acceptance

As the snow gently falls past my second story studio window, I notice a silence struggling to be heard. I turn off my music and listen. The snow laden trees are so still and accepting of this season of hibernation. It's as though the spirits of these great trees have leaned back to give the world a rest from life. I perceive no arguments from these giants, no determinations to stay relevant in this sleeping forest. Only simple and absolute acceptance.

I suppose I will notice the same resignation when the season turns to spring, and life once again flourishes outside my window. There will be no resistance to the cacophony of growth. Life will feel the undeniable urge to blossom and it will be so.

I find myself noticing these phenomenon with a tender heart. For the last several months I have been participating in the 24 hour care of my mother-in-law, Christina. She still lives in the same house she and her husband built almost seventy years ago; the same house in which they raised their five children. She is a strong spirited woman and I love her deeply.

As her community medical team and loving family strives to keep her body functioning she pleads to be permitted to just sleep away her remaining time on earth. She is caught between the desire to be physically and emotionally comfortable and her longing to be finished.

My medical wise friends tell me this long term care could go on and on. We could be putting the rest of our lives on hold for years in order to allow this elderly woman the peace of remaining in her own home. I find myself saddened at the thought of her continued conflict. Her spirit desperately wants this living business to be over, while her physical body just isn't finished quite yet.

Acceptance of what is may be elusive if the democratic nature of body and soul is at odds.

birth

A woman's body does not require permission to do what must be done in order to give birth. It knows what it must do and does it.. contractions come and go.. pain ebbs and flows. When I had my daughter, I discovered that resisting the contractions created the most panic and discomfort. The more I surrendered the control over my body, the less pain and fear I experienced. If I was able to breath above the pain everything seemed to move more gracefully.

Just as my baby's body knew how to grow fingers and toes within my womb, my body knew exactly what to do in order for this new life to make it's way out of my body and continue on it's earthly physical existence.

Death is a similar process. When the human body begins it's letting go of life in the matter of this world, the soul must also relinquish ownership of the familiar vessel it has called home throughout it's life on earth. As my baby eventually outgrew my womb and moved on to fulfil her personal destiny, my soul will one day release it's grasp on my body and transition out of this physical realm.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

I suspect that a baby believes life is over when they are rudely evicted from their warm, familiar life inside their mother's womb and rushed into the glaring greater life on earth. I believe that, when I am no longer able to reside within my reliable physical body, I will be released into a whole new extraordinary world of spirit.

letting go

Dying isn't easy. Our bodies were designed to stay alive but will inevitably fail and our souls were created to live on, with or without the mortal body.

At the moment of conception a soul is wrapped up in a blanket of the physical. As the cells multiply attachment is born. The soul clings to those blanket fibres with determination. Once birthing is achieved, the physical bond to the body is reinforced through the senses: feeling the pleasure of a mother's gentle touch, seeing the wonder in the eyes of a loving father, tasting the warm nourishment of milk, smelling the familiar smell of home, and hearing the sweet sound of a whispered lullaby. In healthy humans these developmental events occur naturally, with or without our permission or guidance.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

The relationship between a soul and a physical body is one of absolute commitment, through thick and thin.. 'til death do us part. However at some point that relationship ends. One or the other is done, finished, and ready to terminate the relationship. Leading up to this point both parties struggle to hang on. But at the final point of death the letting go of each other is a mutual agreement. A collective decision is made and both parties move on in peace.

ordinary

Some years ago, during a weekend artist's retreat, I was startled out of a very focused examination of a glass vase placed at the centre of our large, circular dining room table. My friend sitting across the broad expanse of bowls and platters thought I'd had a stroke or other cognitive event as I was in an unsettling trance in the midst of animated conversation. Since then I've noticed that I frequently drift off while eye-balling a potential drawing or painting. In those semi-comatose moments I'm mentally measuring the shapes, playing with the colours, and following the lines. Noticing potential subjects, often very ordinary subjects, for art's sake is one of the perks of being an artist. It allows us to soak up the details of life 'normal' folks may miss.

In the blog, Dying Man's Daily Journal writer Bill Howdle shares his journey of living with a terminal illness. Over half a million readers benefit from his generous personal contribution to the planetary conversation around death and dying and often submit their own experiences. I was recently touched by one reader contribution. In her letter she shared a very tender memory of one of her teacher's who had recently lost her husband suddenly to a heart attack. It went like this..

Class is over, I would like to share with all of you, a thought that is unrelated to class, but which I feel is very important. Each of us is put here on earth to learn, share, love, appreciate and give of ourselves. None of us knows when this fantastic experience will end. It can be taken away at any moment. Perhaps this is the power's way of telling us that we must make the most out of every single day."

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Her eyes, beginning to water, she went on, "So I would like you all to make me a promise. From now on, on your way to school, or on your way home, find something beautiful to notice. It doesn't have to be something you see, it could be a scent, perhaps of freshly baked bread wafting out of someone's house, or it could be the sound of the breeze slightly rustling the leaves in the trees, or the way the morning light catch one autumn leaf as it falls gently to the ground.

Please look for these things, and cherish them. For, although it may sound trite to some, these things are the 'stuff' of life. The little things we are put here on earth to enjoy. The things we often take for granted."






The class was completely quiet. We all picked up our books and filed out of the room silently. That afternoon, I noticed more things on my way home from school than I had that whole semester. Every once in a while, I think of that teacher and remember what an impression she made on all of us, and I try to appreciate all of those things that sometimes we all overlook. 

Take notice of something special you see on your lunch hour today. Go barefoot. Or walk on the beach at sunset. Stop off on the way home tonight to get a double dip ice cream cone. For as we get older, it is not the things we did that we often regret, but the things we didn't do.

(www.https://hudds53.wordpress.com/2012/10/25/dying-mans-daily-journal-the-little-things-in-life/)

Oz

As I journey further into this project I find layers of resistance from the world, myself, and even the end-of-life care community. While poking into the sensitive subject of death and dying I was prepared for fear and suppression from the greater world. I am a little surprised by my own discomfort but attribute it to me being raised by and a member of the greater world.. so, yes, of course I should expect to find uneasiness in my own heart and soul.

From the palliative, hospice world itself I expected open hearted inclusion but found reluctance and suspicion. I know there are very good, very important reasons why one must go through such extensive screening procedures - interview, orientation, criminal record check, references, 26 hours of training only available a select locations and times, etc.. - but I wonder if the Wizard of Oz like curtain we hang between our pedestrian lives and the sacred, end-of-life living are only reinforcing society's fear and denial of death.

memories

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

When my Grandpa passed away I remember my Grandma telling me how disappointed she was that, after many months of patiently waiting, she still hadn't had a visit from him. No late night spirit visions, no early morning ghostly whispers, nothing. There she was still peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink, still keeping the coffee hot for surprise afternoon visitors, still living her life, but without him. This was simply inconceivable to her. She really thought he'd come back to visit at least once.

We talked about what possible logistical nightmares he might be facing in order to return to planet earth.

a) Did he have to travel through his own lifetime events and come to terms with his mortality first? If this was the case she would understand and continue to be patient.. all of that could surely take months.

b) Did he have to argue his case to come back for a visit? If this was so who would deny a good man's request to visit his devoted wife.. especially when she was waiting so patiently?

c) He might be just taking his own sweet time visiting with old family and friends who'd passed before him. Could she blame him? Some of those loved ones have been gone for so many decades the miracle of such a wondrous reunion would throw anyone off.

And then came the inevitable fear... the burning, churning, gut wrenching possibility...

d) Had he actually forgotten about her?

The struggle of losing her sister to the Spanish Flu in the early 20th century, the birth of their beautiful children, their courageous journey across the ocean to immigrate from Sweden to Canada in 1924, and the many years spent creating unforgettable memories together.. always together.. what did it mean if it was all forgotten at the end of the day?

What if all the unforgettable memories we spend our lifetime creating are forgotten once we die? Are we only meant to live, and relive, our special life moments while we're here in this lifetime and, if so, does it make them any less precious?

privilege

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Privilege: an invisible package of unearned assets.
- Peggy McIntosh

As we know, privilege plays a major role on the availability of quality education, which provides increased opportunity for higher income, better housing, and superior medical care.

Higher education was associated with increased utilization of the interdisciplinary palliative care unit until at the end of life.
- The journal of Palliative Medicine, J Palliat Med. 2012 Aug; 15(8): 902–909. 

doi:  10.1089/jpm.2011.0437

Is it not the responsibility of the privileged to ensure compassionate, and quality end of life care to all?

sameness

The anticipation of new digs is celebrated throughout our lives; how exciting to find the perfect space, begin anew, and venture outside of our familiar landscape. For the vulnerable, critically ill or elderly the reality of moving is risky at best. There have been studies as early as 1963 in which the mortality rate during the year following the move of 121 elderly women was three times higher than expected.
Aldrich C, Mendkoff E. Relocation of the aged and disabled, a mortality study. Journal of the American Geriatrics Society 1963; 11:185-194.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

A study in 2000 documented the effects of a move from a county home in rural England to a new nursing facility of 269 residents. The study did not show an increase in post-tranfer deaths, however this particular move was unique in it's structured timeline. Patients were prepared for the move up to 18 months prior to the move and many arrangements were made surrounding the move itself. What did stand out though was the significant increase in mortality in the year before the move.




Why would the difference in surroundings have such a profound impact on an individual? Do the spaces and places we live support us in ways we have yet to understand?

resistance

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

One thing I have noticed since my dad passed away is that he is so much easier to love. His resistance to my love has vanished. In death his pure essence is unencumbered by his addiction, his painful history, or his inability to accept love. When I think of him, or mention him I feel a warmth of love from his spirit that shadows even the most hurtful memories.

sharing

I sat down for a long overdue coffee visit recently with a dear, sweet friend of mine. When I say, "dear, sweet" I'm not throwing down meaningless words to fill a blog post. This woman is possibly the dearest, sweetest woman I've ever known, next to my mom and my grandma. I do believe we all possess the ability to express sweet light in the world, but few achieve the gift of lifting other's burdens with such grace as this individual.

It should have been no surprise to me then that the pained expression on her lovely face when she shared with me the sad news of her cancer diagnosis was due to her concern that I might be hurt by her disclosure. With everything to contend with, financial concerns, possible loss of employment, fears of personal mortality, her paramount worry was to spare others the potential grief her condition may cause.

For me, I felt no fear. I suspect that's due to my lack of intimate experience with cancer and the anguish left in it's wake. With the warm summer sun blanketing our back deck I sat across the shaded table from my cherished friend and witnessed her confession. In that moment I saw a beautiful soul sharing a personal challenge and felt her compassionate heart reach out to mine.

She said, "I am surrounded by loving friends and family, all praying for me. I'm doing fine. I'm already finding blessings in this situation and I can see that everything will be okay."

I pray that her burden of shielding others from her pain will ease as her self care progresses. I pray that she is lifted with love and tenderness and carried through this journey with the grace and kindness she bestows on all she encounters.

silence

Maria Shrivers wrote in her online blog at, mariashriver.com...

"There are few words to adequately describe the grief a new widow endures. If you must say something, be honest and offer, "I don't know what to say. I am so very sorry. I am here for you." And then for the widow's good be there. Sit next to her. Hold her hand. Hug her. Bring her whatever she wants and don't judge. Put your arms around her and listen to her. Don't be afraid of her tears or silence. Sometimes the deepest laments are silent."

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

With popular focus on self improvement.. workshops, seminars, books, t.v. shows.. the pressure to 'know' ourselves, and to have access to a plethora of supportive advice for our loved ones, can be immense. Catch phrases like - "How's that working for you? - 'ah ha' moment. - let go and let God." - have created a culture of armchair physiologists. Although the benefits of using these popular communication skills are many, the powerful value of silence is often set aside in order to assume the celebrated role of wise advocate.

If the intent is to provide solace, one might consider the benefits of silence.. always there, ripe with wisdom.

wisdom

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

The truth of the matter is that the best place to find the most appropriate response to any outcry (or whisper) for help is within oneself. Inner wisdom is always available if only it can be accessed. By the end of any day we are so filled up with noise that the quiet space necessary for harvesting inner truth may be difficult to achieve. However, if one adopts a daily practice of silence or meditation, the truths found in that quiet inner space can be well within reach throughout a busy day.

complicated grief

I lingered at the hospital with my two sisters, my brother and my mom not really knowing what to do or say when my father was dying. He was an alcoholic and had been quite verbally abusive throughout the last two decades of his life. The father I knew was a very difficult person to love; not because he was unlovable, but because he found it impossible to receive love.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

As the baby of the family, I was the one who lived with him longest during those years. Because my other three siblings knew him mostly as an engaged, loving father, before he was twisted from drinking, they experienced a profound and confusing loss many years before he actually died. For the last twenty years of his life his older children resented, not only who he became, but also the unnecessary loss of the dad they knew and loved. I, on the other hand, only really knew the alcoholic version of my father, so it was easier for me to love him for who he had become, the father I knew him to be, in spite of his mean, hurtful behaviour.

When he finally left this earth on that warm August morning I experienced a different flavour of grief than that of my siblings. While they mourned the loss of the 'concept' of having a father, I mourned the man himself. Many years earlier their anger had shepherd them through their grief of loosing the loving father they knew. My dad's death bed was the place and time of final farewell for me and when my grief of losing my father officially began.

transformation

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Author Chris McGoff wrote in his book "The Primes",
"A butterfly is a transformation.. not a better version of a caterpillar".

There is an unknowing within transformation that is absent within change. To allow transformation to occur one must relinquish control of ones current reality and surrender to the unknown power of the cosmos in which all of creation effortlessly evolves.

Surrender may be one of the most uncomfortable aspects of the dying process. If one is clinging to the mistaken belief that absolute control is mandatory to survival then the road to death requires insurmountable courage, physically and emotionally. However, if our culture supports the reality that ultimately we are not in absolute control of this earthly existence, loosening one's grip on the many layers of self preservation may soften the experience of loss and fear that dying commonly manifests.

self

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Do you remember the first time you were asked that question? The first time my daughter was asked that question by her elementary school teacher she said, "I want to do what my mom does." Her teacher asked, "And what does your mom do?"... "I don't know, but she loves it." She replied.

At that period in my life, I identified first as the mother of a beautiful young girl, and second as Director of Operations for a mid sized, International Advertising Agency based out of Vancouver. When my daughter was only 13, I was forced to leave my job, the job I absolutely loved, due to illness. We had to move into my brothers home for a few weeks as I was unable to take care of myself, let alone my child.

In a matter of weeks I completely lost my identity. I was no longer the attentive mom - no longer the successful professional.  Unable to comprehend how I was going to continue living with this empty Self, I sunk into a blinding, profound depression.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

"A fundamental form of that suffering is the loss of self in chronically ill persons who observe their former self-images crumbling away without the simultaneous development of equally valued new ones. As a result of their illnesses, these individuals suffer from (1) leading restricted lives, (2) experiencing social isolation, (3) being discredited and (4) burdening others." 
(Kathy Charmaz, DOI: 10.1111/1467-9566.ep10491512, Article first published online: 28 June, 2008)

If who I am is defined by what I do, and I am suddenly or expectedly unable to do anything, who am I?

waiting

With elbows resting comfortably on her yellow formica tabletop, precious, long afternoon visits with my Grandma were steeped in the aroma of freshly baked buns and strong brewed coffee. The two of us would sit, sometimes in gentle silence, watching the fluffy, gossamer snowflakes float outside the big picture window overlooking her modest front yard. I wish I had recorded those delicious moments, silence and all. More than mere coffee talk, these visits were a mutual opportunity to rinse off our jumbled thoughts and enjoy the comforting rhythm of each others breath.

In one moment my Grandma would be describing how it is to feel as though her insides are still 26 years old, while her outsides continue to age; when the only distraction from believing she's still young is the ache in her bones and the shocking reflection greeting her in the mirror each morning. In the next moment, especially when the conversation would lead us to long for my deceased Grandpa, she would confide, in all seriousness, that she was simply waiting to die.

My Grandma passed away some thirty years ago. Since then I have experienced my own moments when I believed I may be simply waiting to die. Whenever I disengage from my own life purpose, whatever I believe that may be on that day, the passing of time seems to stall. With nothing further ahead on which to focus, inertia has me waiting.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Facing the final chapter of one's life, when life purpose and long term goals are no longer required, one inhabits a new state of being devoid of the pressure to perform, impulse to impress, or need to achieve. This surprising state of grace creates a stillness in which peace resides. A profound waiting elevates the spirit and consoles the soul in preparation for the final step out of this lifetime.

karma

In western society we are indoctrinated throughout our lives to believe that a death sentence means we are guilty. Death row is reserved for those convicted of the worst, most heinous of crimes.

“You got the wrong guy!” 

“I didn’t do it!”

“I’m innocent, I tell ya!”

Although these cries may be heard echoing within the halls of justice, the overwhelming consensus outside of those halls is often.. 

“If he’s been sentenced to death, he must have done something really bad.”

http://www.thepassingdiaries.blogspot.ca

When a terminally ill patient receives his dire prognosis, often the response is.. 

“Why me?”

“I don’t deserve to die!”

“But I’ve never smoked a day in my life!”

At that moment (because he has denied his own mortality all his life), the shock that his body has ‘failed’ him raps a blinding veil around his being, shielding him from the reality of his own inevitable fate. Death.

The weight of karma’s rule, if you are bad, bad things will happen to you, burdens us with the belief.. 

What did I do to deserve death.. the king of all bad things.

hope

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

When one is receiving news of a terminal illness the overwhelming initial reaction is simple disbelief.  One of my own family members recently faced such a conversation with her oncologist. As the news was shared on a private Facebook message stream, disbelief spread throughout the family and in flooded prayers and hopes for a miracle recovery. 

While hope is a comforting and potentially valuable stance to take, it is not a plan and can often derail us from having important, time sensitive, quality of life conversations with our loved ones and medical teams.

In Dr Atul Gawande's bestseller "Being Mortal" he says..

"What happens when you get sick is that you're governed most of all by your fears, and of course your biggest fear is that you might die. People are becoming more aware of the ways in which their care can take away other things that sometimes are even more important to them, and those things can be their ability to be aware and communicate with others; their ability to be at home and in control of their lives; their ability to interact and work and do things important to them..

.. There's a lot of folks for whom there's nothing else except, "Look, whatever it takes, I want to be aggressive, and give me everything that we've got." as the starting point, but these are journeys. The first round of effort succeeds, then you're happy. It's really what happens when the first round of what you think is going to work doesn't work, and then you get to the second round, and then you get to the third round. And somewhere around there your life has become your disease and your treatment, and the possibilities that you're going to win the lottery with your ticket start to diminish. That's where most people start to be concerned about losing things that are really important to them. But they have a hard time talking about it with their families, sometimes have a hard time talking about it with themselves, and certainly have a hard time talking about it with their doctors."

If our society was to provide the container in which discussions regarding personal end of life possibilities could occur, we may require less time and energy to review eleventh hour options and priorities and more time and space to lovingly hope and pray.

equalizer

Each of us begin our lifetime on a similar footing. Some may struggle with breathing. Others may be unable to effectively process sounds. Whatever the physical challenges or mental struggles, we all arrive prepared to experience this existence for however long a life we are granted. What happens within the fulfillment of that life, whether it's deemed positive or negative, is determined by our societal and earthly circumstances and how we, and the rest of our world, respond to the hand each of us are dealt.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

However, there will come a moment, one single second, when all of that is irrelevant. If we went to a good school, met the love of our life, accomplished positive social advances, and amassed great wealth, we will die. If we lived an impoverished life, filled with loss, anger, and loneliness,
we will die.

Death is the all-mighty equalizer.

shield

When I was ten years old life was all about living. Although I moved around a lot as an army brat, which meant I was making new friends every few months and saying goodbye to old ones constantly, I had not yet said a final farewell to any of my beloved family members. The concept of grief was not yet in my emotional vocabulary.

All of that changed one morning during our regular summer stay in my mom's home town. Along with her two brothers and their families, and a few other more distant relations, my grandparents lived in a sweet little house tucked into the cozy valley town in which they had lived since immigrating to Canada from Sweden some fifty years earlier. Only the CNN train whistle would ever disrupt, at regular intervals throughout the evening, the tranquility of this peaceful world.

On this particular occasion, I'd slept over at my cousins place the previous night. That tranquil summer morning, as we lumbered down the road, back to my Grandma's kitchen rich with the aroma of fried bacon and freshly baked bread, we noticed the ethereal reflection of flashing lights waving to us from over the crest of the hill. The closer we came to the unusual scene, the more confusing the vision grew.

As was his habit, my Great Uncle had been cycling to the post office to pick up his early mail. From Grandma's kitchen window my mother witnessed him fall and rushed out to help. By the time she reached him he was not breathing. She immediately began CPR and my Grandma called for the ambulance.

Later that morning, as the grownups huddled around their coffees in Grandma's kitchen nook, I struggled to understand what had happened. People I knew, had known all of my young life, were avoiding my eyes. Their hushed conversations were stilted, lacking the warm banter I would naturally expect from a family gathering. My mom was especially distant. Something astounding had happened, of that I was sure, but I had no idea what.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

I don't recall exactly how I discovered that someone close to me had died, but at some point I understood I would never again see this person. That I would come to accept death and dying as an inevitable aspect of living was not yet present in my awareness. It would take many more shocking events for me to witness my life through the profound gratitude only accessible to those who understand mortality.

As we strive to shield our children from the unavoidable pain of grief, we also rob them of the rich benefits experienced from appreciating the fleeting nature of life.

puzzle

If I am the centre of my life puzzle with all of the characters in my life fitting in perfectly around me, one of three things happen if one piece of the puzzle, one person, is removed.
1. All of the remaining pieces must adjust their shapes and sizes to fit together once again.
2. I must find a replacement for that character.
3. I must transform myself to accommodate the lost puzzle piece.

Four years ago, while my husband and I were living in Mexico, my oldest sibling, Anne, had a brain aneurism and passed away. The flight home was the most emotionally explosive 24 hours in my life.

As we flew north I lay with my head on my husbands lap sobbing uncontrollably. When we finally landed in Vancouver, and everyone on the plane stood up to organise themselves, the folks behind us began some playful banter clearly reflecting the joy of their holiday. As I stood up, one of them asked if we'd had a good vacation. I turned in absolute anguish and wailed, "My big sister just died!"

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

In that moment I wouldn't have been surprised if the oxygen masks had fallen down. It felt as though the air was sucked out of the cabin and everyone got very still and silent. Shocked faces stared back at me as I attempted to share the full measure of my grief. It was simply inconceivable that my big sister was gone.

In retrospect, I believe the heart of my grief may have been related to my own sense of self and how, in loosing Anne, I was also loosing an aspect of my own identity.. a beautiful part of me of which I had always been proud. Anne's little sister.

As the youngest in my birth family, every moment of my life, four of my most cherished, influential humans reinforced my identity as a little sister. Without my delight and honour with being Anne's little sister, who was I? The process of transforming my sense of self to hold my puzzle pieces together was forced to begin.

expectations

When a soul begins it's rich experience of life on earth, there is an assumption born with it that there will be a long and illustrious story bound to that life. Most often that is the case. However, souls for whom life on earth only spans a few hours, days, weeks or years, the unfulfilled expectation of a life well lived casts an everlasting shadow over that soul's life story and the loved ones who are left grieving. The soul departs with little to savour, and loved ones are left with feelings of intense confusion and heart wrenching yearnings.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

If we were to adjust that early assumption to a sentient awareness that virtually every being can end their lifetime at any moment, and in fact will not escape death in their lifetime, perhaps the rattling truth of losing a loved may become just a little more manageable. With that awareness may come a profound and comforting knowing that the impact of a relatively short life to humankind is equally important as those souls who leave many trails of stories in their wake.

In order for our society to transform it's relationship to death and dying from fear and denial, to compassion and acceptance, systems must be created and nurtured to support an appreciation and readiness for all life and death.

breeze

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

When I first moved from my home and family on the west coast of Canada to this small prairie town I thought about the time and closeness I would miss with my loved ones living so far away. In committing to the move I was comforted that an international airport was a mere 40 minutes from my new home, assuring my presence in times of emergencies and special occasions.

That mental journey led me to counting the number of significant but often unnoticed events I could potentially expect to experience in my lifetime. How many springs. How many falls. The process certainly illuminated how brief one soul's stay is on this earth, even with the most optimistic projections.

These benchmarks, usually highlighting events like the beginning of another school year, or the birth of our first child, become the gems we collect throughout this treasure hunt we call life. Unfortunately, due to the unhealthy impulse sewn into the fabric of our society to turn away from the inevitability of our own death, when the reality hits us that we have limited time left to live there's often too few gems left to fully experience.


How would the gentle breeze harkening an early spring feel different to one who completely accepted and was at peace with the reality that death may come at any moment, or to one who is told it will be the last spring in this lifetime?

shame

My friend, Mary was hospitalised recently due to complications from an undiagnosed bladder infection. The reason the infection went undiagnosed was her reluctance to report her suspicions of ill health to her family. This spirited woman has lived in her home for over 60 years, alone for the last seven years, with little to no assistance. She is fiercely independent and cringes when her comfort or good health requires her to rely on others.

Her two week stint in our local hospital was a struggle for us all, but for none of us more than Mary herself. One might think the threat of death precipitated the intense feelings of fear and discomfort, but that would not be the case.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

The overwhelming feeling of being a 'bother' was the most challenging trial of Mary's hospital stay. Each time the call button was placed near her, or pinned to her I could see her recoil with shame.



How did our humanness, the reality that at times we are weak and need assistance, become so disgraceful? Could this disgrace be at the bottom of our fear of dying?

grace

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

I recently discovered a beautiful book, Through Kenny's Eyes - the magnificent journey from illness to ecstasy, written by Carol and Ken Jones.

"As one who never opted for any form of chemo, I can say that my quality of life has steeply increased as my disease has steadily progressed. I feel as though I am among the "Living Free". I have so little standing between me and my awareness of God, that practically all I see is beauty. I take meds to control the pain, and I handle the basic body functions to keep it going, and my consciousness dances free in the Light of God."

I find it so interesting, the reality of anticipated death in contrast to our societies perception of dying. With every death I have researched plus the few I have witnessed, the days and hours leading up to death are infused with the indisputable grace of life. Is it our ego that drives us to refute the beauty of dying, and passionately cling to the paramountcy of life? Or is it the simple fear of the unknown?

Either way, if we can redefine our promise of life to include the potential grace of death, perhaps we may begin to shift our stance from one of fear and resistance, to love and acceptance.

the right path

When I was 15 years old, and open heart surgery was still a relatively rare and risky operation, my father had a triple bypass. I remember sitting on our balcony with my cousin and a friend listening to the hushed adult conversations in the adjoining dining room. I hadn't even considered the possibility that my dad may not survive this event and that our lives may be thrown into a tailspin, tragically crash, and create a drastic change in all of our lives. The empathetic looks from our loved ones gathered that warm summer afternoon hadn't fully registered to me until my cousin whispered, "I hope he makes it."

Moment by moment, like the innocent anticipating a long awaited judgment, we listened for the phone call from the hospital. What would be the verdict? Would he make it? All of a sudden, I was overcome with emotions I was unprepared to fully understand and embarrassed to share. This intense experience, the realization that one of our team members, in fact our captain, could be cut, left me scrambling for a sound lifeline to my family, my roots, and the hope for my future. I gripped the railing and stared through my tears and into the glaring sunlight, praying for a peaceful outcome and that no one would see me cry.

Although he suffered a lifetime of pain and uncomfortable buzzing sensations in his right hand and arm due to a pinched nerve while he was strapped down for the 8 hour operation, the procedure was deemed a success. While my father was heavily sedated my family made the somber pilgrimage to see him. We all understood that he was certainly not out of the woods. Each successful hour of continued living we counted as a blessing, each day a victory.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

When it was my turn to tip toe into his curtained ICU enclosure I felt the weight of the moment and flashed back to my naiveté only days earlier. Oh, how I wished I could have remained in blissful ignorance of the many dire possibilities this frightening situation could manifest. As I was watching his ashen face, totally devoid of any recognizable expression, he suddenly, desperately, clenched my hand as though I was his last lifeline and sole connection to his own destiny, and plead, "Take the right path. Just take the right path." As my heart thumped in my small chest, I promised my father I would be ever careful and determined to take the right path.





I've often wondered what he was speaking of that late summers day, tucked securely into Vancouver General's sterile, 24 hour intensive care unit. Was he consumed with the worry that he may not survive to share his wisdom and lovingly guide his four children through the perils of lives well lived? Or was he talking to himself? Was he facing the ultimate, profound choice.. live or die? What was the right path?

keats

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.


How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.

John Keats

quitter

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

 There are relentless chants echoing around death beds of the terminally ill all over the world. They go something like this..

" If you quit you lose. If you fight you survive. Be a fighter not a quitter. "

Many family and friends will have opinions regarding how you should live your life, as well as how you should end it: fight tooth and nail to be victorious, or lean gracefully back with reflection and gratitude.

With the myriad of emotional pressures one may face when dying, the shame of 'quitting' can be a challenging stigma to deflect during this tender and confusing time.

When and how do we gracefully shift our conversation from, "You can beat this", to "You have done well"?

home

One of the first differences I noticed when I moved to rural Saskatchewan from downtown Vancouver was the increased number of elderly folks still living in their family homes. Sure, most of them had some sort of family near by to help in times of need, but those without that benefit were surrounded by a community invested in the wellbeing of all segments of it's residents.

My experience in the city?
- As soon as your children graduate high school parents will downsize.
- Following retirement, another downsize; the goal to travel supersedes the desire and obligation to maintain a nice yard.
- Once the globe trotting desire has dwindled and housekeeping becomes too challenging, the next step is a minimal care home; they have less responsibility but still feel a sense of independence and privacy.
- The final chapter of an individual's long life in the big city is spent in a nursing home, most probably partnerless. By this time they have downsized away most of their possessions and are living in a room that someone else decorated and furnished to suit the special amenities necessary to ensure the resident's safety and wellbeing.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

When my own mother reached this stage of her life and most of her living was confined to a small room, it was almost impossible to perceive who she had been all of her life and what factors had impacted who she had become. At first glance she was indistinguishable from any other elderly woman in the facility and one room was as bland as the next.

This is not to say effort isn't made to personalize the space, but by this time in ones life, it's more likely that your loved ones will be the ones choosing which items will represent to the world the life you've lived. Which means residents will have reflected back at them who it is their loved ones perceive them to be and be surrounded by what others believe they would enjoy.




My Grandmother, on the other hand, lived alone, in the house she shared with her sweetheart for so many years until the very end of her magnificent lifetime. Her kitchen sink was always ready for any task; her front porch a welcome beacon of hospitality.

When I walk into an elderly persons home in the small town in which I'm currently living I can look around and have an immediate impression of who they have been and, more importantly to me, who they are right now. I have had the privilege of getting to know many remarkable people, some who have lived in their homes for over 60 years.

They remember the day they planted that tree, the year the snow reached the kitchen window, how the tree fell over on Christmas Eve when the family cat just wouldn't leave it alone. They have every chore covered by loved ones, paid community helpers, or generous neighbours.

At the end stage of ones life, as the mind slips progressively sideways, the sanctuary of home comforts the soul, settles the bones, and provides a  familiar nest for reflection, acceptance and release.

enough

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

A young father was heard speaking of the tragic death of his two year old son...
"Even if my dying child hasn't had enough time to change the world, he's changed my world."

How does one determine how much living is enough. When is it okay to believe the common statement, "He's lived a good life, it's his time to go". Is it measured by the number of breaths taken,  friends loved, or celebrated accomplishments achieved? Is one deemed worthy of death by the quality of loving connections made during that life?

People speak about the impact certain folks have had on the evolution of creation and an individual may be able to identify the significant relationships which have contributed to the magnificence of who it is one has become. But what if there was not even enough time to take one breath before leaving this life? Would that be sufficient to justify a life? Perhaps the unseen value our living has had on the Universal Consciousness some may call God is all that is necessary for a lifetime to be complete.

fishing

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Barry, facing a recurrence of skin cancer, had to make a choice - surgery plus radiation, or just surgery. His main objective with this decision was to be well enough to join the rest of his beloved family on their annual, northern Saskatchewan fishing trip. If they went in aggressively to ensure all of the cancer was removed, and included radiation in the plan, they faced the probability that he may not recover well enough to make the trip.

On the other hand, a more reserved approach would likely leave some of the cancer, increasing the probability for expansion of the existing tumour which, in all probability, would advance the progress of his decline, but increase the possibility of immediate wellbeing and of attending the family fishing trip. At the end of the day, Barry chose to be less aggressive with his treatment, which he felt would provide him a better quality of life longer.

Surgery was a success; they were able to get all of the cancer present. Radiation was not included in his preferred treatment plan. Now, a mere three weeks from his surgery, Barry is preparing himself for the challenging trip ahead. Next weekend he will be driven to his home town airport a couple of hours away by a family friend, while the rest of the clan begins the arduous, day-long drive up past La Ronge, Saskatchewan.

At the airport, a fellow pilot and fan of Barry's celebrated career as a spitfire pilot in WWII, will help him to board a small plane and fly him the four to five hours to the fishing camp, where his family will be anticipating his long awaited arrival.

In order to select the appropriate treatment plan during the end stage of life it is imperative that one considers realistic expectations with regards to side effects and estimated recovery time. For Barry to meet his goal of attending the cherished family outing, time and overall impact of each option required careful consideration.

one you

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Barry served his country in WWII as a fighter pilot, and then later owned and operated a small town newspaper, which exposed him to his other passions.. writing and photography. Dedication to his country fuelled his first passion, commitment to his family fuelled his second. Throughout Barry's long lifetime he lived with singular devotion to every task at hand. This is a man who will fulfill his obligation to completely express his unique nature.

From a young age Martha was surrounded by music; she swam in it with her whole loving family. They played at community events and the instruments were always well within reach at every family gathering.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

She was a dedicated mother and contributed to the running of the family business as the linotype machine operator, typesetting the stories her husband wrote. Once the children had grown Martha began a celebrated passion as a potter. The beautiful pieces she created over the decades are family treasures in homes scattered across the province.

Martha Graham, an American modern dancer and renowned choreographer, influenced dance as Picasso influenced modern visual arts. She pushed valiantly against society's definition of dance. This is her take on 'be true to oneself'...

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action. And because there is only one you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, to keep the channel open."

Evidence of the integrity with which both Martha and Barry lived their life's passions will continue on in this world long after those very passions are abandoned.