Death Calls

When there is death people call me. A few days ago, a distraught call from an acquaintance who had a particularly horrible death in her circle. Unexpected. A very young man. No explanation, even after the autopsy. I listened. It is very sad and an awful thing for the mother of the young man to experience (she found his body).

Today a friend had to have her dog put down. She called on her way to the Vet to see if she could come by afterward. I offered to meet her there, but she said she just wanted to know there is a safe place to go after he's gone. She came. We had tea and cried and hugged.

Death is a sad but natural thing. Those of us with animals go through it many times in a lifetime. But parents should never have to go through it with a child; that comes close to qualifying as "unnatural death". The structure of life in the physical sense, abhors such an aberration. Metaphysically, broken hearts never, ever heal when a child is lost.

But sometimes the other realms call strongly to us. And sometimes the young can hear the call more clearly than we. With fewer barriers between a young person and the creative spirit from whence we came, they may find it easier to take the step through the door. Those of us left behind are devastated. All death is devastating; the death of a child unbearable.

Yet somehow we do bear it. We manage to live through the loss. Our worlds may crumble when we lose someone we love, whether a child, a parent, a friend or sibling or, yes, even a pet. The length of time it takes to recover varies, but for a while, we are bereft and broken. 

And really, there is no recovery...just a new normal. Life was like "that" and now it's like "this". We hate it and curse the Universe! We threaten to leave our spiritual roots, for surely there is no god! We distance ourselves from our families, our friends, friends of the deceased. And we cry. For hours. Days. Weeks. Not every minute of every day, but enough minutes that the pain seems ceaseless. 

Those who call me find a willing listener; a person who, though sharing the pain, does not share the fear. Not that I'm stronger than others, I simply have a broad perspective on the end of life. I can still see the big picture when others are stuck in the horror, the denial, the unimaginable grief. I can imagine it. I've experienced it. I'm here if anyone wants to talk.

I think it helps. I hope it does. I know it helps people who are dying. The listening ear of someone who's not afraid, offered freely. Someone who will listen to the most dreadful fears without judgment. Someone who will allow the dying to say whatever needs saying. 

On occasion the person who is dying will say to me: "I want to die". We discuss it, what it might be like to die. What might - or might not - be next. How they want to face death. How they want to be remembered. Sometimes we cry together. More often than you might suppose, we laugh. Death is absurd when seen from the physical sense. Our vibrancy is gone. Our strong and wonderful bodies...bags of bones. 

Humankind has a natural fear of death and our society has stretched that into an industry (or two) with the specific purpose of challenging death. Sometimes we "win" for the short-term, but Death always wins in the long term. 

So I am honored when people call me to discuss death: before, during, after or something in the far away future. It is what I am here to do. Listen. Smile when nobody else is smiling. Hug away a tear or offer a shoulder while tears fall in waterfalls of pain. 

I'm grateful to have this gift of fearlessness. Oh, I still have fears. A spider can cause me to leap up on a coffee table and scream, yes, like a little girl. But my anchors, my connection to this earth and other realms, allow me to face the end of life without anxiety.

Looking at Death One Day at a Time

Nineteen young lives gone in a flash. Men in the prime of their lives, fighting a wildfire nearby. A deep sadness hangs over our town, along with a shroud of smoke. We’ll never understand why. There is no reason why. It’s a tragic part of life. The end of life.

Sometimes death is a longed-for release. I’ve been with elderly souls who desperately want to escape their battered and aching bodies. To a person, each of them has told me, “I’m ready”. Sometimes they changed their minds a few minutes – or a few days – later and asked, “Why me?” But the only answer to that question is easy, if brutal: we all die.

And while we have no means with which to prepare ourselves for the sudden onslaught of the death of many innocent souls, we can, no matter what age we are, prepare ourselves and our families, especially as we (or they) begin to near a foreseen end of life. Both my parents are gone now and I, the person the family turns to when death approaches, helped my dad and my brother prepare for Dad’s death. He was deeply beloved by another family member, his constant companion for the twenty years he lived after Mom died, and she was unable to prepare herself. There simply was no way for her to “get ready” to lose the man to whom she devoted herself, tirelessly and selflessly, for all those years.

Still it is my strong contention that it is an act of love for us to talk to our family, friends and others about death to help them see it, not as some totally terrifying monster, but as the natural function of our body’s shutting down. Our society has removed us from the actualities of death in many cases, leaving the dying in hospitals with tubes attached and alarms going off while we commiserate in waiting rooms with bad coffee. We wait to hear what the doctor has to say rather than knowing, because we had a talk with the person who is dying before he or she got to this point, what’s important to him, or her, at the end of life.

My dream is to see the discussion of death brought out of the closet before I die. I hope to see death become, as I’ve heard it said, “Dinner table conversation.” For only when we talk about it can we hope to decrease the fear of it and lessen the pain by the sharing of concerns before they become grotesque, dreadful monsters.

A trained hospice volunteer and end of life advocate, people talk to me about death. Total strangers must see something in me as this very morning while I was having blood drawn for some lab tests, the technician expressed her deep sadness over the loss of the nineteen young fire fighters. It wasn’t appropriate, but it was real, which overrides all criteria of political correctness when discussing death. We each said a few things and felt a shared sadness, and then went on with our daily lives. It didn’t kill us to talk about death.

And it won’t kill you either. Please bring it up. Face your fears so that others who matter to you can face theirs. Maybe by reading this blog you’ll find the strength and courage to become a death advocate yourself, whether professionally or personally, so that your life can be more fulfilling and your death less horrifying. I hope so.

Thanks for taking time to read this. Other posts will follow on a regular basis.