Sunday, February 18, 2018

Spirituality, Death, and Dying

"By the sweat of your face You will eat bread, Till you return to the ground, Because from it you were taken; For you are dust, And to dust you shall return." - Genesis 3:19 King James Bible

I have a little obsession with death.  I always have.  My dining room has several decorations celebrating Dia de Muertos "The Day of the Dead".  I have always found them to be beautiful.

My first real experience with death was when I was probably around nine or ten years old and it was terrifying to me at the time.  I had been visiting my Great Grandmother's house once a week to transcribe our family history.  We would sit and she would tell me about her parents and grandparents and how they originally came to this country.  She would speak of cousins, uncles, aunts, and siblings and I would write it all down.  At the time, my Great Grandma was ninety-one years old.  One day she had a fall and was going downhill.  I stopped going over for a while.  My Great Grandma was a very religious person.  She never missed going to church, and Sunday was her favorite day of the week.  That is why it seemed like a prayer had been answered when one Sunday she started to get much better and was like her old self.  I had decided that I would return that week and we would start our family history project again.  That Wednesday I showed up to the house, but things were very different.  She had taken a turn for the worse.

They had moved my Great Grandma to the guest room on the first floor so that she didn't have to walk up stairs.  It was a room right off  the dining room with an arched entry way.  There wasn't a door to the room, but rather sheer see through curtains that I remember running through as a kid.  This day, on the other side of those sheer curtains was death looming in the air.  I walked into see her, but she wasn't making any sense.  She kept calling out for her mother as if she were a little girl and she was lost.  I was spooked.  I didn't stay long.  The next day, Thursday, my Great Grandma passed away.  When I went to the visitation, it was the first time I had ever seen a dead body.  It didn't look like my Great Grandma at all.  Her face was caked with make-up and her mouth was really wide which tended to smooth out the wrinkles that had become so familiar to me.  It looked like a scary version of my Great Grandma and I didn't want to be there any more.  I had nightmares about that for a long time afterwards.  When my Grandma on my Dad's side died a few years later, I didn't want to have to go into the room where the coffin was.  I was scared of what lie inside.

As a young man, I had fears of dying way before my time.  I was a bit of a hypochondriac.  Any time I saw a mark on me, I thought it could be fatal.  As a kid and teenager, I knew I was gay.  At the time, AIDS was infesting our country.  There was so little information about it and I thought that just because I was unfortunate enough to be gay, that I automatically had it.  I kept waiting or lesions to pop up on my body.  The mark of death.

I still think I have some fears around death, but not in the same way I used to.  I have never had kids of my own, so I've never been able to witness the miracle of a new life coming into this world first hand.  I have though been present when three souls that I loved very much left this world.

The first was my Grandpa on my Mom's side of the family.  My Grandpa lived to ninety-four years old and he always said to us, "When I go, don't cry for me.  I've had a great life."  My Grandpa was always so full of life.  He had a ton of buddies who he loved to play golf with or get together to play music with.  He was a clarinetist and was very good.  He was the person who made me want to play clarinet as a kid.  Living into your nineties I think has to be a bit of a mixed blessing.  You end up outliving many of the people who you were closest with in life.  Soon, all of your friends have died, yet you remain. I'm sure there is a very lonely feeling that comes with that.

I received a phone call on a very early January Sunday night in 2012 that my Grandpa had a stroke while doing the dishes and my Grandma had found him lying on the floor in the kitchen unresponsive.  He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but they wanted to transfer him via helicopter to a hospital that specialized more with strokes.  I got in my car and raced to the hospital.  I was the first one to get there after he had arrived via air lift.  When I went into his room to see him, he was able to open his eyes and look at me.  He held my hand.  He knew it was me, but he couldn't talk.  The doctor kept asking me if he had a living will.  I didn't have that on me, but I did know that he was adamant that he not be put on any sort of life support.  He had told us that many times before.  Eventually, he was transferred to a room and I volunteered to spend the night with my Grandma in his room so that she wasn't all alone.

The next morning when we woke up, his breathing had become much more erratic.  Both my Grandma and I inherently knew that this was most likely the end.  She asked if I would wheel her over to him (she was in a wheelchair after losing a leg a couple of years before) so that she could hold his hand.  I did.  I helped her to stand as best as she could so that she could lean over and kiss him.  She told him it was okay if he needed to go.  I did everything I could to fight back tears and remain strong for her.

I called my family and told them that I thought they should all come soon and say their good-byes.  They had all planned on being at the hospital anyway at 10:00 a.m. because we were supposed to meet with doctors to discuss next steps.  He hung on until everyone was in the room.  At 10:00 a.m. the doctor who we were supposed to meet with came in and started to talk about the possibilities of putting a feeding tube in him.  I was very vocal saying that I thought that would be a bad decision.  I knew that he wouldn't want that.  The doctor didn't make it easy for everyone though.  She kept putting doubts in our minds that possibly with a feeding tube he may have the time he needed to get back to normal.  He may end up being able to speak again. It was too early to tell.  While I knew that it was her job as a doctor to do everything she could to make him better, I was angry.  I was angry that she started putting these doubts in our heads.  I knew this was the wrong decision, but now I had my Mom and siblings, even my Grandma who I think knew he was leaving us, re-thinking whether or not this was the right choice.  Just as we were all pre-occupied talking about this, a nurse entered and called the doctor out into the hallway.  The doctor stepped out and then almost immediately came back in and told us his heart had stopped.  He was gone.

In the end, he gave us such a huge blessing in that he took that terrible decision out of our hands.  He made it for us.  We wouldn't have to second guess on whether or not we did the right thing.

The second time I experienced death first hand was in 2015 when my Mother-in-Law passed away.  She had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor in November of 2014.  She began the procedures of going through chemo, but she knew that she was basically biding time.  The chemo started having bad side effects and really affected her standard of living.  She made the decision to go off of chemo around February of 2015.  When it started to get close to the end, hospice was called in and a bed was set up in the living room of her home.  My husband would go over every day and spend time with her and joke with her to keep her smiling.  On the last night of her life, she was surrounded by all of her kids.  I was also there holding onto my husband while he held his Mom's hand and let her know that it was okay to go.  She died surrounded in a circle of love that night.

The third time I was there was in March of 2016 when my Grandma on my Mom's side passed away. She had become ill with pneumonia right around her birthday.  My Grandma was another very spiritual and religious person.  Every morning when she would wake up, she'd look out the little window in her bathroom up to the sky and repeat the phrase, "This is the day the Lord hath made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it."  She was another person who never missed church unless she absolutely had to.  Every year on her birthday it was so important for her to celebrate at the church.  So, after services, we would get a large cake and everyone would come into the parlor to wish her a happy birthday.  On March 4, 2016, my Grandma turned ninety-eight years old.  That Sunday, March 6th, she wasn't feeling that particularly well, but she managed to make it to church for her celebration.  The next day on Monday March 7th, she went into the hospital to be treated for pneumonia.

My Grandma was one of the strongest people I have ever known.  She took everything in stride.  Any time she faced a health issue, she would just repeat, "I take it one day at a time" and when it might be a particularly bad day, she would say, "Sometimes I have to take it one moment at a time."  Going into the hospital this time for her was no different.  When they asked her if she wanted to be put on a breathing machine so that her body didn't have to work so hard and possibly that would help speed her recovery, she didn't hesitate to say yes.

I know she was so uncomfortable having that tube stuck down her throat, but she never would complain about it.  At the time, I was directing a show out in the suburbs.  Often after rehearsals (or before) I would head to the hospital to visit.  She would try her best to communicate with us.  She couldn't talk because the breathing tube was down her throat.  So, we tried things like letter boards to see if she could point to the letter and we could try to spell it out.

One day when I visited her I could tell she was trying to tell me something.  She was quite animated. I thought she was uncomfortable, so I kept trying to guess what it was that needed fixing. Maybe she needed the pillow raised or to sit up more in bed.  Maybe she needed her back messaged.  Her back often ached.  I kept guessing, but wasn't getting very far.  I tried the spelling board.  Eventually, I figured out that she was trying to ask me how my rehearsals were going.  I told her all was going well, and she clapped.

After a few weeks on a breathing tube, the doctors told her that the lungs didn't look that much better.  Despite all of the antibiotics, things really weren't improving much and the longer she stayed on the breathing machine, the less likely she would be able to return to the same quality of life that she had been experiencing.  It was at that time, that my ninety-eight year old grandma, of sound mind and body, made her own decision to be removed from the life support.  She pointed to the ceiling, and I said, 'You want to go see God and Grandpa?" and she nodded yes.  The doctors removed the tubes and upped the morphine to help her breathing so that she wouldn't be gasping and struggling for breath.  Again, the family circled around her bed. We held her hands.  We sang her songs.  The sun was setting and her hospital windows faced West.  My brother pointed out that the sun when you looked at it, had a glow about it that almost took the shape of a cross.  Soon after, my Grandma took one last breath, and then was gone.

I had seen fear in both of my Grandparents in the past when they had dealt with health issues.  When my Mother-in-law was first diagnosed with the brain tumor, I know there was a lot of grief and fear.  At the end though of all three, that fear seemed to disappear.  There was a peace that was in the room and in each case, they were surrounded by love.  I always thought how sad it must be for people to have a sudden heart attach when they are alone at home and no one is around.  I hope they too feel some comfort even though I'm sure fear is what comes first as they realize they are having a heart attach.

I grew up in a pretty liberal Presbyterian church.  Going to church when I was a kid was not an option.  I enjoyed going to church though.  I had very good friends who I attended Sunday school with and we would go on outings together.  When I got into high school, the senior high's would take mission trips to help fix up housing or work on other projects in areas of need.  We traveled to Yonkers New York, to an Indian reservation in South Dakota, and poverty ridden areas of Virginia.  I believed in the work we did and the lessons I took away from that church of helping the needy and doing good in the world have stuck with me to this day.

I can't say, I'm particularly religious any longer.  I even had my doubts as a kid.  I remember having to go through confirmation at fifteen and having some real doubts about God's existence.  I think one thing that bothered me was I always felt that some of the themes throughout the Bible were powerful, but I never took them literally, nor do I think they were meant to be taken literally. Stories like Noah and the ark and Jonah and the whale were never taught to us as kids as literal stories, but more like lessons.  I'm not sure any of us walked away believing a guy actually surveyed in the belly of a whale.  However, when it came to the story of Jesus, I felt everything was taken literally. Jesus was born to a virgin and could walk on water and rose from the dead.  All of that came off as ridiculous magic in my mind.  I then also had to question if our religion was right, then other religions must have it wrong.

So many conflicts throughout history have been started in the names of religion.  Wars have started.  People have died, all for a belief system that no one has any evidence of.  As I have become more cynical about religion, I have really longed for some sort of spirituality.  When it comes down to it, I think many people are religious because we all have a need to feel like there is some purpose for us being here on earth and we hope that when we die, all is not for naught.

The other night, I watched the film Coco.  It's takes place during the Day of the Dead celebration and the general themes of the film are to remember those that have passed. In the film, there is a thing called "the final death" which is what happens to someone who has already died and left the physical world, but they truly disappear once the last person who remembered them on earth no longer is there.  Then, they have died the true death as there is no one to carry on their memory.

When my Grandma died, I took a bunch of pictures of the family lineage that she had hanging on her walls in the hallway. I believe the photos go all the way back to my great great great grandfather.  I sadly, couldn't tell you the first thing about that man.  I don't know what his life was like or what kind of person he was.  All I have is a very old black and white photo of him, but it is something.

On the flip side of that coin, I was listening to music the other day as I was working around the house, when the song "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" by Pete Fountain the great clarinetist started to play over the speakers. Instantly, my Grandpa was in the room with me.  It was a song he used to play on the clarinet brilliantly all the time.  He was right there with me in that moment.  I know it.

I have been told many times, that my personality is a lot like my Grandpas.  I try to carry his spirit with me every day.  I carry on both of my grandparents memories by continuing to tell their stories just as my Great Grandma told me stories of her parents and grandparents when I was nine year's old.  That is how we keep those who have left us alive.

I don't know what exists after this life, if anything.  What I do know is that all we really want is to be remembered.  We want to know we had some impact; that we made some difference in the short time that we were here.  We want to be seen.  We want to matter.

When I do eventually leave this earth, I will have no children to carry on my legacy.  I'm not really all that concerned about that, but I do want to leave behind something.  I'm not sure what that is yet.  Perhaps it's enough that I was a kind person who valued and loved those that were around me.  Still the questions remain: How do I make the most out of my time that I'm here?  How do I live my life to the fullest?  If I was put here on earth for a reason, how do I make sure that I am living that purpose out every day?  How do I reach my full potential?  How do I want to be remembered once I'm gone?

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