FINDING HOPE IN FACING DEATH

When my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I found myself thrust into a situation I didn’t want to be in, but where I was trapped nonetheless. Dad was going to be taken from me by his disease, which was a painful and inescapable reality. But equally disturbing were the face-to-face encounters with death in which I found myself, for which I felt totally unprepared.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to be there (and I really didn’t). There was no way out, except to run and hide from the situation; but my love for my father would not allow me to do that.

So I found myself in a daily struggle with the one thing I’d been terrified of all my life…death. In the spirit of compassion and driven by my love for my father, I refused to duck when the fear came at me. The result was, I ultimately came to understand that fear of death is like any other fear, and that the same rules for overcoming all fears apply to death, as well. If you run from it, its power over you increases. If you stop and face it, look it in the eye, it shrinks.

What I didn’t expect was how facing death would deepen my life. I discovered that the energy we lose by turning away and running becomes available to us again when we no longer engage in the flight. With a new fund of energy available, and without having to live on the edge of fear hoping that we won’t have to encounter either thoughts about death or the fact of its presence, we can turn more completely toward the business of living.

The hopefulness I began to feel about living deeply, about fulfilling my dreams, about accomplishing my purpose for being here on earth – all of those positive feelings spiked when I disengaged from the grip in which the fear of death had held me.

When I met my Dad’s Hospice nurse for the first time, I remember feeling a little cynical about her profession. I thought to myself, “Why would anybody choose to be around death and dying if they could spend their time doing something – anything - else! But by the time I had spent the last four days of Dad’s life at his side, I understood.

My dad’s death was a good death, mind you. No machines, no pain, no distorting medications, and no resistance on his part. What I perceived in those final days was an atmosphere that became increasingly charged with the wonder of life and the miracle of death. To see the changes that took place in his form, to look at the process with awe rather than fear – I knew I was watching something that was bigger and more profound than any of us. Experiencing the shift as the life moved out of his body, can only be characterized as a sacred experience.

To my surprise, there were no bolts of lightening or claps of thunder; just the peaceful, ever-evolving transformation of his body… and my own character.

I hope that some of you will join this discussion, whether you are being forced to face death, or just have an intellectual curiosity about it. I believe it’s a conversation we need to have.