The End Game

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

I am not there,
I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry—
I am not there,
I did not die.

Clare Harner, 1934

This poem brought me to tears.  I don’t know whether I ever read it before but its philosophy is very much my own.  When I die, my belief is that my cells will be transformed into the fabric of the universe, parts of which are mentioned in the poem.  

I feel as though I’ve been skirting around the issue of death in all these posts I’ve been writing, so now it’s time to talk about it.  I know most people aren’t comfortable talking or even thinking about death, but, news flash, it’s ahead of all of us.  Right now, because I have a mortal disease, I feel all alone in my march towards it, but it’s obviously not the case.  As with pain, I don’t have a monopoly on death.  

Even if you’re among the very few in our Western culture not afraid of death, there was probably a time when you were.  I used to lie awake at night as a kid worrying about it.  I would imagine myself floating around somewhere in the dark, starry universe, because I couldn’t fathom disappearing for good, yet the blackness scared me, so there was no comfort there. I suppose because I wasn’t faced with my imminent death, I gradually  relaxed and mostly forgot about it. 

I should mention that I was brought up without religion.  My parents were atheists/agnostics (not sure which, to be honest) and rarely mentioned anything about religion, death, an afterlife or any of that.  I had a brief foray into religion by joining a Pentecostal church in my late teens (an interesting version of teenage rebellion that probably freaked out my parents even more than if I’d started snorting coke, but they were good enough not to say much about it). 

So, why do we avoid the topic of death so much? My theory is that since nobody been back to tell us about it, it’s the  Great Unknown, which is always scary.  Parents (unless they’re religious) don’t know what to say and are afraid of traumatizing their kids by talking about it, so they often don’t.  Maybe even religious parents are stymied by the topic, since even describing a place in the sky where God greets you at the gate might be a bit scary for a little kid.  

A number of years ago I remember having this train of thought that I’d rather not die in an accident or of a sudden heart attack, but would rather have some notice so I could prepare myself and come to terms with death and would face it calmly.  Unfortunately, I’ve been handed what I wished for.  Not sure I would take that wish back, but it sure hasn’t been easy and I’m far from coming to terms with death nor am I ready to face it serenely…yet. I suspect that most people would rather know nothing about it and just die in their sleep.  My perspective is that death is such a big part of life (in a way) that I want to experience it fully and somehow embrace it.  Believe me, I’m not sure how this is to be done.  (I ought to be reading a bunch of books, so if you have any recommendations, throw them my way!)The part of dying I’m not keen about is the disease, more than the death part, but I didn’t get to choose.

I would love to be a fly on the wall after my death, watching my wonderful family and what becomes of them. It makes me sad, to know how much I’ll miss.  I’ll miss watching my grandson grow up and any other grandchildren who might be born in the future.  I’ll miss seeing what lies ahead for my kids and to spend vacations in Italy with Dave, or even just weekends at the cottage.  I’m suffering from a serious case of FOMO*.  However, I also won’t witness any bad stuff that may happen: sickness and/or death of loved ones, climate disasters, economic downturns, etc, etc,.  It’s a bit of a comfort knowing I’ll miss those things. 

I don’t believe in an afterlife the way the Christian religion sees it, as you might have guessed, and that’s made me worry about what will be; probably just eternal blackness, no awareness at all I guess.  I do find some comfort in knowing that my energy/atoms will be joined with the rest of the universe eventually, and will never be obliterated.  That’s the only way living things can live forever, in my opinion. It’s cold comfort, but surprisingly helpful.  I wish I could be buried under a huge tree somewhere, and could then help to keep it alive. That would be lovely, but I also want to have a plaque on the family tombstone at Mont-Royal Cemetery, where my mother’s ashes are buried. Being buried in a big coffin seems like a dumb idea; why put off the inevitable? Once I’m dead, the sooner my body joins the atoms of the universe, the better.

So, although I hope I’ll have some time before the inevitable happens, in the meantime I’m working towards accepting my fate. I feel so much better than I did four months ago that I can’t help hoping that the chemo is working super well in a miraculous way. There’s really no cure for this disease, but perhaps I can keep it at bay for a while yet..

*Fear of missing out