Gifts Given, Gifts Received. Life in the Shadow of Death

This past week a dear friend of mine went into a crisis.  He has congestive heart failure, and by all accounts, including his doctors, was days from death.  He had a choice.  Sit in his hospital room,doing what he was doing medically, or go to a cardiac center and have more intensive treatments administered.  Tough call when you feel tired, and hurting, and life just isn't very meaningful or enjoyable.  But eventually the call was made, and so I found him in the Cardiac ICU.

Now you have to understand my friend is a very very wise soul.  He is a recovering alcoholic, sober for over 25 years.  He has been through more challenges than most of us face.  And he has come out of it all loving and with some very deep knowledge about how things work.  He still has his challenges, but he is a person whose wisdom I value.

We had a long talk about death, and dying, and medical interventions.  And at the end of our conversation two phrases stuck in my head.  The first was this: "Are we prolonging life of prolonging death?"  This is a profound question for all people with terminal illness.  At what point do we stop prolonging life and start prolonging death?  At what point are we keeping the machine functioning, without any benefit to the heart, soul, and mind within that fleshy mechanism?  I am not sure I have an answer for that question. Indeed I suggest that the answer is deeply personal. For each person that moment, that turning point is likely to be different.  As a pretty persistent, some might say stubborn person, that point might be further down the road for me than for others. Some might hang on to this life much longer.  The differences in our answer will depend on a lot of things. How we see life?  The connections we have here.  Our own sense of what makes us valuable.  And our sense of what lies beyond this thing we call death.  Is it truly and ending, or merely a transition?  For me as a person who believes death is a transition, acceptance of that reality is not such a scary thing.  Saying goodbye, letting go to the things I love in this world? That is the hard part.  But my friend and I both agreed that prolonging death, going to far in medical interventions doesn't make sense, for anyone.  But we also agreed that being too proactive and hastening death is probably not a better choice.

Why?  This is where the second phrase comes in.  "Giving and receiving gifts."  When my parents died, both of illnesses that were progressive and took years, I noticed something very interesting.  With both my father, who died of cancer, and my mother, who died of a neurological syndrome, there were clear losses as the disease progressed.  Dad could no longer do his beloved hikes up Hart Mountain, and mom could no longer bake.  Could no longer put together her "gift" boxes at Christmas for her friends, and make cookies for her grandchildren.  And yet!  And yet both, in those times of loss and pain, received some wonderful gifts.  They learned, as people rallied around them, how many people loved them, and how deeply.  They received, these two busy people, the gift of "down time."  They slowed down (not that they had a choice) and they spent a different kind of time with other people.  Slower.  Longer.  More talk.  More sharing and openness.  They discovered again many small joys.  They traveled together.  There were many gifts received.  

And their were gifts given.  The people they became through their illness was a gift to their children, their grandchildren, the people in their community.  They held bible studies and discussion groups.  They listened to people who really needed someone to talk to... and because of where they were at, they heard.  My father became far more expressive, and started to learn how to talk about love, and nurture.  My mother never did talk, but her presence continued to enrich lives.  Even in terminal illness there are gifts to be given, and gifts to be received.  And so life continues to be a precious thing.  Not something to be held on to so tightly that we prolong death.  But something to be savored until it is time for the next stage in our journey

Thank you my dear friend Scott for the gifts you are still giving.  For the gift you gave to me in such a strange wilderness as a cardiac ICU.  May you continue to see the gifts that you receive.