Musings on Death and Dying
I have never had a problem with death for myself, in that I have never feared it. My friend once got extremely angry with me when, in our early twenties driving 95 mph to Austin I decided to let her in on my deep philosophy of when it’s time to go it’s time to go. She was glued to her seat with her hands in a death grip to anything that would lessen the impending collision. Not the best time to discuss deeply held beliefs – she thought I had a death wish.
I didn’t and don’t. But it’s not something I stress about. I don’t like the idea of lingering, I have made it a painfully clear to everyone and anyone who will listen that life support is just prolonging my absence from home. When I am called, I want to go. I don’t want to be a miracle of medicine or science. I just want to leave this temporary plane. And go to where I know a ton of people are waiting for me. Where I will be loved and feel love and I will be removed from all the things that tear, even ever so slightly, at my soul. It’s difficult to express that kind of sentiment without sounding depressed or clinically morose. I am wounded on every level to see the desperation of those in this world in need. From the senseless suffering of people in every corner of the world to the animals held in captivity, I feel a staggering sense of empathy. From the child soldiers in Uganda to the starving women in Darfur to the desperate undocumented workers of Mexico and South America to the victims of tsunamis and hurricanes and floods and devastation. From the whales being hunted by the Japanese to the baby seals being bludgeoned by the Canadians to the chicks being tossed into the dumpster by the Americans – it is a huge block of concrete tied to my soul that I drag around from one event to the next.
There are times I want it all to stop. I don’t want to be gone, I want to end it. I want to end all this senseless suffering. How can hell be any worse than this? Seriously. Where orphans in Romania are straight-jacketed with bed sheets, and with the removal of the sheets their skin ensues. Have you ever been somewhere where the noise is so intolerably loud and mind-numbing you simple couldn’t stand it a second longer? I feel like that with all the pain in this world. I don’t look to escape it, I look to turn it off. And I suppose what makes me so incredibly passionate about power and politics is that there are people in this world who have access to the volume control, but choose to disregard it or worse turn it up louder. I cannot get my mind around that.
I knew Paul’s death would hit me hard. It doesn’t matter how prepared you are for a loved one to leave this earth, it is still a devastating change that jolts you like a car crash. You can see it coming, for a split second you think you can avoid it, but you can’t. Change is hard anyway, but when loved ones are plucked from your reality, the overwhelming feeling is that you are fooling yourself if you believe you have any control over anything. I am constantly reminded that life is so temporary. You can plan for your future. You can feather your nest and provide for your loved ones. You can try to anticipate needs and events. But when it’s your time, you are done. The “hit by a bus” scenario is one that is supposed to jolt us back to the reality that life is not just a big endless party but a temporary stay in a place that needs a lot of help and you definitely have a mission. Not to grab up as much money as possible. Not to be with as many women or men as you can. Not to incarcerate, to be intolerant, to be greedy and cruel and thoughtless. It seems like such a long span of time when you are young, but as you get older and your life suddenly starts careening down a hill that you thought you would never reach the top of you, you realize that there is a lot to do with very little time.
There is no other way than to express grief in terms of the ocean. The initial tsunami slam of the news. The ebb and feeling of disbelief. And then the continuous onslaught of rogue waves that crash over you, submerging you in fears, memories, pain and loss. It ebbs again. And you are empty. It’s weird because I went through this same sense of “what I am I supposed to do” with my dad. My son asked when we were on our way up to be with my sister in law and family, if it was bad to laugh. It’s a universal thing. You think you know what you will do, how you will act, how you will be, but when it comes right down to it, it’s different. At times, I was disgusted that people were laughing, but later I found myself laughing and feeling terribly guilty. I found myself feeling very protective of Sam, my brother’s wife, as people came and shared memories with her. I knew they were trying to comfort her, but I felt also that they were sobbing and dumping all this excess grief in her lap. She would be ok and the waves would come and you could actually visually see someone whose heart was breaking. It is a gut wrenching feeling. A twisting sickening feeling. He was the love of her life – she said – no one would ever love her like that again. What a burden! I looked at my husband and thought how I would be if he were gone. Devastated. I adore him. He has made me a better person, he lifts me up. And it hits me. No matter how supported you are, no matter how many friends, confidantes, family members you have to be with you during the death of a spouse, when it comes time to lay your head on the pillow, you are alone. After having someone beside you for all that time, stealing your covers, spooning, you are alone.
I find my mind going a thousand different directions. All the things I should be doing, everything I should be organizing. But I have concrete feet. My soul is so burdened by grief that I am finding it hard to even brush my teeth and comb my hair. I had to go to the viewing on the 15th. It is not something I would normally go to, but I would not leave Sam to do it alone, or without continuous support. I dreaded it. I really did. I don’t understand this custom at all. If you knew someone in life, you have memories. I do not want to replace my memories of my brother with one of his shell lying in a coffin with makeup on. It just goes beyond my comprehension. Close the casket, and put a picture of him smiling, doing what he did – hanging with his family, teaching at his church, helping animals, being a live human being – and let people say good bye to that. But I guess that’s selfish. Some people want to say good-bye to him like that. Ick.
I don’t have any regrets, which is a relief. I had already told him what I wanted to tell him. He knew my heart, and if he didn’t, he does now. I feel like he is released from this world and free. Free and overflowing with joy and love and peace and all the good wonderful feelings that we catch glimpses of in this life. The joy I got from the amazing mother’s day cards my boys made for me. Both reflective of their unique spirits I had that amazing, cup runneth over feeling. Like my heart would burst with love for them. Knowing that at 13 and 14, they sat there tirelessly and wrote poetry, colored, stretched their imagination just for me. I know that heaven is like that all the time.
I don’t care for them much, but I have deep understanding of funerals. The open casket gig is not my cup of tea, but the funeral – the laying to rest, as it were – is a way to demonstrate the natural progression of life. Our mostly slow march, sometimes quick sprint to death. The cementing of my desire to have a memorial was reinforced on Tuesday the 16th . It is mind boggling to think that he died on Saturday morning, and on Tuesday at 2 well over six hundred people had congregated to remember him. I am far from a public speaker, but looking out over the crowd, I felt the warmth of support emanating from these people. They were here for him. They were here because of him. They loved and honored him. He had touched their lives. The need for community is such a primal one. Living, learning, working, worshiping in our little human herds is a primal instinct for us. We have our own tight core group, usually our immediate and sometimes our extended families. The pastor said our family is like pearls around Paul’s neck, with his friends priceless gems affixed to the necklace and his faith a huge multi-faceted diamond right in the center. It was an appropriate image. Having an entire church auditorium full of people who loved him was overwhelming and awe-inspiring all mixed together. Seeing a summary of his life encapsulated in a PowerPoint presentation. Listening to the music he had chosen. Witnessing the creative arts pastor break down in the middle of a beautiful song. Watching as the head pastor strode over and held Trey has he wept was a powerful moment.
Being surrounded by love in a time of loss is what a funeral and memorial service is all about. The creepy open casket and rituals one must endure are extra touches for those who feel they have to see his shell and whisper their goodbyes. Because if there is any doubt in anyone’s mind that these bodies that we are in are mere vessels – observe an open casket, touch the hand of the dead. It is the eternal spirit that makes each of us unique and fascinating. It is the exceptional soul within all of us, every single one, that adds the spark to the exterior encasement. With all the burdens on our souls that come from living on this transitory plane it is not until you are in the presence of the dead, and among the people that loved him, that you realize just how unimportant it all really is. All the slights. All the ill will. All the resentment and anger you carry around on that stupid bus you’re driving of which you are the only one aware. I am an ardent, staunch, one hundred percent liberal democrat. The only thing I apply conservation to is the environment. I clash with every other born again Christian, I believe, in the state on the most important issues. But when dealing with death, there is nothing more than the human emotions. My brother was a staunch unwavering conservative republican. There was no way that was going to change. Did it make me dislike him in any way…not follow his example or lead? Heck no! It’s very difficult in this time to separate our political feelings from our human ones. Especially those of us who are stricken with grief over the death of our troops and innocent civilians. But the beauty of the human condition and of Christianity is that we are all meant to bring individual interpretations and angles to life’s continuous stream of questions. I cannot imagine a more monotonous boring life if we all had the same views on everything. It’s frustrating when you believe like I do in justice and peace and compassion and the people that you believe should have the firmest grip on that of all don’t even acknowledge it. But my take is this – if we all had the same view, what if it were the wrong one? What if the collective viewpoint was that of someone like Hitler? Life, to me, would not be worth living. Just like a master gardener’s collection of plants – all the colors and textures of a multicolored ensemble would go monochromatic. Where’s the joy of that? People pay to go see gardens. Why? For the variety and for the presence of God. God is so present in nature and the natural world. I am always re-energized and re-awakened after spending time on a trail, camping, enjoying some untainted display of something only God can invent. Variety is the spice of life. I like vanilla occasionally, but all the time? I would shoot myself. People are awestruck by the natural wonders around us because they are so incredibly varied and amazing.
As much as people who hurt animals and trash the environment bother me, I am always so very moved by someone taking information from me regarding animal rights and environmental concerns. The physical act of expending energy to reach towards me for information is always a gift.
So, it has been up and down, in and out, and endless loop of unexpected jolts, thrusts back into the very distant past and a deep sense of loss and longing. I have found a renewed fledgling relationship with my younger brother that I hope will take root and flourish. I have found immeasurable comfort and support from family and great friends. I always find it so amazing how often I don’t believe that anyone is back there when I have decided to close my eyes, arms folded into my chest and fall backwards. But there is a whole slew of people.
Surprising.
And very, very comforting.
I have never had a problem with death for myself, in that I have never feared it. My friend once got extremely angry with me when, in our early twenties driving 95 mph to Austin I decided to let her in on my deep philosophy of when it’s time to go it’s time to go. She was glued to her seat with her hands in a death grip to anything that would lessen the impending collision. Not the best time to discuss deeply held beliefs – she thought I had a death wish.
I didn’t and don’t. But it’s not something I stress about. I don’t like the idea of lingering, I have made it a painfully clear to everyone and anyone who will listen that life support is just prolonging my absence from home. When I am called, I want to go. I don’t want to be a miracle of medicine or science. I just want to leave this temporary plane. And go to where I know a ton of people are waiting for me. Where I will be loved and feel love and I will be removed from all the things that tear, even ever so slightly, at my soul. It’s difficult to express that kind of sentiment without sounding depressed or clinically morose. I am wounded on every level to see the desperation of those in this world in need. From the senseless suffering of people in every corner of the world to the animals held in captivity, I feel a staggering sense of empathy. From the child soldiers in Uganda to the starving women in Darfur to the desperate undocumented workers of Mexico and South America to the victims of tsunamis and hurricanes and floods and devastation. From the whales being hunted by the Japanese to the baby seals being bludgeoned by the Canadians to the chicks being tossed into the dumpster by the Americans – it is a huge block of concrete tied to my soul that I drag around from one event to the next.
There are times I want it all to stop. I don’t want to be gone, I want to end it. I want to end all this senseless suffering. How can hell be any worse than this? Seriously. Where orphans in Romania are straight-jacketed with bed sheets, and with the removal of the sheets their skin ensues. Have you ever been somewhere where the noise is so intolerably loud and mind-numbing you simple couldn’t stand it a second longer? I feel like that with all the pain in this world. I don’t look to escape it, I look to turn it off. And I suppose what makes me so incredibly passionate about power and politics is that there are people in this world who have access to the volume control, but choose to disregard it or worse turn it up louder. I cannot get my mind around that.
I knew Paul’s death would hit me hard. It doesn’t matter how prepared you are for a loved one to leave this earth, it is still a devastating change that jolts you like a car crash. You can see it coming, for a split second you think you can avoid it, but you can’t. Change is hard anyway, but when loved ones are plucked from your reality, the overwhelming feeling is that you are fooling yourself if you believe you have any control over anything. I am constantly reminded that life is so temporary. You can plan for your future. You can feather your nest and provide for your loved ones. You can try to anticipate needs and events. But when it’s your time, you are done. The “hit by a bus” scenario is one that is supposed to jolt us back to the reality that life is not just a big endless party but a temporary stay in a place that needs a lot of help and you definitely have a mission. Not to grab up as much money as possible. Not to be with as many women or men as you can. Not to incarcerate, to be intolerant, to be greedy and cruel and thoughtless. It seems like such a long span of time when you are young, but as you get older and your life suddenly starts careening down a hill that you thought you would never reach the top of you, you realize that there is a lot to do with very little time.
There is no other way than to express grief in terms of the ocean. The initial tsunami slam of the news. The ebb and feeling of disbelief. And then the continuous onslaught of rogue waves that crash over you, submerging you in fears, memories, pain and loss. It ebbs again. And you are empty. It’s weird because I went through this same sense of “what I am I supposed to do” with my dad. My son asked when we were on our way up to be with my sister in law and family, if it was bad to laugh. It’s a universal thing. You think you know what you will do, how you will act, how you will be, but when it comes right down to it, it’s different. At times, I was disgusted that people were laughing, but later I found myself laughing and feeling terribly guilty. I found myself feeling very protective of Sam, my brother’s wife, as people came and shared memories with her. I knew they were trying to comfort her, but I felt also that they were sobbing and dumping all this excess grief in her lap. She would be ok and the waves would come and you could actually visually see someone whose heart was breaking. It is a gut wrenching feeling. A twisting sickening feeling. He was the love of her life – she said – no one would ever love her like that again. What a burden! I looked at my husband and thought how I would be if he were gone. Devastated. I adore him. He has made me a better person, he lifts me up. And it hits me. No matter how supported you are, no matter how many friends, confidantes, family members you have to be with you during the death of a spouse, when it comes time to lay your head on the pillow, you are alone. After having someone beside you for all that time, stealing your covers, spooning, you are alone.
I find my mind going a thousand different directions. All the things I should be doing, everything I should be organizing. But I have concrete feet. My soul is so burdened by grief that I am finding it hard to even brush my teeth and comb my hair. I had to go to the viewing on the 15th. It is not something I would normally go to, but I would not leave Sam to do it alone, or without continuous support. I dreaded it. I really did. I don’t understand this custom at all. If you knew someone in life, you have memories. I do not want to replace my memories of my brother with one of his shell lying in a coffin with makeup on. It just goes beyond my comprehension. Close the casket, and put a picture of him smiling, doing what he did – hanging with his family, teaching at his church, helping animals, being a live human being – and let people say good bye to that. But I guess that’s selfish. Some people want to say good-bye to him like that. Ick.
I don’t have any regrets, which is a relief. I had already told him what I wanted to tell him. He knew my heart, and if he didn’t, he does now. I feel like he is released from this world and free. Free and overflowing with joy and love and peace and all the good wonderful feelings that we catch glimpses of in this life. The joy I got from the amazing mother’s day cards my boys made for me. Both reflective of their unique spirits I had that amazing, cup runneth over feeling. Like my heart would burst with love for them. Knowing that at 13 and 14, they sat there tirelessly and wrote poetry, colored, stretched their imagination just for me. I know that heaven is like that all the time.
I don’t care for them much, but I have deep understanding of funerals. The open casket gig is not my cup of tea, but the funeral – the laying to rest, as it were – is a way to demonstrate the natural progression of life. Our mostly slow march, sometimes quick sprint to death. The cementing of my desire to have a memorial was reinforced on Tuesday the 16th . It is mind boggling to think that he died on Saturday morning, and on Tuesday at 2 well over six hundred people had congregated to remember him. I am far from a public speaker, but looking out over the crowd, I felt the warmth of support emanating from these people. They were here for him. They were here because of him. They loved and honored him. He had touched their lives. The need for community is such a primal one. Living, learning, working, worshiping in our little human herds is a primal instinct for us. We have our own tight core group, usually our immediate and sometimes our extended families. The pastor said our family is like pearls around Paul’s neck, with his friends priceless gems affixed to the necklace and his faith a huge multi-faceted diamond right in the center. It was an appropriate image. Having an entire church auditorium full of people who loved him was overwhelming and awe-inspiring all mixed together. Seeing a summary of his life encapsulated in a PowerPoint presentation. Listening to the music he had chosen. Witnessing the creative arts pastor break down in the middle of a beautiful song. Watching as the head pastor strode over and held Trey has he wept was a powerful moment.
Being surrounded by love in a time of loss is what a funeral and memorial service is all about. The creepy open casket and rituals one must endure are extra touches for those who feel they have to see his shell and whisper their goodbyes. Because if there is any doubt in anyone’s mind that these bodies that we are in are mere vessels – observe an open casket, touch the hand of the dead. It is the eternal spirit that makes each of us unique and fascinating. It is the exceptional soul within all of us, every single one, that adds the spark to the exterior encasement. With all the burdens on our souls that come from living on this transitory plane it is not until you are in the presence of the dead, and among the people that loved him, that you realize just how unimportant it all really is. All the slights. All the ill will. All the resentment and anger you carry around on that stupid bus you’re driving of which you are the only one aware. I am an ardent, staunch, one hundred percent liberal democrat. The only thing I apply conservation to is the environment. I clash with every other born again Christian, I believe, in the state on the most important issues. But when dealing with death, there is nothing more than the human emotions. My brother was a staunch unwavering conservative republican. There was no way that was going to change. Did it make me dislike him in any way…not follow his example or lead? Heck no! It’s very difficult in this time to separate our political feelings from our human ones. Especially those of us who are stricken with grief over the death of our troops and innocent civilians. But the beauty of the human condition and of Christianity is that we are all meant to bring individual interpretations and angles to life’s continuous stream of questions. I cannot imagine a more monotonous boring life if we all had the same views on everything. It’s frustrating when you believe like I do in justice and peace and compassion and the people that you believe should have the firmest grip on that of all don’t even acknowledge it. But my take is this – if we all had the same view, what if it were the wrong one? What if the collective viewpoint was that of someone like Hitler? Life, to me, would not be worth living. Just like a master gardener’s collection of plants – all the colors and textures of a multicolored ensemble would go monochromatic. Where’s the joy of that? People pay to go see gardens. Why? For the variety and for the presence of God. God is so present in nature and the natural world. I am always re-energized and re-awakened after spending time on a trail, camping, enjoying some untainted display of something only God can invent. Variety is the spice of life. I like vanilla occasionally, but all the time? I would shoot myself. People are awestruck by the natural wonders around us because they are so incredibly varied and amazing.
As much as people who hurt animals and trash the environment bother me, I am always so very moved by someone taking information from me regarding animal rights and environmental concerns. The physical act of expending energy to reach towards me for information is always a gift.
So, it has been up and down, in and out, and endless loop of unexpected jolts, thrusts back into the very distant past and a deep sense of loss and longing. I have found a renewed fledgling relationship with my younger brother that I hope will take root and flourish. I have found immeasurable comfort and support from family and great friends. I always find it so amazing how often I don’t believe that anyone is back there when I have decided to close my eyes, arms folded into my chest and fall backwards. But there is a whole slew of people.
Surprising.
And very, very comforting.
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