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Burying people, dear journal, gets old fast. Seeing the light of life leave the eyes of a person you didn’t know gets old fast. The one constant in this life is the fact that death is inevitable. Every living thing begins to die the very moment they draw their first breath. It can be argued that they start to die the moment their heart beats, within their mother’s womb. It’s called aging, and everybody does it.
I’ve heard counltess little quips from people, when I start to get worried or sad about any little problem in my life.
“Don’t take life seriously, no one makes it out alive.”
It’s true.
A human being’s ultimate purpose in life is to one day die. The actual specific purpose why is unclear. What is clear is that the grace period between birth and death is called Life. And what we do with it is our own perogative, before the final curtain call. We can live happy, full lives. We can raise families, we can lead successful careers, we can conqure cities and countries, we can cure diseased that, one hundred years ago, people died from in a matter of hours. You’d think that after all that strenuous work, we might be ready for death. We might accept it and expect it.
We don’t.
We fight death and sometimes even avoid the topic. Even when our bodies are so tired that we actually force ourselves out of will to continue to live. Even when this life is full of pain and suffering, there are people who hold on, hold on, hold on. For what? For life. Why?
Because we’re afraid.
What comes after that last inhale? What comes after that dawning realization ‘this is it?’ No one knows. Or rather, no one knows that is able to tell us definitivly.
Journal, I’ve seen people die. As an RT, I’ve turned the vent off on vent-dependant patients, on family request. I’ve extubated people who could not breathe on their own. I never, in all of my nightmares, thought that one day, as a doctor, the most helpful thing I could do for a patient was to let them die.
But, sometimes, it has to be done.
I’ve buried family members, Journal. Grandfathers, an aunt, great-aunts, great-uncles. I’ve buried friends. I’ve buried complete strangers, people who I only knew as ‘the terminal in 126.’ I’ve buried people I’ve only met twice.
It doesn’t get easier, Journal. It will never get easier. To think and to dwell on the fact that one day, someone will be watching me get lowered into the ground, to know that these people saw their last sunrise, and one day, so will I. To try not to think about what comes after, if only to let myself get sleep at night.
Death is hard for everyone to deal with, partly because it makes them face their own mortality. The grieving process is almost painful to watch, and one finds themselves participating in it, after a while, even if you only knew the dying person in passing.
First comes denial. There is no way my family member is dying or there is no way I’m dying now. Sometimes a person denies their own passing to the very end.
Next, usually, comes anger. How can this be happening? How could God let this happen to him/her? Anger is a common defense mechanism. It helps us deal with stress by getting defensive. By getting defensive, we can solve our problem while fighting it at the same time. Journal . . . . This is a futile emotion, in dealing with death.
After that, in most cases, comes bargaining. Let me see them get married. Give me another Christmas. I’ll be a better person if you let me live. As humans, we think we can work our way through problems, any problems, with deals and ultimatums. That’s how we’re hard-wired. The only problem is you can’t bargain with death or, if you believe in him, God.
After bargaining, it’s usually the case that depression occurs. Depression usually happens with the family of the dying, or the dying if their end-date is a long way off. Sadness is normal, every person will be sad when a family member dies, when a loved one, sometimes when a total stranger dies on the operating table from a drunk driving accident, and your elbow deep in their chest, trying to find that damn bleed.
The fact that we can cry is one of the things that makes us human. So cry, Journal. Weep. Sob. Bawl. No matter your age, no matter your gender, your social status, for God’s sake, cry. When a person loses their ability to cry . . . They are no longer a person.
The last stage of grief is acceptance. Sometimes this never happens, sometimes it happens right before that last moment, right before the time to go. For the dying person, acceptance may be easy or hard. For the dying person’s family? It’s the most difficult in the world. As humans, we rationalize. ‘He’s out of pain.’ ‘She had brain cancer.’ ‘They’re in a better place.’ But . . . Does anyone really want their family member to suddenly be absent from their life? Sometimes depression happens twice, in the place of acceptance.
I’ve found that when people are about to die, they remind me of children. All they want is to be cared for and loved, like children.
It makes sense.
We started this world as children. We leave this world as children.
Journal, I will not sleep well tonight. But my pain isn’t even close to the pain of the family who lost someone so dear.
I wish I could sleep, Journal. But sleep won’t come. Not for a long time.
 Blakaize · Thu Apr 09, 2009 @ 07:58am · 1 Comments |
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