My first reaction to the title of this section was a sinking feeling. I am by nature a pragmatist, always accepting the darker side of life as a constant and not trying to fight against it. The possible down side to this trait is that I often feel that I give up to easily, and obviously when life is on the line giving up is not an option. Once I read the section though I realized that my acceptance of death as a part of life is not a negative trait. In fact, it might be extremely helpful throughout my career and my life. I have learned how to do this through first hand experience, as I have lost several very close matriarchs on both sides of my family. Starting when I was about 10 years old I was brought into the adult world of mourning and celebrating a life that has ended. For this I am so grateful to my parents.

Five years ago I had my closest and deepest experience with death. My great aunt Maimie was ill for 2 years, and I was with her at least twice a week during this time. She remained steadfastly independent, never wanting to take more help than she absolutely had to. Looking back, I wish I had given more gentle help anyways. More times of just sitting and listening, more talking and asking questions, and more touching. When Maimie’s illnesses became even more severe and it was presented to me as time to make a decision about whether to continue to treat her body. By scientific standards this body was ‘failing’, though the heroic treatments had been tried and the body had been treated in several separate operations to ‘fix’ this system or that one. It was time to decide now what was best for the whole person who lay in front of me. I called together my mother and aunt, the closest family members and together we decided that Maimie would not want to continue this way. Soon she was able to confirm for us that she wanted to go home, and I could tell with certainty that she knew it would mean her death. Bringing her home was not welcomed by every member of the family, some people believe in letting the hospitals take care of the ‘messiness’ of death. I was lucky though to have my own mother understand that Maimie wanted to come to her home, to be with us. At least this I did right. I brought her home.

The next step though, I not ready for. Though I had given birth twice, I never knew how much the dying body came to resemble that helpless newborn body I had held joyously against mine. It is not nearly so pretty and easy with a seventy year old body, or so I thought at the time. If I could do it over I would sit there every minute. I would hold her hand longer. I would moisten her lips more often to ease the cracking. I would have laid in bed next to her and held her the way she did when I was sick as a child. I would not have let her slip away quietly during the few minutes she was alone without being sure I whispered to her how loved she was. I did try, but my youth got the better of me. I shied away too much and allowed myself to escape to the calm of the kitchen with my 6 month old on my hip, distracting myself with any other task I could whenever I could.

The remarkable part to me is this: I learned. I now feel the loss of people much more removed from me than Maimie was. I allow the sadness to be with me and I look for ways to enjoy the lives around me right now. I hope that when the time comes to sit at that doorway with someone again that I have even more strength, that I can bear witness fully to their suffering and their transformation. I will hold their hand and sweep the hair back from their face without fear or repulsion. I will see the newborn in them. I will not regret the moments I am given.

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