I’ve never been especially concerned about dying, although I have explored mortality for some years now through my hospice work and my work in assisted care facilities.
I’ve seen a lot of death and been with many people when they die, and I have learned that there is such a thing as a beautiful death and such a thing as a hard and sad death.
Death is always sad, but not only sad. It can be one of life’s most beautiful moments.
But I’ve never been 73 before, and death feels closer to me than it has before. That makes one wiser and more thoughtful about mortality. And afraid, I suppose.
The young really have no reason to think about death; they have more temporal things to worry about.
I’ve also learned that we can take control of our own death and make it meaningful and uplifting. We can die as well and meaningfully as we live.
In the past month, I’ve had some frightful fear attacks in the night, causing me to sit up in a sweat and shake. I began to wonder if I was afraid of dying. Three surgeries in just a few months help me to focus on my own mortality.
These fear attacks – I think they were deeper than panic attacks – got so intense that I called my therapist, the good and direct woman who got me through my dark hours some years ago.
I asked for her help in understanding what was happening to me. I don’t wish to spend the rest of my life in fear.
I think I’m afraid of dying for the first time, I told her. We talked about it for a while.
Then my therapist said, “Jon, I don’t think you’re afraid of dying. I know you to be fearless about those things and are happy with your life.”
I wanted for her to explain. Therapy is a miracle for me. It taught that there is help, and that help helps.
“I think you’re afraid of leaving Maria,” she said. “You have never been so happy and you are afraid of letting go and leaving her. You don’t want to be without her.”
Wow.
Sometimes the truth is just too close to see.
What my therapist said shocked me; even though it made perfect sense and rang very true, it felt like a stab in the heart.
I keep thinking that I’m worried about what will happen to Maria after I die, but I realized talking to my shrink that this is partially a projection. I am anxious about myself, about imagining leaving her.
I lived a loveless life and had given up hope of love when I met her. I was ready to die in that state. She saved me from that fate.
Our love has only deepened and grown. And yes, I am terrified of leaving her, we support one another, complete one another, understand one another.
Neither one of us has ever been so happy or connected to another human being. When that happens, life opens up like a flower and is full of wonder and possibility.
This idea – of leaving her – is difficult for me to acknowledge and accept, because it seems so selfish to me, yet it is so clearly the truth.
I told Maria this, and she said this was a beautiful thought, not a sad one.
The best thing I can do to offset that fear is to take care of myself and make sure I am around for awhile. That is about me, and it is a selfish thing.
I can’t manage the other end of it; I have little control over what she does after I die, or even what she does all day now; although I now know Maria to be a strong, resourceful, and gifted person, I understand she will have more than one chapter after I am gone.
She will always have her work to do and the good and loving people around her she is close to. Yet, I can’t imagine any existence without her.
The big question for me is “how can I make my remaining years meaning, how can I use the time I have left well?”
I am not a Christian, but I always remember reading how Jesus died well because all through his ordeal, he sent the spirit of love to his friends so that they might live better lives.
Can I send my love to Maria and my friends (and the people who follow my life) when I leave them so that they might live better lives?
Can I work to stop worrying about what I can still do and can’t do? Or can I leave behind the greatest gift I can offer when I do die: my spirit of love.
After caring for my mother for 18 years, she died on 19 Jan. 2021. DOB: 19 Dec. 1919. One of her greatest fears was me being alone. As I sat beside her the last few weeks of her life, I promised her I would be okay. I am doing all I can to honor her and keep my promises to her. Reading Janet Hamilton’s blog, your wise words and Maria’s incredible blog have helped me stay focused.
I have always wished the best for you. Your relationship with Maria is unique, and that kind of love is something I doubt I will ever know.
“This is the moment the Lord Hath Made and I am rejoicing in it” gives me comfort.
Thank you for keeping it real. May you have a peaceful, restful night.
I believe you can and you will.
On Jon you have written what I can’t seem to say out loud or share with anyone.? I will be 66 this year and I am feeling my days are numbered. I took care of my Mom for 24 years, I have a husband with major health issues since 2006 when he had heart ❤ bypass and numerous stents, I have a special needs son. I sometimes feel like a frazzled rope. My therapist told me we all have to die and I need to stop thinking about it. For the first time in my life I have health issues. The person I worry about the most is my special needs son and not being able to tolerate a painful illness. Thank you for this post.
You’re just a kid Marsha, thank you for sharing your life, your son is lucky to have you in his life.
You can and you will. You are so incredibly focused and grounded. I don’t believe death will separate you two, I believe you belong together, so the only thing that will change is your demention. Your love will stay intact, it will just change form. You will remain completely connected. Love doesn’t die, it just changes form.
I have had that love. It isn’t any easier when it happens suddenly or when it happens and you know it is coming, of that I am convinced. That is for the one left behind. For the one doing the leaving, none of us knows that do we?
My husband was diagnosed with melanoma in November of 2011 and died on May 10th of 2012. Six short months. This is a letter I wrote to him while he was still lucid enough to read and understand it:
to my love
it isn’t as if you deliberately set out to get sick;
if our roles were reversed,
if i were the one,
you would do the same for me.
you say i am tired, worn out, i am……but
how much i love you, have always loved you.
rather than spend time worrying about me,
what i am going through,
you should know how needed i feel,
how this helps to keep you with me
how loved i feel
how much i love you, have always loved you.
i am as concerned about you,
what you are feeling,
where you are headed,
as you are about me.
that is as is should be isn’t it? “in sickness and in health?”
how much i love you, have always loved you.
forgive my moments of irritation,
my impatience and frustration.
most often these moments are about something i cannot control,
something i haven’t done or have forgotten
or a way to keep from being sad, so sad
how much i love you, have always loved you.
i can’t make up for any of the things i’ve put you through
but i can do this, this caring for you
i’m grateful to be able to do it
i can’t make you better,
but i can be with you on this journey
i can love you, i have always loved you
i have never not loved you
Sus, 2012
That is incredibly beautiful!
yes, I am sure my husband was having these feelings about me before he died peacefully on January 4, 2000.
I have walked through four seasons alone. I have had ups and downs but he is always there, there in my mind. Tears
are so close to the surface.
Six months before he died, my youngest daughter(45) who was the light of my life drown in Washington State while living on a sailboat. We made the decision to bring her back to Missouri and bury her in our family plot very near our home.
So I am 80 and having some thoughts about the day I join them. Each day that time grows a little closer. I am not afraid.
Beautiful message Judy..thanks for it..
“Therefore fo not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.
Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
Matthew 6:34.
Not all passages in the Bible make sense to me, but this one hits it out of the ballpark. Hope it’s a homerun for you too
Jon, I believe that since you’re aware that you want to send your love, you will.
I also think you can do the things you said. And, as a 72 year old man who is also more conscious about death and leaving behind the woman I love, you gave me hope.
I have a theory that when we are young we think we are special. That view is useful for getting us launched to do what we have to do. But as we grow older we need to jettison that view if we are to become reconciled to the idea of our own death. Otherwise it is too sad to consider! We are a child of God, but there are billions of children of God.
This is liberating because we realize it is not all on us. That there is an arrogance in thinking it’s up to us to save the world when all these other billions are working on it as well. we are part of a progression and all that is required of us is to do our best and take time to glory in this world God has made.
I was so touched by this and want to thank you for sharing it. I, too, feel this desire not to leave my family and friends that I love when I think about it which isn’t often because I don’t want to face it. Thank you for facing it and sharing it. Your spirit of love will live on!
Jon, this book maybe of interest ! The Immortal Mind, by Ervin laszlo.
Your Friend,
Gill