I am human, I am going to die...
and I am going to draw strength from the awesome nature of death.
It doesn't frighten me.
Dying to be heard, I follow the footsteps of those...
dear to my heart, who have died before me...
I have been once, a granddaughter, a daughter and a carer...
who had spent months, weeks and hours, tending to those facing death...
finding once and again, that for many, the final chapter...
can feel, can bring a peaceful beginning...
At the end of a road I spotted kangaroo footsteps and suddenly remembered my final trip with my father....
His final trip from the hospital back home where he would die....
My father spotted an old tree on the side of the road, we passed every day for years...
He asked me to stop the car, he got out and touched its smooth white trunk. I hurried him back eager to bring him home safe...
"This is the biggest tree recorded on the Swan Coastal Plains," he said: "It is between 200 and 300 years old and has a diameter at breast height of 3.5 m."
"No, Dad," I protested: "It is just an ordinary tree, come back to the car, you exhaust yourself."
"It is not on the 'Tree register', I checked before I ended up in hospital," he quietly added looking up at its majestic crown.
"So you see, maybe you are wrong about its age, it looks ordinary, just like any other tree..." I continued and caught his arm.
"This tree is dying," he said sadly looking straight into my eyes: " They didn't put his data into the register because it has only few years left..."
"It looks like it is in good condition, I mean, for its age," I quickly replied, unsure about my Dad's mental condition...
"Come on, Dad, we go home," he let me to drag him back to the car repeating to himself: "The tree has huge termite damage, it could be treated but that would only prolong its suffering..."
"What is the ultimate meaning of suffering?" He asked me quietly in the car watching the tree disappearing behind us. "I don't know, Dad, I really don't..."
"In a world without God," he continued while I was driving: "One's suffering does not mean much beyond itself, your predicament is only worsened by this realisation..."
"But you don't believe in God, Dad, do you?" I asked confused by his monolouge.
He continued, without answering my question: "Your demolition as a human being will never mean anything, you suffer for nothing,
you suffer for nothing, you die, you disapear..."
"Please, Dad, don't talk about death, you will live for many years," I begged.
"I have to, when the inevitable is coming, you remember my daugher, death denial is also life denying." He smiled at me suddenly...
" because if we had a chance to live forever or better still, if we would be allowed to be back to do it better next time - then we would just fritter away time doing things that don't inspire us."
"Give me the chance to live forever and I promise you to cherish every minute of my life," I laughed.
"No, you wouldn't and you know it, we cherish only what is precious to us, the things we may loose," he got out of the car and walked towards his old house.
The house has a fragile beauty with its delicate bones of deteriorating carved wood and iron fences: "Just like in the cemetery, my next home," my Father nodded quietly and he entered his home for the last time.
The concept of dying is so taboo...
Western society
still
doesn't
really
get death,
shutting
their eyes
and their
ears,
in the slightest
mention
of this word.
Something
of very distant
future.
Something,
to be avoided
at any costs
and yet
it is the only
certainty
for us,
for every person
who draws breath.
"Death is the life's best invention",
the late Steve Jobs once said,
"Capable of stripping
away all pride
all fear
of embarrassment
failure
all external expectations
leaving behind
only
what
is truly important".
The carers of the dying
surrounded
by death
every day,
know it all
very well.
The living
do not
want
to hear
talk
or write
about the final chapter
of life.
The window of opportunity
to better understand death
prompted one doctor
named Doug Bridge
take notes
while conversing
with the dying.
The result
is
a beautifully
confronting
writing:
'Conversations with the dying.'
Even more compelling
with the knowledge
that all died
soon after
their words
becoming
immortal...
There is no connection
to the afterlife
and no voices
from the other side.
They all agreed,
deaths gave them
a gift
an altered state
of consciousness
that allows them
to appraise life
in a way
that living cannot.
"When you are dying,
you become real,"
One of them explained:
"You have to stop.
You can't escape it."
"In many ways people become
the most honest
they've ever been
because there is no pretence any more."
Doug scribbled next to his notes.
Doug as a stranger
turned up
at the bedside
of six terminally ill patients
who have been told
by doctors
they have only weeks left.
He asked them to share
their innermost thoughts
as they contemplated
their lives
coming to an end.
To his great surprise
no one turned down
his request.
For them,
it was a rare chance
to talk about death,
something,
they were not comfortable
doing
with their relatives
or the hospital staff.
Regrets and fears
about how
family members
would cope
were common themes.
They were dying
feeling worthless,
a burden on their family,
they were facing death
while feeling
like
they have
no control
over anything
any more.
When Doug asked them,
how they really wanted
to spend their final days,
there was no burning desire
to visit far-flung places in the world,
they just wanted to be home,
wherever it was.
One of the patient,
50 years old,
Lesley
shrugged off
any fears of dying,
saying,
suicide of her 25-year-old son,
five years earlier
was the worst thing
she would ever face.
"I know some people
would be absolutely
devastated,
but this gives me time
to tell them,
how I feel
and what
I want them
to have,
I could be killed
in a car accident,
then you've got no time."
Lesley smiled a weak smile:
"We all have to die,
I am just a bit sooner."
She died two weeks later.
40 years old,
Basim,
with two young children
said:
"I have never done anything bad
to people
or my family,
so why should I be worried
about after death?
I have to take it."
60 years old,
Nevin
described
how his faithful
old dog Sammy
had passed away
and a good friend
died suddenly
from a heart attack,
both in the previous weeks.
After tying up loose ends
to make things easier
for his wife
when he was gone,
he felt ready to join them.
"I don't really care,
if I go tomorrow
because I have sorted everything,
I was lucky
to have had the time."
He said at the end.
70 years old,
Bruce
spoke of his support
for euthanasia,
"I am in so much
pain
and can not help
myself,
I would not like
anyone
like this
to suffer."
He also left
a parting message
for doctors,
calling
for more sympathy.
"You are the first person
I have met,
in this hospital
who is very compassionate
and has feelings
about us old and dying..."
But Doug knew
it was not just
the medical profession
which needed a lesson
in dealing with death.
We all
should get involved
in the psycho-spiritual
side of dying,
not only
where our time comes
but long before...
Doug talks about
'a good death'
he wishes
for himself,
and his own
father's
'wonderful death'
at home
in his 90s
sharing
with Doug
openly
his last moments.
There are many
euphemisms
for death
and
the care of the dying
people
just
don't want
to hear that word.
We replace
'palliative care'
with
'supportive care'
to avoid
the association with death.
We have a fragmented
culture
about death
in which
the concept of being open
about death
doesn't sit easily.
Primitive societies
openly view the body
whereas
we still regard
seeing dead
as something unsuitable.
The indigenous communities
are not afraid of dying.
They only fear
dying
'without their family
and
'out of their country'.
As modern medicine
prolongs
lives
and
chronic diseases
cancers
increase,
a sudden death
is likely,
to become
less common.
We find ourselves
living
with the knowledge
that our time
is running out.
That window of time
represents
a chance
for you,
for me,
for us,
for families
to remember
to tell stories,
share memories
and pictures,
and say their goodbyes.
It can also
be a time
to say sorry.
'IF WE KNOW HOW TO DIE;
THEN WE KNOW HOW TO LIVE,'
were the last words
with which
Doug Bridge
finished his:
'Conversation with the dying.'
I have read it
and for a moment
it was 'dying'
that was heard
before
and
for
the living...
"I like getting old,"
I said to myself:
"It's kind of curious
to see
that you are heading
to all the places,
you have seen,
the people
dear to you,
go before you,
death
is your final destination."
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