Lessons from the Dying: A Three-Raspberry Day
I have always felt a deep
honor and privilege when working with terminal patients and their
families. To be brought into their inner
circle during such an intimate time is quite unique and awe inspiring. It is a time when emotional walls are down,
vulnerability is present and outside distractions are gone. The human spirit is an amazing thing to watch, especially during times of trial.
These experiences have had
tremendous impact on me. They have
helped to shape my belief system and consequently effect how I live my
life. I would like to share with you
three significant lessons I have learned from the dying.
I have asked several hospice
volunteers from medical staff to social workers - even clergy, “Why do you work
with the dying?” And I have been told on
more than one occasion, “Because they cut through the bullshit”. In other words, they are real. It’s as if an unspoken universal permission
slip has been granted to them that allows them to, “Say it like it is”. This idea had always seemed liberating to
me. In fact, for many years I was
envious that they were allowed to be so brutally honest.
Imagine if we had one week
left to live. What would we really
say? What would we finally do, and with
whom would we actually want to spend our time?
And then it dawned on me. There
is no universal permission slip. The
liberty of authenticity does not come from external sources, but rather from
within. We alone allow or disallow
ourselves to be who we truly are despite societal expectations. We do not need a terminal diagnosis from our
primary care physician to allow us to be real.
The second lesson I have
learned from the dying has become my life motto. And that is, “Live without regret”. Let’s go back to our last week on earth. Better yet, let’s take it to the last
day. Imagine we are on our
deathbed. Perhaps family and friends are
around us. We are keenly aware that it
is time to go. Quickly, think back over
your life and in your mind answer the following question. “What I regret most about my life
is___________”. Take the first thing
that comes to your mind. Remember
it. In fact, I would suggest that you
write it down. The beauty of this exercise
is, we are not on our deathbed. Perhaps
we have the time and the means to do what needs to be done to live without
regret.
The last lesson I would like
to share is to, “Live fully”. Rick
Fields said, “I’ll live as well, as deeply, as madly as I can, until I die”. Rick had stage four-metastatic lung
cancer. I did not know him but I read
about him and by all accounts he did just that.
I think living fully means to
take in all that life has to offer. To
treasure every moment. There is a
difference however, between a full life and a life of loud grandiose facade. A surface, when scratched that may revel less
substance than it pretends to have. While
in reverse, there are those deceptively unimportant people and events that may
be overlooked because they seem too quiet or small. If we seek fullness and depth, we must then
be willing to slow down to see what is beyond the first glance. Beyond the first judgment. Fullness and meaning, I think, tend to come
in the humbler, quieter times.
A hospice volunteer related a
story to me about one of her patients.
As is customary for a volunteer, she would make routine visits to the
home to care for the patient. This would
give his wife, who was his full-time caregiver some much needed time for herself. My friend had become close to the patient and
his family. She spoke to me of one of her
visits close to the end of his life. He
had not eaten much in several days which is a normal process of the body
shutting down in the last stages of death.
She had just picked some fresh raspberries from her garden that
morning. It was unlikely that he would
be able to eat any of them, but she knew the family would enjoy them.
As she sat with the patient
he was a bit more alert than usual and he noticed the raspberries sitting nearby. They were rich in color and smell. He said he thought he might like to try and
eat one. He could only take in a few seeds,
which she put into his mouth with a spoon.
He related to her in labored speech and measured words how extraordinary
they tasted. The flavor burst in his
mouth. He had not tasted raspberries in
a long time and thought he would never taste them again.
Finally, when that little
bite of berry was gone he indicated that he wanted one more taste. So again, she helped feed him a few more
little sections and watched him savor the precious moment. She spent the rest of the visit feeding him
raspberry seeds. By the end, his energy
was spent. He had eaten three whole
raspberries. Before she left, he said
with much effort, “It has been a three-raspberry day”.
Sometimes when I find myself
rushing through the day I will say, “Stop Susan, just stop!” What can I do to make this a Three-Raspberry
Day?’ I take a deep breath, open my
senses and just be. I thank my teachers
for lessons taught: Be real, live
without regret, and live fully.