In my family death has occurred in a variety of manners: those whose endings came suddenly and shockingly; those, like my Mom, whose lives slipped softly away but thankfully with a window of prediction that exposed a small glint of light and opportunity for final conversations; and those whose lives were lived for many months or even years with death hovering in the near distance, its eventuality certain, its final curtain gradually closing allowing a lot of time to ponder on life’s meaning and to spend time and talk with loved ones, to express love and gratitude, to prepare.
Yet, ironically, from my viewpoint, from my observation and experience, no matter the circumstance, there is never enough time or the right words or enough words to express to the dying person one loves, or the loved one to us, of the many coloured rainbows of love one experienced specifically because of the individual; the golden memories bequeathed by the individual that shine and shape the nature of a specific person, a specific life, specifically as one knows the individual; to share one’s shadows of regret or oceans of turbulent and intense emotions that stir one’s heart for those we love and so frightfully fear losing.
Death makes one wonder. Death causes one to wander sometimes aimlessly, lost, without any direction while seeking renewal and warmth and hope for the future and the tenderness and certainty of a kinder past, memories of a carefree childhood, a wedding day bliss, a child’s first breath, a friend’s laughter, a walk in the park with nature in all its glory, eye to eye, heart to heart, hand in hand. We long for the clear view of a lake with moonlight glimmering as one walks through an unknown forest, trees everywhere, towering above, enchantment of life hidden by a new darkness as one blindly feels the way through to a new place, a new life, without, without the loved one. Death.
There is no adequate preparation for death. It is final. The separation between oneself and a loved one is difficult to comprehend and it often causes one to re-examine one’s own spirituality or to establish new and comforting beliefs if faith was absent before the death of a loved one. I think it is natural to want to imagine and believe in an afterlife because the very thought soothes the pain of separation. With faith, one may believe that in the future one will be reunited with a loved one and in the meantime it is quieting to know that the person is angelically experiencing a new life in the hereafter as an angel awaiting our return. I believe my Mom is an angel in death because it makes sense to me as she was an angel to me in life. I have never been religious, yet I have always been a spiritual being and have an awareness of the spirit within us all. For me, I now dwell a lot on the afterlife and what I believe about it. Always I have had a philosophical approach to life, but now I analyze everything! I want to see my Mom again and cannot, and will never, believe that it is impossible. Death is a brutal truth and it is natural to seek a way to accept it and soften it, otherwise it feels like torture.
I believe that the imagining and the reality of endings and separations are impossible to fully grasp until the moment one experiences the truth of death in all its stark and uncompromising nakedness. Death exposes the most primal emotions within our souls and the bereaved are left wholly vulnerable to life. Each person’s life and death is unique and yet we all share the common denominator: life and death.
Having observed and indeed experienced different types of deaths of loved ones with circumstances surrounding each person as individual as were they and their lives, I see death as a living experience, a part of life, and only a part, although death is always significant, it is the anticipation and the consequence of the death of a loved one, or one’s own death, that leaves many of us inconsolably wounded and overwhelmed. I have had explicitly personal reactions to the death of each person whom graced my life in its different stages. Since my Mom’s death, I am living more consciously than ever, and while this state of heightened awareness has definitely consumed me at times with feelings of unspeakable sorrow, it has also gifted me with a beautiful crystalline perception of people and the fragility of life and its importance in each moment.
I think lately of an aunt and uncle whose son, my cousin, committed suicide when he was 27 years old and I cannot fathom how they dealt with this ultimate loss, the loss of a child and by his own hand. Yet, my aunt, in her 80’s now, did live with the loss and her ability to share with me through tears and conversations the many complex dimensions of her personal grief, I am enlivened by her resilience and spirited commitment to life and all those she loves. There are examples of heroes surrounding me in my own family, and my aunt is certainly deserving of the title, and I am grateful to have had her guidance and support through the loss of my Mom.
Many years ago, my Mom’s eldest sister developed lung cancer. She was a mother of six children, and some of them were still living at home, dependent upon her when she passed away. The news of her terminal illness was a huge shock for her and her husband and children and her entire family, including my Mom. My Mom was living in Toronto when her dying sister was living in B.C., and my Mom flew to be with her, to console her and help her to prepare for the end. I don’t know how my Mom did it but she was able to be there for her older sister in exactly the way that was needed. My Mom had always talked openly about death and dying and she was extremely reliant on her Catholic faith to help her and her sister grow spiritually through the heartbreaking experience.
My Mom’s youngest sister was only 7 years older than I and she and my brothers related more to her as a friend and a “sister” than an aunt. She was killed suddenly in a car accident in which when she was a passenger of a car that was struck by a drunk driver who had hit a patch of black ice and crossed the centre median of the highway on a cold autumn night. The cars collided violently. My 33 year old aunt, a mother herself of three young children, a talented singer and a gentle soul, was killed instantly. The driver of the other car was also killed and left behind a baby girl. The tragedy was beyond description. Four children were left motherless. My grandmother had lost her youngest child; my Mom had lost her littlest sister. I was pregnant at the time with my third child who was born on my late aunt’s birthday the following spring. I honoured my aunt’s memory by naming my daughter after her as a small token of love.
My Mom and I helped one another heal through our mourning as we often discussed the nature of life and death openly and we talked about deaths in our family for years and years until my Mom died in old age. None of my kin whom have gone before me will ever be forgotten. Life indeed went on when some of my aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins died, and yes, surprisingly to me, even when my Mom died. Life goes on with or without our cooperation. I have found that it is easier to work on accepting nature than trying to rail against it and now there are new generations resting upon the love of generations’ past.
I recall the funeral for my aunt, and being only 26 years old at the time, I remember feeling outraged that anyone could be so insensitive to even smile let alone indulge in laughter and happy reminiscences as people, those older and wiser, often do at wakes. Funerals are a celebration of life I learned as time went on, luckily in time for my Mom’s final farewell. Life is meant to be celebrated. Death is a part of life: Life and death matters. We share the journey, the fear, the joy, the love, the sadness, the laughter, the loneliness, the excitement, the frustration, the mystery, the meaning, the depths and the heights, the entire human experience.
This is admittedly not the most cohesive piece of writing I have done in my lifetime, but I am learning that whatever is expressed by the soul, it is worthy. I hope may people here on this Virtual Hospice site will share their feelings and experiences with others because it helps to know we are in this life together and for all our differences, we have much in common. Our shared experiences and distinct perspectives of life and death help one another to carry on, to grow, to grieve, and to live.
My favourite band U2 in its song entitled “One” says it all so well:
“One life, but we're not the same, We get to carry each other, carry each other, One . . ."
Let's continue to carry each; let's keep talking and reaching out to one another as this wondrously rich life goes on and on . . .
Happy New Year!:)