Facing Death

This blog post is dedicated to Cathy, who 20 years ago taught me lessons on life as a YW, and this weekend taught me lessons on death, as cancer is a few weeks away from claiming her life. Cancer comrade!


"Are you afraid to die?" 

That was the question posed to me 3 years ago after my initial cancer diagnosis. At the time, I replied with a hesitant, "no...", reasoning that death would either be the grand resurrection laid out in Mormon theology, or it would be a ceasing to exist in which case I wouldn't be around to ruminate on my fears anyway.

At the time, my feeling about my future death was like a scene from the 1997 movie Contact. In that movie, scientists discover exciting plans for building an alien vessel meant to transport a single passenger, hoping the vessel will be the means of first contact. The scientists reason that the aliens didn't anticipate the fragile human body, so they bolt in a chair with restraints to protect the traveler, Jodie Foster. As the vessel begins the warm-up procedure, Jodie's chair shakes vigorously, causing mounting fear of this unpredictable experience she's about to undergo. She clenches her fists, squeezes her eyes shut, and almost hyper-ventilating mumbles over and over into the headset (partially to the scientists who can still pull the plug and partially to herself), "I'm OK to go. I'm OK to go."

Jodie Foster in Contact. Strapped to the violently shaking chair, her face registers fear and pain.

Yeah, that's how I felt. I knew I couldn't stop death. I knew a lot of people, including myself, believed in a glorious after-life. But when it came right down to it, I felt like clenching my fists, closing my eyes and hyper-ventilating!

Death is so unknown. And there is so much to be afraid of. Will it hurt? Will I cease to exist? Will my children remember me? Will my spouse neglect my memory? Will my spouse and children love another wife/mother more than me? How will our money be taken care of? Will there really be a next life? Will I be happy there? When will I die? What age? What circumstance? Will I die satisfied with my life?

Death, like Jodie's journey, is coming for all of us one way or another. And we long to console ourselves on these harrowing questions. So, like Jodie's chair, we build restraints into our conception of death. We think if we can just "figure it out" then we won't be afraid when it comes. So we ask God to tell us when we'll die - and mentally strap ourselves to an age to stop living. Or we argue with others about exactly what heaven and God are like - and put a cage around God and this magnificent universe. Or we tell our spouse and children how much they will be hurting us if they ever love another spouse or parent - and buckle our own hearts down tightly. Or we spend our lives trying to "earn" God's favor by our perfect thoughts, words and actions - and lock our mortal existence into the fear that we are never "enough".

In the most unpredictable situation of our entire lives, we comfort ourselves with control.

And after we've strapped ourselves in nice and tight, what happens, when something like cancer shows up and throws off our game plan? It's not unusual (pointing to myself) to get angry at God, at our own bodies, and at those around us with obnoxiously good health. It's not unusual to get depressed about the lives we think we were "supposed" to have. But none of us want to leave this life angry and sad. We want to go peaceful, content, even happy. How?


"How do you do it?"

That's the question I asked Cathy on Friday. "You told me you're not sad." And it was obviously true. Although she had discomfort, she emanated peace and acceptance. "I may be in your same situation someday, waiting for death." I said. "So please, tell me, how do you not be sad?"

Without missing a beat she told me what she knew to be true. "You let go."

Again, I was reminded of the movie Contact. As Jodie journeys, the chair continues shaking violently, continuing her fear and pain. After a while, she notices a necklace that has escaped her pocket and is floating serenely a foot away from her face. With her eyes focused on that serenity, she bravely unlatches her restraints and leaves the chair. At once she is perfectly calm, and even filled with wonder at her own peace. Meanwhile the chair shakes loose from it's bolts and smashes into the side of the vessel, completely useless. In her new state of peace, Jodie continues her amazing journey filled with breathtaking views that make her both laugh and cry at the incredible beauty of the universe.

Jodie Foster floating peacefully after freeing herself from her restraints.

Watch this segment on YouTube: https://youtu.be/scBY3cVyeyA

That's what death can be like. And this is the lesson that Cathy had learned.

Our attempts to control death through predictions and restrictions are, like Jodie's chair, ultimately useless. The fear and pain we feel about death are, in fact, caused by our self-inflicted restraints. The challenge, then is to learn to let go of the need for control. How? By opening your mind and your heart. Trust that whenever and however death comes, it's going to come and it's going to go and it just may be (especially when we let go) a wonderful experience in it's own way. Trust that whatever God and the universe are, it's going to be fascinating to discover! Trust that there is enough love to go around for yourself and everyone. Trust that the things we say and do are always "enough" (for ourselves and for God's love) and that at any point, there is nothing more that has to be said or done.

When we let go of what we think is supposed to happen and instead embrace what is actually happening, that is when the peace comes. And from that state of peace one can actually appreciate the beauty of the event called "death".

Cathy described some of that beauty to me. She told me first about how her husband had become the most amazing and tender caretaker and how their love for each other had deepened because of it. Similarly, as her children stepped into the role of parent and she of child, it created a special new loving bond between them. She also saw her passing as a gift to those around her as they changed and matured through this experience. I mentioned how wonderful it will be on the other side to experience the unconditional love reported by so many people who have had near-death-experiences. And she described how she is already feeling that as family and friends come to visit, share, and say good-bye and without inhibition, look her deep in the eyes and express their love. What wonderful beauty she has discovered!


As I continue to wrestle with my own mortality, trying to find peace and joy in the midst of the possibility of cancer's claim on my life, I have been drawing closer and closer to this concept of letting go. Right now, I feel like I'm sitting in my control chair, noticing the serenity of the floating necklace (the gentle, loving passing away of my mom, 3 grandparents, and Cathy in the past 3 years). I've been able to "get out of the control chair" for brief moments, even in the midst of a (previously) non-receding cancer and sometimes terrible physical pain and have found peace and joy in those moments. Not because I got some promise that I'll be cured, but because I was able to see the beauty of my life as it is now - joys that exist inspite of and in many cases because of cancer. But I admit, I'm still learning. I still feel pain and fear and I make an effort to practice my serenity everyday. Little by little I'm learning to let go.

Thank you, Cathy, for bravely and kindly leading the way.