My father was dying in 2010. In the hospital after a systemic collapse, his condition had been stabilized, and he was awake and conversational. At ninety-one years of age, my Brooklyn boy of a dad had already beaten the odds and was still scrappy.
“Why is this happening to me?” he asked. “Well, dad, you’re ninety-one and your body has worked hard for a long time, but now it’s tired and can’t keep up.” I replied. “Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he responded dismissively, “but why me?” After a few days in hospice at my home, he died. When it came to death, he took it personal.
When death comes a’ knockin’, I guess it’s natural to feel under assault, as if the universe is out to get you, testing your strength and ability to cope. When my wife collapsed and died suddenly last year, there was a tinge of my feeling targeted, like “why me?” And now my 54-year-old daughter has had a bilateral embolic stroke and is in the hospital, the outcome uncertain. I can’t quite believe it’s happening, but I’m not taking it personal.
The laws of nature are impartial and immutable. Everything that lives will die, from a biological point of view. Nature is not doing anything to any of us that’s different than it has always done; the truth of life and death is the oldest story in the book. Do I feel terrible sadness? Of course; the past year has granted me an advanced degree in grief, and now I’m being forced to get a PhD. I’m hoping my daughter will fully recover, but if possible, will take time and effort. Meanwhile, my life goes on and if I’m to be of any help at all, I can’t afford to succumb to feeling punished.
It’s not about feeling strong, though a certain degree of emotional strength is necessary, it’s that if I take it personal it will sap my energy and weaken my ability to be useful. The advice I’m getting from others is to stop everything I’m doing and rest in the love of my remaining family, and that I have a loving family is without question valuable. But if there’s anything I’ve learned during this past year of grief is that focusing on myself is not helpful.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean avoiding my sadness is a viable option; that’s impossible. I cry every day, and now I have even more to cry about. What I mean is, and I know it sounds hackneyed; life goes on. If I don’t take care of myself, I cannot be of any use to anyone. While the temptation to sink into grief and immobility is present, I can’t afford to do that to myself or the people I care about. My routines and activities keep me present and available.
Nature doesn’t punish; that’s a human specialty. Nature is a process of becoming, a timeless continuum of transformation into which I am inalterably and deeply embedded. Things are not happening to me, they are me. Facing sickness and death is unavoidable, as much as all of us wish we could resist and ignore it. I’m not angry or scared, just choosing an alternate approach by not taking it personal.
Be First to Comment