A Good Day to Die

On death and dying and other ideas that pop into my head at 2 a.m.

Yesterday morning I was walking with Z (Zaza bear) (my crazy 2-year old Old English Sheepdog pup… aka Zara the thief – the mastermind of stealth who constantly steals my dinner) and thinking it was a good day to die.

It was the perfect spring day in my little artists’ village in Wakefield Quebec as I walked the edge of the Gatineau River. The gift of sunshine (after long dark winter months) warmed my face. The softest breeze touched my cheek, the gentlest of kisses on the forehead.

The day my mom died had a similar feel. It was earlier in the day though in-between time: the dawning around 4 a.m. The paintbrush of light just offering definition.

Out the window of her room, that August morning, a mist hovered over the rolling green hills that surrounded her nursing home. The room where she lay was stark: a bed, two chairs, a walker, her wheelchair, a dresser with pictures, a plastic cross hanging on the wall above her bed… the gentle remains of life.

Her tiny frame – all of 70 pounds or so – lay still on the bed. At 96 she had left her mark on this earth. Now she seemed at peace, a characteristic rarely exhibited in life. Her vibrancy transformed.

I sat there with her lifeless body as the dawn sharpened. At one point I saw the etching of her body, her spirit, leave her. I opened a window to release her to the hands (of the gods?) awaiting. Perhaps to her next life.

According to Celtic philosophy, there are “thin places” on earth where the “veil” between the seen and unseen world is thinner than elsewhere, and sacredness is more present.

They are places that make us feel something larger than ourselves, as though we are held in a place between worlds, beyond experience. Perhaps in the hands of something greater than my limited human vision could imagine. It was that kind of breaking-light morning.

The Buddhist vision of death differs so from the Western perspective. Often in the West we resist reflecting on aging and death because dying is seen as failure.

It frightens us. Yet as the Buddhist monk Jack Kornfield reminds us, “In the Buddhist approach, we deliberately turn to face death so that it can bring wisdom, perspective and a motivation to live each day fully and well.”

“We are brought to feel the tentativeness of this incarnation” he writes. “Then the universal practices shift consciousness to a spaciousness witnessing beyond the body. Through awareness of the body we remember who we really are.”

Things to know about the act of dying: it is completely natural and definitely less traumatic than our entry into the world via the birth canal. Wisely, the body knows how to die. Like an eloquent symphony, the energy of the body sets in play the stages of death.

The Air Element follows. It becomes harder to breathe. The in-breaths become shallow and the out-breaths longer. As Jack Kornfield writes, “Our breaths become short and labored. Our body twitches and then becomes still. Our vision fades in and out, blurry, and unclear. The inner experience is of great wind sweeping away the world, a maelstrom of wind consuming the whole universe. The Air Element is returning to air.”

It is a natural progression. A deeply human experience. Ideally it is without intervention.

Speaking gently to someone who is dying is key, as is holding their hand should they become agitated. Sometimes a person is conscious or might float in and out of consciousness. All good. All beautiful. It is often the time when the focus of the person shifts from themselves to others.

A few hours before she died, my mom gently floated in and out of consciousness making statements such as, “Nicky (her granddaughter) is so beautiful. I love Livy… (her newly born great granddaughter)” and then she faded away into that wind-swept place. Unaided by mechanical intervention or bright lights or harsh noises she transversed/transformed/transferred through the “thin places” to the other side. Such a powerful moment, equivalent to our entry into the world.

And I was a very privileged witness.

Helene Anne Fortin – Wakefield Quebec Canada

Postscript: How can I write about death as I have not died? All I know is it takes courage and energy to die just as it does to live. At my mom’s wake we served Bailey’s – her favourite drink – and ate Cheesies – her best treat (she had lost her teeth… it went down easily.) Wishing you peace in your heart always. Drink Bailey’s. Eat Cheesies (in moderation). Live fully. That’s my wish for you.

Ideas to contemplate while living:

• Meditate on your death occasionally so that you will live more fully, more wisely every single moment of every single day.
• Stay connected to your breath at all times.  It is the lungs where life-force, inspiration and “present moment” reside.
• Walk barefoot on Mother Earth to ground and to bring you into the present moment: she is your companion as you travel the heart, body and mind together moving through life.
• As Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (author of “On Death and Dying” and a great pioneer in palliative care) struggled with her own illness and dying she said: “Once I surrendered and let the Boss take care of things life got much easier.”
• In my mentoring and energy work I have observed that acceptance of “what is” allows the body to start its healing process. Resisting causes pain. Acceptance will lead you to peace.
• Grieve as needed. Allow the waves of sadness to come and go. They too are part of life. Do reach out for help from bereavement groups. Work with a death doula or mentor to help ease in all transitioning. Most of all: know that you are not alone.
• Have you heard of WECROAK? It’s an app that reminds you several times a day that you are going to die. A dear friend used this app during the last year of her mom’s life and found its messages sometimes very opportune. Sometimes she strongly resisted its messages. Yet that reminder ‘ding’ on her phone from WECROAK and its message immediately put the trivial things we often stress about in perspective. Looking back she is very appreciative of how it enlivened and enriched her life during that period of forthcoming loss.
• Circle the dying with love.
• Finally, bless your Divinity. You too are sacred. Helene Anne Fortin

Helene Anne Fortin is a mentor with training in Classical Chinese Medicine and Eden Energy Medicine. Having healed herself from a chronic disease through these tools and with the help of her teachers, she shares her knowledge weaving together Chinese Medicine food dietetics, energy, emotions and creativity into her unique style of mentoring to help tackle the big issues of lives in via zoom/in person. www.kindmentor.com Tel: 819 459.2161