So
I'm taking this class for nursing, called Death and Dying. We're reading a book
by Kubler-Ross called "Death, the Final Stage of Growing." We had to
write a journal this week and answer some questions. One of them was
"Discuss your thoughts on why it is so hard to die... Or is it?"
While
answering the question I pretty much just went on this rant about my views and
beliefs and it's pretty raw and morbid so don't read it if you're easily
disturbed. I shouldn't even say that because the point of this class is to make
us more comfortable with death and honestly, everyone needs to be.
Anyhow,
here's my answer to the question:
I think it’s hard to die because we
form such attachments to life. We are attached to our friends and family,
to material things, to habits or hobbies or whatever else. Even if we’re not
concerned for ourselves in dying, sometimes we are concerned for everyone
else's feelings. Sometime’s we’re selfish.
Another reason it’s hard to die or to think about our loved ones dying is
because death is so unknown. Again we’re a little selfish, wanting them here
with us instead. I personally don’t believe in an afterlife or any sort of
reincarnation. Sometimes I think that it must be harder for me to think about
death than others because I don’t think of people going to some frilly place in
the clouds. I don’t believe there are reasons for dying other than that it just
happened. It was “supposed” to, but not because some god wanted it to be so. It
was supposed to because that’s what happens when your heart stops beating, or
your car is struck by oncoming traffic and your neck snaps from the impact.
That sounds really harsh but isn’t that why we’re taking this class? Not that
I’m not sympathetic, I’ll be the first to feel my heart crumble and my eyes
well up over the death of someone else's loved on, or the first to rush to the
aid of a family in need when they’ve lost someone. I guess it’s just my views
about the actuality of death that seem harsh. I guess I’ve always been like
that, though. It started when I’d hear about a particularly horrible death, and
I’d imagine what it must have been like. I’d think about gruesome details,
maybe because I was morbid. Or maybe because I was curious. I’d never seen a
dead body or had someone close to me die at that time. But that’s ridiculous,
of course I had. I’d been to a million funerals growing up. I hadn’t seen a
freshly dead body, though, probably because of the magic vanishing act that
Kubler-Ross mentions.
I would see a car accident and wonder what it must be like to be right there
afterwards. Somebody’s loved one thrown from their vehicle to lie in the rain
next to the highway. I didn’t wonder what it was like as a seasoned paramedic,
rushing up to yet another victim of the road. I wondered what it was like as a
bystander who did or didn’t know the person and wasn’t in the habit of seeing
the aftermath of a recent accident. When my friend Gloria died it was in a car
accident and it was pouring down rain. The car was smashed to hell and her tiny
little body was in perfect condition, no blood or bruises. She died on impact,
having snapped her neck. I wondered what it must be like to come upon this
beautiful young woman in the rain, just sitting in her car, black and teal-dyed
hair arranged perfectly around her small face.
Even then, I pictured her with eyes closed, arms down to her sides and head
bowed to her chest. I really don’t want to know if her eyes were open, if she
was arrayed at odd angles or sprawled in her car. That’s my Gloria and it hurts
to think of her in any way other than peaceful. But what music was playing, if
any? Were her belongings thrown into the road? Did anyone stop? Do I even
really want to know these details, and why?
For a long time when I was younger I didn’t fully believe in what I was taught
in church. I just didn’t have some great feeling like it was right or
true. The freest I’ve ever felt was the day I finally realized that I was
an atheist trying to shove my spiritless mind into the body and supposed soul
of a pretend Catholic. Why did I feel free? Because I was tired of fearing
death. I was tired of fearing that I wouldn’t walk the line straight enough and
that God would stamp his foot on my face and knock me down a big red slide into
Hell, like Santa did to Ralpie in A
Christmas Story.
I can’t say that I fear death anymore. To me it’s not unknown. It’s just
nothingness. You can’t feel or see when you’re dead. I don’t feel that there is
energy in my body that leaves and goes elsewhere. I feel that my “spirit” or my
“self” is just my brain, which to me is like a computer made of flesh. It is
amazing and awe-inspiring, the way it works, and not nearly as simple as a
computer, but that’s just how I think of it. All this is not to say that I
wouldn’t be devastated if I found out tomorrow that I only had a week to live.
(And I still fear car accidents and stabbings… Because I’m afraid that if I
lived I’d be in tons of pain.) I’m sure then I’d be scared, but I can’t help
thinking… If I don’t get to do everything I wanted to before I die, so what?
When I’m dead I won’t know that I didn’t get to do it. I still plan to live
life to the fullest, for sure, but in my mind I won’t be up in “heaven” saying
“Damn it, I ALMOST got to Ireland before that plane crashed.” But hey, maybe
I’m wrong and I’ll be sweating it out with Satan when I meet my end.
What I WOULD be upset about, however, is dying before I got to leave a lasting
impression on people. In class we talked about how we felt about having a
gravestone or how we’d want our mark left upon earth. Honestly, look how many
gravestones are filling up graveyards, like landfills. You walk around and see
them but how many people stop at every one and wonder about the life of the
person who lies decaying beneath it? I want my family to do whatever makes them
feel happiest and helps them move on, but what I’D like is to donate my body to
science. Let it be useful. The more vain part of me (and I’m pretty vain) wants
to be cremated and my ashes spread somewhere awesome, even though I’ll be dead
and won’t know it.
But back to what I was saying. I’d rather leave a lasting impression on PEOPLE.
Maybe big enough for them to pass on stories for a few generations but I don’t
even care about that. As long as memories of me are with the people I cared
about most, until they die, that’s fine with me. And I don’t mean like
“Remember that time Kelsay got wasted and punched that girl in the face??” I
mean like, “Remember how Kelsay used to make everyone feel better when they
were down?” or “Kelsay was such an awesome person. She was pretty bossy and in
your face, and she had all those goofy tattoos, but man she’d always help you
out.”
I’ll tell you why I want it to be that way. Exactly one year and six days ago I
lost a really good friend. I hadn’t seen her in a year, had barely even talked
to her, but it hit me extremely hard. We had done lots together in school, not
as best friends but almost like cousins. Her life was abruptly ended at 22. She
hadn’t even finished college and I could fill twenty pages trying to make you
understand the WEIGHT of this loss, but instead I’ll tell you something else.
Gloria was 22. Almost 23. She hadn’t even finished college and made a mark in
her field or anything like that. She hadn’t met the man of her dreams or had
kids to leave behind to feel the loss of losing a mother or provider. But let
me just tell you I waited in line for 45 minutes to look upon her beautiful
little body and that was several hours into the showing. I have NEVER seen so many
people at a funeral. And you know what? Some of them had met Gloria only once.
Some of them had NEVER met her. But she made such an impact on peoples’ lives
that they came from all over to mourn her family’s loss. And every single one
would tell you how bright she was, how much personality was packed into that
tiny body, how she’d go out of her way to say “hi” and ask how you were, no
matter how long it had been since she’d last seen you. My boyfriend, after
being around me and my family, and Gloria’s family and friends, told me that he
wishes he’d had the opportunity to meet Gloria, because she sounded like such
an amazing person. He’s certainly not the first person who’s told me that.
Just think about that, though. 22 years old and has left such an impression on
our lives. We still celebrate her birthday and this year we had a memorial to
celebrate the colorful life she led. Why? Not because we’re crazy and can’t
accept our loss. Trust me, we know the facts. We do this because she’s left such
an impression on our lives. It is absolutely insane, the number of people who
knew her and met her and had naught but good to say of her. THAT’S what I want
to leave behind. Not because I want to be awesome, but because I want to touch
peoples’ lives. And I want to touch peoples’ lives because I don’t want them to
be sad when I die. I want them to feel good that they had me in their lives,
and I want THEM to feel good because I know how good it feels to have known
someone like Gloria. I think it would be easier to die if I knew that this is
what I had left behind and done with my life.
-Z
