Death and Dying
People don't want to talk about death. They want to put it off and they day to themselves, "Today, I'm healthy." They forget about it. This is healthy, to a degree. Anyone who lives each day dwelling on death is going to be depressed, and eventually physically ill. Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to talk to my husband about death. I want to do it now because we're not sick. That's really when you should talk about it. We all have wishes about what to do when we're dead or dying and we aren't likely to be able to articulate that when the time comes. People get worried when people begin discussing death. We very naturally fear it but I sometimes feel that it's worse in modern American culture. I often think this is because we've medicalized death to the point that we feel it shouldn't happen, not to anyone. This is patently false. Everyone, everywhere, will die. It doesn't mean a doctor prescribed the wrong medicine. It doesn't mean a nurse was derelict in her duties. People die.
We need to talk about the act of dying. I have nightmares about being brain-dead, being a vegetable, and somewhere inside, my trapped soul is screaming for release. Needless to say, if I'm in that situation, I want the plug pulled. There is no need to keep what is essentially only bones and perfectly good organs someone could put to better use alive. It's a waste of money and medical resources. Do I want a feeding tube or colostomy or all the other lovely medical procedures that would keep me alive? Sure, if I'm aware enough of the world around me to appreciate it. Otherwise? No. Absolutely not. If my mind is gone and will never return, I am gone. I have, I think, made this clear to my husband, but I don't know what he would like and where he draws the lines.
We need to talk about the dispositions of the bodies. I would like to donate my body to science. No, really. If I'm dead, I don't need it anymore and why shouldn't I continue to contribute to society in some small way. I like to think my skeleton might help future doctors and nurses to save lives and raise the quality of life for who knows how many people. Or perhaps it will help thousands of students to learn about the body. How to do it.
If for some reason this isn't feasible, I'd like to be cremated, which is what happens anyway if I'm donated and they've finished with my body. If I can't be useful, I should at least properly rot away or whatnot. I really don't like the thought of being embalmed. The dead should not take up more space than the living. Besides, if I'm cremated, when the zombie apocalypse comes, I will remain properly inanimate.
My aunt had a particular friend who passed away. She had left very specific instructions for her loved ones since she had known she was not long for the world. I'll get to those in a moment, but for now, let me say I could see the difference in my aunt between the day before the funeral and the day after it. It was like a weight had been lessened. Funerals are more for the living than the dead and those I have attended have been anything but helpful to those left behind. They focused on the person being gone and the nasty rip left in the fabric of our lives. So many times the person conducting the service doesn't know the dead and may be unpleasant individuals on any day. Take my uncle's funeral for example. The person conducting the funeral had met my uncle only one at the most and gave possibly the most inappropriate sermon I've ever heard. The last thing a grieving family needs is two minutes about the dead being in heaven but everyone else is bound for hell lest they repent. I will say I was so furious by the time it was over that I wasn't thinking about my grief. Even at many years remove, I get dizzy with anger when I remember that day.
My aunt's friend, however, had something so different. They did not gather in a funeral home. Her body was not around to remind them she was gone. Everyone was forbidden from wearing dark colors. There was upbeat music playing softly and fresh spring flowers. Pictures of her with her family and friends were scattered around. Everyone was to tell stories. How they'd met her, their favorite memories. When my aunt described it, she smiled with tears in her eyes. It was not an event dedicated to her loss. It was a celebration that she had lived at all and how she'd touched the lives of everyone there. That is what I want. I want people to laugh; after all, I've done some incredibly silly things in my life.
Death is coming and I want to be prepared. Dear gods, is it hard to talk about, but it also makes me treasure each breath I'm taking right now.
We need to talk about the act of dying. I have nightmares about being brain-dead, being a vegetable, and somewhere inside, my trapped soul is screaming for release. Needless to say, if I'm in that situation, I want the plug pulled. There is no need to keep what is essentially only bones and perfectly good organs someone could put to better use alive. It's a waste of money and medical resources. Do I want a feeding tube or colostomy or all the other lovely medical procedures that would keep me alive? Sure, if I'm aware enough of the world around me to appreciate it. Otherwise? No. Absolutely not. If my mind is gone and will never return, I am gone. I have, I think, made this clear to my husband, but I don't know what he would like and where he draws the lines.
We need to talk about the dispositions of the bodies. I would like to donate my body to science. No, really. If I'm dead, I don't need it anymore and why shouldn't I continue to contribute to society in some small way. I like to think my skeleton might help future doctors and nurses to save lives and raise the quality of life for who knows how many people. Or perhaps it will help thousands of students to learn about the body. How to do it.
If for some reason this isn't feasible, I'd like to be cremated, which is what happens anyway if I'm donated and they've finished with my body. If I can't be useful, I should at least properly rot away or whatnot. I really don't like the thought of being embalmed. The dead should not take up more space than the living. Besides, if I'm cremated, when the zombie apocalypse comes, I will remain properly inanimate.
My aunt had a particular friend who passed away. She had left very specific instructions for her loved ones since she had known she was not long for the world. I'll get to those in a moment, but for now, let me say I could see the difference in my aunt between the day before the funeral and the day after it. It was like a weight had been lessened. Funerals are more for the living than the dead and those I have attended have been anything but helpful to those left behind. They focused on the person being gone and the nasty rip left in the fabric of our lives. So many times the person conducting the service doesn't know the dead and may be unpleasant individuals on any day. Take my uncle's funeral for example. The person conducting the funeral had met my uncle only one at the most and gave possibly the most inappropriate sermon I've ever heard. The last thing a grieving family needs is two minutes about the dead being in heaven but everyone else is bound for hell lest they repent. I will say I was so furious by the time it was over that I wasn't thinking about my grief. Even at many years remove, I get dizzy with anger when I remember that day.
My aunt's friend, however, had something so different. They did not gather in a funeral home. Her body was not around to remind them she was gone. Everyone was forbidden from wearing dark colors. There was upbeat music playing softly and fresh spring flowers. Pictures of her with her family and friends were scattered around. Everyone was to tell stories. How they'd met her, their favorite memories. When my aunt described it, she smiled with tears in her eyes. It was not an event dedicated to her loss. It was a celebration that she had lived at all and how she'd touched the lives of everyone there. That is what I want. I want people to laugh; after all, I've done some incredibly silly things in my life.
Death is coming and I want to be prepared. Dear gods, is it hard to talk about, but it also makes me treasure each breath I'm taking right now.