Lessons from the Dying: A Three-Raspberry Day

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.