A little more than a month ago I wrote a serious essay about
death and life. Although I planned to post it immediately, I didn’t. Instead I
let it sit for a while until I felt ready to post it. Here’s what I wrote:
Mostly my blog is a collection of funny (true) stories and
craft projects but sometimes life serves up something very serious and I feel a
need to work it out in my blog. Why talk about death in a blog? Is it too
personal of a subject? In some ways, yes. But it’s also a universal theme.
Instead of avoiding something that we all witness and mourn, maybe we can share
experiences and be supportive of one another because we all go through this.
This fall three people I knew died within eight weeks. That
is a lot. Life and death are on my mind these days. In late August we learned
that our former neighbor John passed away. We’d lived across the street from John
for nine years before he had to move to assisted living. He was the neighbor
who inspired me to be a great
neighbor. The second time I ever spoke with John was on a Wednesday, trash day,
and he was bringing trash cans up the driveway after collection. He was doing
this for the entire block. John did
this every Wednesday. It was his way of being a good neighbor. That stuck with
me. He did this for years before his health worsened. Nearly two years ago John
moved to assisted living. He was in his eighties and his body and brain were
not in prime shape anymore. So his death was not a complete shock but it was
still sad. We went to John’s memorial service to support his kids, whom we
know. He was a wonderful neighbor and I feel grateful to have known him.
The second death this fall was the hardest. My husband’s
godson Keil died in late September, after a nearly four year battle against
bone cancer. He was only twenty-two and his youth makes his death so hard to
try to accept and understand. The cancer started in his knee. At age nineteen he
had most of his leg removed. There were lots of stays in the hospital. The
cancer spread. He had surgeries. Yet things seemed to be looking up even a few
months ago, and this gave us a false sense of hope. But cancer is a sneaky
creature and it quietly crept into Keil’s abdomen. They tried again to treat it
but it was too late. In September we learned that Keil had only a few weeks to
live and we made reservations to fly up to see him. When Keil took a turn for
the worse a few days later, Hubby made a last-minute trip to see him. We didn’t
know whether Keil would live long enough for us to use the tickets we’d bought
to see him the following week. But he did. That kid was a fighter. It was awful
to see him in a bed in a hospice facility, medicated and unconscious. But we
also cherished the chance to see him one last time. We held his hands and
talked to him about all kinds of things, telling him our favorite memories from
his childhood. We had hours with him that day, and late that night we told him
we’d return the next morning. But he passed away overnight. Somehow I was
shocked. A living, breathing, warm-handed young man with soft hair and a pulse
was now dead. We were so grateful that we were there to support him on his last
day. His family is coping as well as they can. They are surrounded by many
friends and family members.
We flew into town for Keil’s memorial service. There were
lots of tears. This young man did not live as long as he deserved. In this
country, where we have excellent medical care, it’s easy to assume we will have
many decades of life. At first it felt impossible to accept the unfairness of
it all. But it’s slowly sinking in. And the memorial service seemed to help
many of us to heal a little bit. There’s no way to wrap up this loss with a bow
and make it okay. But I see moments of catharsis. Keil’s younger sister spoke
about her brother during the service. She shared funny memories, and everyone
laughed. There’s some healing in laughter. It helped us to remember Keil’s
humor. His friends spoke at the reception, telling amusing tales about Keil. It
was so moving to listen to a bunch of 22-year-olds pay tribute to their friend,
a guy who made them feel more comfortable in their own skin, who made them see that
they were okay, human warts and all. I marveled at the maturity of Keil’s
friends, who visited him in hospice. I don’t know if I would have been able to
handle seeing a peer so close to death when I was twenty-two. But his friends
visited, again and again. That alone shows the kind of impact Keil had in his
short life. He deserved a longer stay here but in the time he had, Keil brought
laughter to those around him, and made a difference to people.
Keil’s final battle shared the same timeline as my great
aunt Kay’s last weeks. She’s the extraordinary woman who celebrated her 104th
birthday this August, which my daughter and I attended in Canada. In the weeks
after Kay’s birthday, I received emails from her daughter about her health.
There were some medical concerns and at one point she was eating only a little
each day. Some emails suggested there were only a few days left, but at one
point her doctors predicted she’d make it into the new year. Ironically, as I
stepped out of the church after Keil’s memorial service, I received an email
with the news that Kay had passed away in her sleep that morning. The timing of
the news felt significant, as Keil and Kay both began their final laps at the
same time. I felt sad that she had passed, but this felt different from the
horror of Keil’s passing. The contrast struck me again and again: Keil’s life
was unfairly cut short, while Kay’s life was exceptionally long. Both people
have inspired me in different ways.
I’m still grappling with all this. It takes time to make
peace with someone’s passing. It’s easier to accept death if it happens to
someone who had a long, happy life, like John and Kay did. It’s different
coming to terms with someone whose life was cut short. But going to Keil’s
memorial service helped me, and it appeared to help the others who came to
honor him. Keil’s parents, sister and other family members seemed to find
comfort in being around others who love and miss him, and in laughing about the
funny times and the good memories. And it is cliché, but it did remind me to be
present, to treasure the moments and the connections with people. It reminds me
to call those I love and to tell people when they inspire me.
Keil’s untimely death led his friends to become closer at
the end. They’ll miss him, always. But as I told one young man at the
reception, he will make other close friends in his life because he has felt how
important it is to connect with others. This young man will be a true friend to
others and will have other good friends in his life. It’s awful when we lose
someone but attachment to others is part of what makes us human, and part of
what it means to live a meaningful life. I’ll miss John, Keil and Kay, but I
feel so fortunate to have known them all…
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