Recently, on a beautiful Saturday with blue skies, I attended my first “wake up.”
My dear friend was taken into the love and care of the hospice and she and her family wanted to host a celebration.
The meaning of “woke” signals an awareness of social action with a focus on racism and prejudice in our culture. She also wanted to be “awakened” by the experience of her wake. More importantly, her party was an honest expression of the fact that she is about to die. Her recognition was bold.
We speak so openly about birth, and yes, death is associated with deep sadness, but doesn’t it deserve so much open recognition? Silence only makes the journey more difficult.
With her rose-colored glasses moving with such grace at the party, she kept her truth with pride. Her heart is full and yet has become so weak.
There were plates of deli that found brie that decorated beets, fall fruit bowls that adorned with persimmons and pomegranate, plates of pumpkin brownies and bread, fries that found dips, laughter that found tears.
She preferred that we didn’t toast and tell stories. Instead, it was both a “Bon Voyage” and a “Welcome Home” celebration. The journey is universal for all of us. Home becomes the outstretched arms of a loving community, and as Ram Dass wrote, “We’re all just bringing each other home.”
The morning my father died at just under ninety-five, I spoke to him on the phone as he lay in his hospital bed. The last thing he said in his ever strong but hoarse voice before hanging up was, “Well, I gotta go, honey.”
We all “have to go,” but the privilege some of us have to plan how we go is a gift. Many do not have this luxury due to economic, social and possible cultural differences.
But for many, there are specific plans we can make as we draft our will and designate our medical power of attorney, financial executor, DNR, and life support decisions. We can determine who inherits our goods and heirlooms. We can specify details regarding a traditional burial, cremation or even composting of the body, which is a process of turning the body into soil which is then returned to the earth.
Putting our affairs in order in a concrete way seems easier than having a conversation about our own deaths or those of our friends, family, and aging parents.
Melanie Klein, a well-known British psychologist, believes that the fear of death is at the heart of anxiety. Whether one believes this premise or not is not so important. But the truth is that our feelings about death are often buried deep within us. But discussion can ease our anxiety as we face existential concerns about our mortality.
I am in an intimate group with six other women where we discuss aging, life and death. Sometimes we discuss the book we’re reading, but mostly we share our hopes, dreams, and fears about the future. As our skin softens with age, our “thin skin” makes us more sensitive to issues surrounding death.
Often there are concerns about being dependent and a desire not to burden those who care for us. And who takes care of us? Will we be fine financially? How will our bodies and minds hold up in the years to come? We also discuss concern for those we will leave behind. How will children deal with this?
These are difficult issues. But when we are in community while expressing our feelings and asking these questions, we can feel less alone. Whenever possible, it is important to open up the conversation with loved ones. And we hope that when our time comes, we’ll all be better prepared and some of our questions answered.
Those who die before us often become our teachers. As we attend memorial services and wakes, we face the fact that we will continue to say goodbye to loved ones and, inevitably, to ourselves. How our predecessors deal with goodbyes often teaches us how we want to end our journey in similar and different ways. But that requires conversation, something all too often avoided.
My girlfriend taught me so much and especially her devotion and honesty with her adult children. I want my children to know that no matter the twists and turns in their lives, they will be fine in the world. And that I promise I’ll never be far away.
It is said that accepting the inevitability of death helps us to accept that we are all only visiting for a short time. This recognition reminds us to appreciate life and make it a good visit.
I hugged my girlfriend goodbye and thanked her for hosting a lovely celebration. It was a good visit with a bounty table. Maybe we can all hope for that when the party ends and the lights go down.
About Priscilla Dann-Courtney
Priscilla Dann-Courtney is a writer and clinical psychologist based in Boulder, CO., where she and her husband raised their three children. She has been in private practice for 30 years, treating both adults and adolescents. Her areas of expertise include: eating disorders, mood disorders, life transitions and relationship issues. Her columns have appeared nationally and her book Room to Grow, Stories of Life and Family (Norlights Press, 2009) was her journey in navigating the light, dark and wonders of life. priscilladancourtney.com
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