Facing the Rising Sun

No day is ordinary

A new sunrise; each day’s rays cast a unique pattern over the lake

An eager spider; weaves another web strand on her death trap

A shift in the wind; now golden and red maple leaves carpet the front porch

The gas gage ekes another inch to the right, empty;

a different route to work to refill the tank.

An ache in the belly; the first sign of his looming death

A widow; redefines her life; a new perspective

No day is ordinary

I met a friend last week for tea; his long time partner lost a battle with cancer six weeks ago. I found it comforting to exchange death experiences. We are both still frozen from the shock and grapple with how much our lives have changed in a matter of weeks. Death, no one dares to utter the words dying and death. Our society’s illusion about death leaves one with little or no space to talk and explore feelings of grief, and loss with loved ones. Society taught me that death is the worse possible thing that could happen to a human being; a morbid event, yet every living plant and animal on earth dies. Death has shaped my life, as much or more as living. I suspect most people have learned to fear the hour of their death, hence the societal prohibition; ‘mum’s the word’ on dying. I am learning through grief that the fear of death is about the fear of surviving and negotiating the emotions of grief and bereavement with those living. What I know is that most people in the United States die from the slow decline of organ functioning that can be informed by a plethora of various diseases and /or age.

Roy was worried about leaving us. As he was dying I reassured him of our family’s resilience and strength. He knew deep down that his mission in this life was ending. Accepting death was easy for him; he realized the difficulty was not in dying but the uncertainty of leaving his family to cope with all the grief and sadness that would follow once he died. He came to understand his ultimate mission, which he stated in his parting words, “It’s all about family.” That mission drove him to contribute to society in ways that I am now beginning to comprehend. His “family mission” primed by his love of science and discovery led him to pursue developing software in the early days. I think back to the many forks in his road and subsequently our road over the forty-three years we had together: Medical school vs. Boeing; working at Microsoft for stock and no money vs. supporting his family and developing software at Quinton Instruments then onto Advance Technology Laboratories and the development of the Fetal Monitor; a short stint in a company that I cannot remember the name of to International Biomedics to SpaceLabs Healthcare where he changed medical monitoring equipment world wide. Cancer ended his life before he reached full retirement age. Once the cancer invaded his gastric system, metastasized disease assaulted the rest of his abdominal area including the bones. His liver, damaged by numerous tumors, could not function properly triggering failure of other organs until he stopped breathing. His death certificate said the cause of death was respiratory failure due to gastric cancer.

As I enter the fifth month of surviving Roy’s death, the pressure to resume life as usual is tremendous. I remind others that I am deeply committed to a process. I remind myself that I am grieving. Staying focused on grieving is difficult particularly as other life events occur. I am currently distracted by my father’s illness and the anticipatory grief that accompanies the knowledge that he is in his late eighties; are we counting the days, months, or a couple of years?  Death is clearly on the horizon as he struggles to live with co-occurring conditions involving his brain, and kidneys. While it makes sense for our family to be focused on the quality of his remaining life, family and doctors gingerly avoid talking about his impending death. The emotional dance is interesting and anxiety producing.

Here in the United States we spend an exorbitant amount of money and time trying to avoid the uncomfortable, painful feelings of grief and loss. I find most conversations with medical personnel very frustrating; the code talk, “His liver is trending in the wrong direction.” What is one supposed to do with that information? I could look at Roy; the white of his eyes yellowed by bilirubin, his feet and legs puffy as a result of edema, a man that hiked in the steep Cascade Mountains not able to walk three feet to the bathroom, a tube in his abdomen to give him the nourishment that he could no longer receive from eating, he was dying.

Death and grief education should be the foundation of Social Studies curriculum from early childhood education through adulthood. We can learn to accept death as a part of living instead of viewing death as an opponent that must be overcome. This is not to say that medical intervention is worthless for the work of scientists and doctors has greatly improved the human condition! And of course I am talking about death that is natural and not a result of some human perpetuated violence, or natural disaster.

I remember the death of a puppy our family had when I was about seven years old. A car hit the dog and my father put it in a box; I can still hear the whimpering dog thrashing around in that box, and then finally succumbing to death. I was crying, a normal reaction to the trauma and shock of losing a pet, yet somehow I received the message that my reaction was ridiculous. I felt alone as I stood peering at the lifeless dog in that box. Finally, my father escorted me away, and later buried the dog in the back yard. The next day my teacher asked about the dog. “Did you cry?” she asked. “No,” I lied, and that was the end of the conversation and the beginning of learning to internalize talking about death, feelings of confusion, and grief.

As living beings we are in denial about the most important life transition, thus when we are faced with death either as a grieving person because someone we love is dying/has died, or facing our own death due to the decline of bodily systems, we are left in isolation. As the five-month anniversary of Roy’s death approaches the shock is melting away, and all of the business details are nearly sorted, I am now ready to talk about him, his death and dying. I am ready to face my father’s impending death tomorrow or two years from now. While grief has temporarily left me exhausted, hopeless, lonely and confused, death is not all that powerful nor an enemy to defeat. There is a beginning and an end to our physical presence. Living life fully and in present time means we have an awareness and vulnerability to the end of our life. DEATH!

I have taken another step across the glass bridge.