Here is todays Kenosha News column: Between Life and Death I’m good with dead people. What kind of funeral director would I make if this were not so? Dead people don’t “freak me out” (most often asked question) nor do I become depressed through my dealings with them. They are quiet (duh!) and peaceful and I find a great sense of serenity knowing that no pain is present in them. I’m pretty good with people who are alive. They rarely “freak me out” (although there have been times) and my depression comes not from people, but from a lack of kindness or compassion. My friends and family are a precious gift. It is the netherworld between life and death that causes me the most angst. I am very uncomfortable in the face of uncompromising pain or irreversible illness. A helplessness and uselessness overcome me and I don’t know what my role is. As I write this, a person I love is existing in this netherworld. After a car accident, she was hospitalized and her injuries were severe enough that she was placed on a ventilator to keep her alive. Now if you have never been in the presence of a person undergoing mechanical ventilation, your frame of reference would be what you have seen on television. On TV, a person lays peacefully in bed with a tube in their mouth while air silently inflates their lungs. In reality, a ventilator has a very distinctive sound. There is clicking and whooshing and an unnatural inflation of the person’s body that is in no way reminiscent of actual human breath. My first exposure to this was in 1996 when one of my sons was comatose. I will never forget the chilling sights and sounds of the machine that kept his tiny body alive and his necessary organs functioning. One of the most joyful moments in my life was when he started to breathe spontaneously and a refreshing “humanness” returned. Although the road to recovery was a long one, this step was the most significant. All that came flooding back as I stood by my friend’s bedside and watched this noisy behemoth doing her breathing for her. Nothing can describe the pain of looking at someone’s unmarked perfect features and knowing that although they look like your friend, a distinct component of their humanity is absent. Life is breath after all and it is never more poignantly apparent than when breath is taken out of the equation. Hospice nurses see this sort of thing all the time I suppose. They have inured themselves to be of service during that purgatory-like time between life and death. Although I have the utmost respect for nurses in general and hospice nurses in particular, I could never do the job that these brave and strong (and oftentimes wacky and irreverent) women and men do every day. I don’t have the fortitude to be present in the face of life’s ultimate transition. That being said, I am honored to be someone who my friend’s family has chosen to share this sacred time with. As painful as it is to stand by her bedside and witness the palpable grief pouring from her beloved partner, her family and her friends, it is a privilege to be in the presence of such strong love. Their anguish reminds me of the words of Kahlil Gibran who wrote “When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” And my friend is nothing if not delightful. I don’t know what will happen between the time that I write this and when it is published. She may die. A miracle may happen and we will delight in seeing her recover. Whatever happens will be part of the grand plan of God or the Universe that brought us all into connection with her and so all will be well. The words of the poet Mary Oliver keep running through my head (in my friend’s kind, loving voice of course, because she introduced me to Mary Oliver’s poetry): “To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go” The time has come.
Posted on: Sun, 13 Apr 2014 13:41:46 +0000
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