INNOCENCE, DEATH AND DYING

Patches, Emporia, KS

MEMORIAL DAY 2021, MONDAY, MAY 31

This is not a fanciful or inviting subject matter for discussion in a youth-oriented culture, but one that needs to see the light of day on occasion.  And on the occasion of the hopeful decline of the COVID-19 pandemic, it’s appropriate to reflect on lessons learned from any milestone event in our lives.  Vaccinations in America are beginning to control the viral spread here, but other areas of the world that are not so fortunate like India are experiencing record infections and deaths.  The gift of life is fragile and we should be appreciative on every waking day.  Over three million deaths worldwide have now been recorded.

Death comes calling quickly for some of these unfortunate people and has a long and anguished protraction for others.  I recently reflected that my father and grandfather Davis died within seven months of each other and my mother and wife also died within seven months.  My grandfather and mother had immediate heart failure while my father and wife had longer challenges with cancer.

I wrote a blog ten years ago about my loss of innocence when I was a child and experienced the death of our family dog, Patches, after he was hit by a passing car.  That was my first personal understanding of the reality that our mortal life has both a beginning and an ending.  That concept is quite sobering.  Later in life, one of the hardest things I’ve ever done was to take two of our family dogs to the vet to end their lives, since they both had terminal issues.  I did find solace in the swift and gentle process.  In the past few months, friends and family have had to do the same.  The passage of time can’t ever erase the precious memory of any sentient being in this life that has deeply touched our hearts or minimize their eternal influence which has been indelibly inscribed on our soul.  In his passing, Patches had assisted in the preparation for the life ahead of me.   

When my daughter and son-in-law drove to pick up my four-year old grandson from school, they had to gently tell him that they were sad because their family dog of ten years had died at the vets.  His innocent reply was “I’m not sad, she was sick.”  Later after more discussion, he came to the realization of a mortal life’s ending.  When quality of life and suffering has occurred, we can do the humane thing and end life with compassion for our animals.  The majority of our culture still values human life so that we issue pain meds until there is a natural ending. 

Our family pets wake up every morning only taking life as it’s presented.  They don’t have the gift and sometimes the curse of a frontal lobe that enables us human beings to know that life has an end game.  But that final evolution of our brain also enables us to prepare for it.    We know going in that we will probably outlive our animal companions.  Our comfort is knowing we had a good life together while they were here.  A Day Lily thrives only one day, but that is time enough for them. 

My sister Carolyn sent a yellowing Ann Landers column which concluded, “And, my friend, when I am very old and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic efforts to keep me going.  I am not having any fun.  Please see to it that my life is taken gently.  I shall leave this earth knowing with the last breath I draw that my fate was always safest in your hands.”

RIP Rosemary, Jenny-Wren, Lucy, Sonny, Mason and Daisy   

 

 

THE TELEPHONE BOOTH

British Red Box, Internet Domain 

Every now and then I run across an article or experience something or hear a message that resonates with me.  I frequently listen to NPR radio in the morning as it wakes me from a night’s slumber.  I consider this such a better way to start the day versus the jarring alarm I used in the past.  I recently awoke to one of their reporters that had come across a story from the area in Japan that experienced the devastating tsunami five years ago.

The narrator told of a man who longed for the conversations he had experienced with a close cousin that had been lost in the tragedy.  Later the man had the idea to place an antique telephone booth at the edge of his property near the sea to seclude himself in quiet conversation with his cousin.  The telephone booth provided protection from the coastal winds and the disconnected receiver became a familiar invitation to talk candidly.

Once word spread that this sanctuary had such a cathartic effect on the man, others who had lost loved ones in the tsunami approached the booth when it was not occupied.  Another family had lost their loved one who was a husband, father and friend that had been driving his truck near the tsunami’s landfall when it struck with such tremendous force.  His body was never recovered and there was no closure for those who knew him.  They entered the booth and finally resolved their repressed feelings after a long five years in silent mourning. There is no communication line connected to the booth but these people were connected nonetheless.

That coastal phone booth is a wonderful metaphor to consider when we read Psalm 46:10 where God implores us to “be still and know that I am God.”  Our creator communes with us provided we come to him and are in a quiet, open frame of mind to listen.  He speaks in a variety of ways including on those ocean breezes and the never-ending heartbeat of the waves.  And we have been assured that he is always with us to hear our conversations.

“Listen to the wind, it talks.

Listen to the silence, it speaks.

Listen to your heart, it knows.”

--Native American Proverb