Contemplating the End of Life

A thoughtful attempt to understand and possibly provide comfort and hope for those facing their last days of life on planet Earth. This is a short book with larger than usual print, photos and lots of white space - for those whose energy may be low and for whom concentration may be difficult.

This appears to be kind of a departure from all the fiction on my site. For those who have read the Speed of Light series, you will expect the deeper thought and reference to God. For those of you not familiar with the young adult trilogy, I try never to talk at someone, but rather to feel with others what they are feeling and crystalize those feelings in words.

I apologize that this is kind of expensive for a very small book (77 pages), but I opted for the better-quality color printing - and so here we are.

A preview of the first chapter is below.

You might feel alone, more alone than you’ve ever felt before. You might be feeling fear or even desperation as your days of life on planet Earth are coming to an end. Or maybe you’ve suffered enough and even if death is just a descent into nothingness you’re just done with life. Or maybe you are not only okay with death but you are anticipating something new and amazing on the other side.

We will only face this thing once – this thing that has nagged at us in perpetual uncertainty throughout our lives. This is your “once” and the uncertainty and mystery of how your end would come is now clear. Even if your days feel eternal, time may seem like it is passing faster than it ever has before.

I would imagine you are hurting physically as much as you are emotionally. Nothing works the way it used to. Everything drains you. You conserve energy whenever and however you can. This body that has been your home all your life has turned on you. Maybe this has been a gradual process or maybe you have felt fine and this prognosis was totally unexpected. The fact remains – your body is simply not able to go on – and it’s going to take you with it.

It may seem now that people suddenly don’t know what to talk about or how to speak with you on a meaningful level. Conversations seem forced and unusually lite and superficial. And maybe you don’t know how to ask others just to sit with you and hold your hand and love you.

It isn’t easy to face the end of life. Not for you and not for those who love and care about you.

We humans tend to avoid that which makes us uncomfortable – that for which we have no answers – and death – this great injustice of life – is certainly one of those things.

People may tell you that you look good today but you saw the look in their eyes when they walked into your room – the quiet shock of seeing you like this. Then in parting maybe they said things like: stay strong and get better soon, I’m praying for you, you are in my thoughts. You looked at them, smiled politely, nodded and thanked them for their visit and their well-wishes.

God how I wish we didn’t have to die. How I wish that wasn’t the rule. How I wish we could somehow be exempt just because we choose to be. But that wish is not possible in this place, it is not the way of this earth, it is not the way of this existence. We all have to die.

So if we all have to die, how I wish then that we could all live full lives – that no one’s life would ever be cut short. I mean, if death is the rule, shouldn’t there also be a rule that we all get the same shot at living?

But I fear that even after having lived a full life most of us will cling to this life for every day we can get, every hour, every minute, every breath. This is life and even if before we had taken it for granted, it is now precious beyond imagining.

So, on the days when our body allows us enough comfort and energy to think, what do we do with these unasked-for days of pain, loss and reflection? How do we come to terms with the knowledge that our days on this earth are just about over – that our life has been lived and our choices have been made?

Allow me to try to feel your pain, understand your sense of injustice, be aligned with your desperation, and appreciate your doubts and struggles. Maybe I can come close to writing words you need to hear, to expressing thoughts you strain to express, maybe even come close to helping you feel not so alone. Maybe I can speak words that will help you pass through grief to hope.

Then let me try to make sense of this thing we call dying in the light of this experience we call living. I am a person of faith but I understand that you may not share my beliefs. This is not the time for me to try to put my beliefs on you.

This is the time for me to be fully human coming to you in your fully human hour of need to be there for you, hear you, feel you, and if possible – comfort you.

Due to centuries of self-righteous people totally misunderstanding their stated beliefs, religion – even to me – a person of faith – has become a bad word.

In my mind, faith is not a bad word for faith is quiet and personal. I will try my best to speak from a quiet perspective of faith and hope rather than a position of bellicose religion.

It’s said that hope is critical in times of distress – that if we have hope we can persevere through the direst of times. Both my life perspective and my faith perspective are one of hope. I also trust and believe that everything works together in life to make us who we need to be. To that end, I hope and believe there is life and being beyond this earthly experience.

In my experience, even those who reject religious tradition tend to cling to otherworldly ideas that they and their loved ones will exist in one form or another beyond this life.

Only some of us will see our death coming. The rest of us will not know our time has come until the instant it is upon us. In some ways you are fortunate. You are able to ponder what most will choose not to think about until it is suddenly upon them and time for thought and reflection are not possible.

So let’s talk about aging, sickness and death – openly and honestly. Allow me to try to give voice to your concerns and feelings. Then let me speak of hope, not as a panacea for reality, but as something stronger and more vital than mere reality.