What is it to die?
“Do you think”, they said, “ there’s such a thing as purgatory?”
The person I was talking with had grown up in Ireland and having been hurt by Catholicism, had rejected religion wholesale. Or so they thought. With their death on the near horizon some of those early life teachings were coming back to haunt them.
Worries
I was writing last time about conditioning leading to shame. I think we all know that our early conditioning, however well intended it might – or might not – have been, is often deeply unhelpful and contributes to the fears and anxieties we live with. I’m quite often with people who are nearing death and their worries fall into four categories.
- Physical. What will I have to go through to get from where I am now to the end? Will I be in unbearable pain? Will it be messy? Will I lose control (biiig one!)?
- Social. How will my loved ones cope with out me? Will they manage financially? Are my affairs in order?
- Emotional. I regret that I worked too hard/worried too much/didn’t see my friends/ lived my life how others wanted me to not how I wanted to and now it’s too late.
- Spiritual. Is there, for example, such a thing as purgatory? Can I be forgiven for… (fill in the blank)? Am I really going where I’ve tried to convince myself I’m going or is there something after all when I’ve tried to convince myself there’s nothing?
I think it’s easy to neglect the last two. I think the spiritual dimension is commonly the one most deeply hidden and fervently denied but it haunts us nonetheless. Perhaps we’ve been running away, distracting ourselves for decades -maybe since we were children – from that bad thing (we think) we did which still sits like a black stain on our conscience.
I remember someone in the hospice who would verbally pin me (and doubtless others too) to the seat while they lectured me about where they were going. They took a very long time to die. One day I went in to their room and their spouse was literally pulling on both their hands, as if trying to pull them back into life. And, despite everything they’d claimed to know, them themselves were frightened, actually they were terrified. The convincing of the mind had not pacified the heart.
State of heart
Oh gosh, our poor, sweet, often neglected hearts. I did not come into this world with a head full of ideas. I’m not sure any ideas I’ve accumulated while Ive been here will serve me on my way out. What matters to me is the state of my heart. Is it at ease? Do I recognise Love? Am I compassionate and kind?
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if this is how I want to die, then this is how I need to live. Death ultimately holds me to account.
We wrote about dying in our drop in session this week. This is a haiku that one of the writers wrote after coming face to face in her imagination with her death. Initially it was painful and then these comforting words arrived.
Into the softness
Reconciled to lost loving
Slip smoothly to zero
Birth and death
I read something today on Facebook about a child in the womb speaking to their mother and telling her that birth is, for the yet unborn, a death because in being born they forget their true selves. Death they said is a birth. Will I remember at my own end that I am being born? Will it be a truth inside my own heart or will it be an idea I have forgotten. I hope I come to know its truth. This particular child drowned when very young and those words, unexpectedly received while pregnant, have remained poignantly comforting for his mother.
I watched my husband die, his focus on this beautiful painting we commissioned by the ‘spiritual artist’ Kamini Gupta. She called it ‘Coming Home to Love’. A few times he thought he was on his way and, as if he was entering into it, he focused on the gold part of the painting. For the last hour or two that he was breathing, this was his focus.
Where are you?
For months after his death – or was it years?- I wandered the house like a lost soul saying, “Where are you?” Because whatever he was, he wasn’t the body he’d left behind. His whereabouts, if anywhere, were and remain a mystery.
And so I return to the person who asked me,
“Do you believe in purgatory?” I didn’t tell them my beliefs but had I done so I would have said,
“No, I don’t. But I do believe in the importance of making peace with my life, my conscience and my heart now while I am alive, and not carrying burdens with me across the threshold into wherever I’m going.”
With my love
Nickie
An Invitation
A dear friend sent me the other day, an account of his wife’s death. It is partly what stimulated this week’s writing session and blog. I found myself both moved and heart warmed. I’m going to print my friend’s account on this blog very soon but I’d like to extend an invitation to you. If you would like to send me an account of someone’s death, then please do. It can be a very healing thing to be with, but if you do it, then please look after yourself in the process. I won’t publish anything without your permission and I can’t publish everything I receive, but perhaps I can put together a piece which pools our experiences.
Quick guidelines:
- At first, just get it down – write without pausing, grammar, thinking. You can craft and edit it later, but let the words and feeling tumble out of you before the critic gets a hold of them.
- Be specific, personal and sensorial, not general and philosophical. This is what heals us.
Even more than grief, I think, dying is a taboo subject. As such it becomes more frightening and isolating, than I believe it needs to be. I am deeply committed to using my voice to bring this part of our precious lives – and believe me, dying itself may be precious – out of the shadows.
You can let me know you have something to send me by writing to me here and I will reply with my email address. Please look out for it as sometimes I get put in Junk!
I hope to hear from you soon.
Nickie
I have been writing this blog for some years now and for the last couple of years many of you have gifted me through Buy Me a Coffee. I felt shy to ask you initially, but I cannot tell you how much it warms my heart to have £5 drop in here and another £5 or £10 there. You don’t pay me for my writing, you gift me for what I offer and to me it feels as if our shared currency is love. Thank you so much. I am open to receive your love any time you feel like sharing it! www.buymeacoffee.com/nickieaven