I have spent a lot of time at deathbeds this summer. It has reminded me of all the people I have known and loved who have died. It has also made me think about my own theology and spirituality around death. Last week, I sat with a man who was begging his brother to hang in there, to keep breathing. The prognosis was not good and the man was so thin and so frail that he looked like he would leave at any moment. This family had done everything—tubes, heart surgery, more tubes, and yet now here he was, battered and fighting to breathe and still the brother begs him to stay alive. My heart went out to both men as I sat at the bedside. I understand wanting to do everything you can to save the life of the one you love. I would want the same.
But sometimes I wonder, at what cost? Can we, who have learned to go to great lengths to save a life, also learn to let go?
I wonder if we thought of death in a more positive and holistic way; what would change? Death for family members is a great loss. But what if we could also think about death as a great passage, as part of the whole cycle of life, as something to celebrate as well as to mourn? Could we, instead of avoiding it at all costs, embrace it as a part of life?
We resist death so much in this culture. We don’t want to accept it and we don’t know how to celebrate it. Yet, it can be celebrated. It is a vital part of life. Where are our ceremonies allowing the departed to leave? Where are our vigils, preparing the loved one for death? Where is the chanting, the mourning, the letting go? We are so busy fighting that there is no time to usher out the dying in peace. It is part of the great cycle of life—just as fall gives way to winter and the tree dies to give life the soil. Just like the sun sets after it rises and the river melts into the wide ocean. It is part of the journey, the life cycle that is greater than us and goes on after us.
It has become a practice on nights when I come back from these events, to spend time under the night sky and under the stars. I find being outside in the world, in nature, tremendously healing. It reminds me of the vastness of the web of life and the cycle of life and death that we witness and participate in.
I wonder if we thought of death in a more positive and holistic way; what would change? Death for family members is a great loss. But what if we could also think about death as a great passage, as part of the whole cycle of life, as something to celebrate as well as to mourn? Could we, instead of avoiding it at all costs, embrace it as a part of life?
We resist death so much in this culture. We don’t want to accept it and we don’t know how to celebrate it. Yet, it can be celebrated. It is a vital part of life. Where are our ceremonies allowing the departed to leave? Where are our vigils, preparing the loved one for death? Where is the chanting, the mourning, the letting go? We are so busy fighting that there is no time to usher out the dying in peace. It is part of the great cycle of life—just as fall gives way to winter and the tree dies to give life the soil. Just like the sun sets after it rises and the river melts into the wide ocean. It is part of the journey, the life cycle that is greater than us and goes on after us.
It has become a practice on nights when I come back from these events, to spend time under the night sky and under the stars. I find being outside in the world, in nature, tremendously healing. It reminds me of the vastness of the web of life and the cycle of life and death that we witness and participate in.
1 comment:
So lovely, Sarah.
I know sometimes relatives are very loath to release loved ones, when objective analysis might lead us to determine that their loved one might prefer to slip away.
But death is always about letting go, both for the dying and for those who are left behind. The dying person is usually prepared by illness, weakness, or debilitating injury, but those who remain need to prepare also.
When Jon died, we were deeply touched when he told us all that he needed to go, that Jesus had told him he had to leave. Few people get that sort of finality. And it came after six years of constant frailty, hospitalizations, and near-death experiences.
The brother who pleads with his frail sibling to stay a little longer will have to do his grieving after his loss. For my husband and his children, we had years to grieve while he lived, and the final process was easier.
As you say, we are all witnesses and participants in the vastness of the web of life." We all have different parts to play, and all of us might think of our roles, much as you have been assigned this summer, as witnesses to the unfolding play of life, learning compassion and hoping to prepare ourselves for our own roles in it.
Only time and circumstances will determine whether we will be pushed onstage without notice, or whether we have had time and experience to learn how to play our part. And we may all hope for time to reflect and learn from our experiences.
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