Simon and I were talking the other day about what we would want done with our bodies after we die. I know, not the most uplifting topic in the world, but a very important one nonetheless.
Death is something that few people are comfortable with. It seems that most people are of the opinion that if they don't talk or think about it, then it's not going to happen...that somehow they and their family members might possibly live forever. These same people are the ones who are completely devastated, appalled, and angry when death eventually comes calling. Death is almost always devastating, whether you're prepared for it or caught completely unawares. I do think that being comfortable with talking about death does help you cope with it when eventually the time comes to deal with it.
Maybe it's my background in healthcare that makes me so comfortable with talking about death. I don't see death all that often, but I do see it waiting in the wings more often than I'd like to admit. It's been interesting for me to see the way that death affects people. Recently there were two families in the hospital, both going through the process of a dying family member. One family was accepting that death was coming soon and had gone through the process of initiating hospice and comfort care. Their family member was swaddled in pretty blankets and had someone at the bedside 24/7 to hold the patient's hand and let her know that they were there. All curative therapies had been stopped. The room was peaceful and quiet. The other patient's room was a completely different story. Family members were angry and agitated, complaining that the patient (who was comatose at this point) was not being fed. And not only that he wasn't being fed, but that he wasn't being offered things that were appropriate for a diabetic diet. They were concerned that he wasn't peeing or pooping, they were bothered that we weren't as concerned about these things as they were. It's hard for me to stand there and take the blame for the fact that their family member is dying, but I do it because I know that they're not at the point of acceptance yet. I know they think that if their family member would only poop, or only take one bite of mashed potatoes, that he might be on the road to recovery, despite the fact that all the doctors on his case had informed them that there was nothing more that could be done. It's hard to see them fight death, and it makes me sad to know that their family member is going to pass while they're harboring so much anger in their hearts.
I used to be afraid of death, of being robbed of the opportunity to do everything that I want to do in this life. I used to play everything safe, to plan ahead, to email my mom before every long trip in the event that I crashed the car or the plane went down. I emailed her the most mundane things too...my passwords and account numbers for my credit cards, what I would want done with my belongings, where the dog was being boarded...things that are important, but not necessarily the last things that I should be concerned with if I truly thought I was going to die. If I was going to bother with contacting people in the event that I thought I was going to die, I should have been contacting them to tell them how much they meant to me, and that I truly appreciated their contribution to my life, and hoped that I had made a positive contribution to theirs. Credit cards and passwords? Those things will sort themselves out. I think I was doing it to ease the process of all the junk that goes along with sorting out someone's affairs when they are no longer present to do it themselves. A nice thought, but I think my mom probably would prefer that my last correspondence with her be something a little more meaningful. Life and death will happen as it happens. I can't prepare for everything, and why should I spend so much time and energy trying to prevent and prepare for something will that happen no matter what I do? With that in mind, death is never very far from my thoughts, but it doesn't monopolize them in fear the way it used to.
I went down to Phoenix yesterday, and I couldn't abolish the flickering thought from my mind that there was a very real possibility that I might die on that trip. Most likely from a car accident, if I was to guess, but a number of things could have happened. I could have had an asthma attack, I could have had a heart attack, I could have been struck in the crosswalk by someone too stupid to stop for a pedestrian, I could have been shot by some maladjusted person on a bender for vengeance for some wrong that life had done him or her. There could have been an earthquake and a building could have fallen on me. A freak storm could have rolled though and I could have been struck by lightening. I could have choked on my lunch. And you know, what could I have done to prevent any of those things from happening? Absolutely nothing. Not one thing. Either you're going to die, or you're not. You can't cheat death...it's coming whether you like it or not.
I think sometimes I become preoccupied with the question of whether or not I have lived a good life. Of course, this won't matter to me once I'm gone, but I do hope that I'm leaving a positive lasting impression on those who I've come into contact with, regardless of how fleeting that interaction might have been. I become preoccupied with the idea that I will die without being able to say goodbye to all those who were important to me when I was alive. Of course, most everyone I know should already know how I feel about them, so there's really no need to tell them with my last breath, but these are the things I think about when I think about death. I think about my little dog too, wondering where I've gone and when I'm going to come back. How do animals grieve? Do they grieve at all?
And then I think about not only my death, but about other people's deaths as well. Every time Simon goes out on his motorcycle, I wonder if it will be his last ride. When my parents take their long road trips, I worry that they might not make it home. I have this weird thought that if I'm with them, maybe I'll be able to help prevent a catastrophe. I know that it's silly to worry about these things, as people are much more likely to die in a mundane fashion than in a tragic car accident, but those are the things I think about. I think about that empty chair at the dining table, those yearly get togethers that will have a palpable absence, that spot on the couch that sits vacant during movie night.
So, in the conversation about our bodies, Simon and I want whatever can't be donated to others to be donated to science. Even in death, I want my life to matter, regardless of how small the contribution. My body is useless to me once I'm gone, it might as well be put to some use for someone else if possible.
There is a book I read some time ago called Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, written by Mary Roach. Arguably, one of the best books I've ever had the pleasure of reading. It's amazing the things that human bodies can do after death. The advances in science, medicine, crime scene investigation, and safety that would have not have otherwise been possible if individuals had not been willing to donate their bodies for scientific purposes. I won't spoil it by revealing any of the specific stories, but truly, an amazing read. And something for everyone to think about.
Death doesn't have to be scary, or dreaded, or something to avoid at all costs. It's going to happen to all of us at some point, it's just a matter of when. It's so much easier to be okay with death if we're just able to talk about it, and accept it for what it is...part of the cycle of life. I've made my peace with it, and can only hope that others will be able to as well.
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