On Death and Dying with Dignity
“Sooner or later, every difficult journey collides against a moment that crystallizes the imperative of accepting that the outcome of every ambitious undertaking can neither be ordained nor engineered by its participants: and that the heart of an odyssey is reached, and its deeper truths begin to reveal themselves, only after the illusion of control is permitted to fall away and disappear into the gathering night like a loose pebble over a cliff.” — Levin Fedarko. A Walk in the Park.
“Today we have made a fetish of choice; but a chosen death is forbidden.” — John Gray. Straw Dogs: Thoughts on Humans and Other Animals.
“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” — Mahatma Gandhi.
I’ve never lost anyone very close to me so I’m probably the least qualified person in the world to comment on this topic — but here goes.
Both my parents and my siblings are still alive. All four of my grandparents and several of my uncles and aunts have passed away but I can’t honestly say I was “very close” to any of them, having lived in a country other than that of my birth since the age of fourteen and having almost no memories of childhood before the age of ten. By the time my grandparents passed away, I was in my thirties and forties and hadn’t seen any of them for decades.
The closest thing to me that has died was my favorite cat, Pookie, for whom I wrote and published not just one but two obituaries! His death devastated me completely even though it was expected. I found myself curling up in a fetal position several times a day for the following week, tears streaming from my eyes, engulfed in a pool of pain and sorrow that I didn’t expect nor have I experienced since. But Pookie was a saint. He loved everyone!
Anyway… despite my clear lack of credentials, I offer here a few words on the topic of death and dying.
A friend of my partner’s was discovered dead in his apartment today. He was 57 years old and not in great health. He didn’t take care of himself, smoked incessantly, and often mentioned that he was ready to go. The only reason he hadn’t taken his own life was because he didn’t want to burden his parents with that pain.
I’d met him a couple of times and enjoyed our deep philosophical discussions. During one conversation about health, he smiled and jokingly commented that it would be okay if cigarettes cut his life short.
He was a brilliant man who struggled to come to terms with the world around him. He was clearly smart, a graduate of Yale and a deep thinker, a poet and artist, but he had checked out of the mainstream and believed that the most beneficial thing he could do in this world was to care for others.
My partner was distraught and immediately reached out to his friends and family, helping coordinate next steps. They were all shocked and saddened by the news. As I listened to her side of the phone conversations, the thought occurred to me that we should be happy for him. I know this sounds like a cliche but it’s true. He is in a better place. He didn’t want to be here. And he went quickly, peacefully, in his bed, at home.
His soul is free now to roam the universe, relieving the human form of its duties, having learned the lessons it needed to learn in this lifetime, swimming back to source, and getting ready for his next incarnation. He firmly believed in this and now, I find, I believe it too.
It’s only if death is viewed as a part of life and not an end to it that we come to terms with its meaning. If it’s seen as a final ending, we bemoan the loss and think about what could have been.
But everything changes if we view death as a step in a much longer journey, a class we took for a few dozen years and are now graduating from, only to move onto the next class, having (hopefully) passed the tests and learned the lessons we came here to learn. Or, if we fail that class and are held back, our soul comes back to learn the same lesson anew, in the next lifetime.
I see him now with a smile on his face, flying through all the dimensions of reality, picking his next human birth. The body they found on that bed this morning is not him. That was just a vehicle. He’s trading it in for a new model. He went quickly, he went peacefully, and he wanted to go. We should be happy for him and remember him with fondness.
Last month, another friend of my partner’s was found dead, this time by her own hand. An accomplished singer and mother, she had lost one child many years ago and this, ultimately, seemed to have been too much for her to bear. She, too, didn’t want to be here. But she didn’t talk to anyone about her plans. I don’t think any of her friends or family knew the depth of her pain and despair. I had not met her but later listened to her music and attended a memorial service for her. I can’t imagine the agony that her family went through. I can’t imagine what she went through.
Did she learn the lessons she had come here to learn? Did he? I didn’t know either of them well enough to answer that question. And, ultimately, they were the only ones capable of answering it. And I’m convinced that’s exactly what our souls do after death.
This statement may seem strange coming from a devoted scientist and engineer. We are talking now of the realm of spirits and souls. Science hasn’t braved those shores yet. I hope it will soon.
Because there’s something there. There is a global consciousness that is a foundational force in the universe; it has intelligence and it runs on unconditional love. It’s not the bearded guy in the sky nor is it vengeful or mad at us. Those concepts are man-made stories. I’m convinced the universe runs on love, on pure positive energy. I have no proof for this, of course, but recent experiences have convinced me of its truth.
Is suicide morally wrong? Is slowly killing yourself by neglecting your health over a dozen years morally wrong? Is one choice better than the other? For whom, the sufferer or those left behind? And who gets to decide?
I can’t answer any of those questions but I hope we will soon live in a society that talks openly about these conundrums. A society where there’s no stigma attached to end-of-life decisions. A society where citizens’ mental and physical health is supported and a cry for help heard before it’s too late. Because it’s only then that we will come to truly understand, and allow, a conscious death with dignity.
I know one other thing. There is no hell out there. Only Heaven. Hell exists only in our minds.
Author’s note: I’ve deleted all my social media accounts (except for Medium) and now depend exclusively on the kindness of strangers to pass the word around about my blog posts. Please share this post with others if you liked it. Thank you.
