reading this profound story.]
Editor's note: While families are gathered for Thanksgiving, many health changes will be observed since this time last Thanksgiving, with countless unknowns to unfold until Thanksgiving next year. Tune into the wide scope of conversations that people do want to have, don't want to have, and--perhaps--that your own family needs to have, with grace and care for all.