On Death and Dying

Or, "How I Spent My Winter Break"

There’s something to be said about death and dying. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I know I’m getting closer.

I’ve spent the past two months attempting to dissect my own feelings about a family member slowly dying. The news was brought to my attention as soon as I woke up from a surgery one day via text message (My sibling has impeccable timing). Since then, I’ve been finding different ways to utilize this information.

Of course, visiting the Dying has been of the utmost priority, but Death has a way of providing other suggestions to you in these precarious moments.

For example, having this knowledge seemingly justified the opportunity to see the individual at an annual family gathering. This was despite knowing that I hadn’t seen the majority of my family in almost a decade, including my own estranged parents. In the end, I was able to exchange pleasantries with the person who is ill — although looking back on it, I have a hard time believing that my presence was even memorable, as others had been trying to do the same thing that evening. The subsequent days were marred with trauma due to the interactions I had with my family. In the end, my hindered mental stability negatively impacted relationships with people I actually care about.

Was it worth taking the suggestion presented to me by Death? Was it really necessary for me to spend time with the dying individual in a situation that put my mental health at risk?

I’m learning that, while Death can be imminent, it can also enjoy taking its time. Of course, I would’ve liked to avoid throwing myself to the lions that night. However, it wasn’t for naught — I wouldn’t have had anything to compare and contrast to the most obvious suggestion always made by Death, which is to simply make time for the Dying.

On quieter weekends, I’ve visited the individual at their home, away from estranged family members. To leverage the knowledge of the looming death in this way, however, has simultaneously resulted in more trips back home — the small town where much of my family has roots; the place where I went to high school; and eventually left for reasons that many of my relatives are too scarred to now mention.

In both of these scenarios, I feel like I’ve managed to check off some boxes and do what Death had asked of me — care for the Dying; be with the Dying in their final days. Now I’m realizing, though, that maybe the knowledge about this imminent death was just that: information with no strings attached.

In the end, how I choose to use this knowledge has always been up to me, regardless of the visitation opportunities that have been presented to me. Similarly, how I move forward has always been my prerogative — it’s just easy to lose sight of that in the haze of the holiday season and familial turmoil. There is much to be said about death and dying, but I don’t think what others say about how you handle such information holds tremendous value. It’s the Dead who keep their secrets, after all, and the Living you need to mind carefully.