The Observatory: Death and Dying Edition

Disclaimer: I know there have been recent passings of Ricochet members; some have looked into the face of death, and some of you are looking at a shortened sentence here on earth. You have my sincere prayers. Although this may at times seem flippant, I truly mean no disrespect.

In January of this year I learned that a member of the library board (on which I serve) was facing terminal cancer. This was the one board member who, when I went to my first meeting, introduced himself immediately, welcomed me (as someone who pretty much knew no one in town), and was always there to greet me as an old friend. He announced his diagnosis himself at our monthly meeting, and was so calm about it. He only said that the doctors had told him he might have 10 weeks, he might have 10 years. But he was okay with it and was determined to do whatever he could until he couldn't. He was also looking forward to joining his beloved brother (who had died a year before) on the other side. He was a good guy. I went to his wake this morning.

Only a week later (still January), we learned that our sister-in-law was diagnosed with ALS. She has an extensive family history of neurological issues (her dad died of ALS), so while unexpected, it was not surprising. In contrast to the gentleman above, to say I was not a fan of hers or my husband's brother would probably be an understatement. We didn't see each other often, and that was a good thing. There was no out-and-out hostility, but it was a cold relationship. But, we sent a Mass card in support. (It is not easy to find a card that doesn't say get well soon. Because you know they are not going to get well. At all.) I also sewed an autograph blanket for her. Now she is deteriorating much faster than anyone expected, and her husband is watching her die right before his eyes. The rocky road of the past doesn't seem as important now.

As I look back at my life, I kind of wonder why I am still here. I can point to several times in my life when it would have been easy for God to take me home. When I was a child we lived in an apartment above my Grandma. It only had an outside staircase. Twenty-six steps - no landing. I remember falling down those stairs several times. Once I was running down to greet my dad who was coming home from work at the steel mill. He hadn't started up the stairs yet, saw me take a tumble about 3/4 of the way down. He dropped his bag, stood at the bottom and let me roll right into his arms. There were other times, too. My mom would sit up with me with a cold knife blade on the bump on the back of my head. I was so scared that knife would slip and cut me that I didn't move a muscle. Then there was the time we were playing in the alley, and I got hit in the face with a baseball bat, or the head-on car accident on an icy road.

And my favorite was in high school gym class. We were playing softball on an asphalt parking lot next to the school. It was surrounded by a 10-foot chain-link fence, except by the school itself, where there was a metal railing. The school was limestone, the walkways were cement, there was a lower-than-street-level steel door to the school surrounded by cement walls. A woman lost control of her car and plowed through the chain-link fence. Everyone started running away. Because I was in the corner playing catcher (yes, playing - I didn't know how to be a catcher), I didn't think I had time to cross in front of the car to get out of the way. I jumped onto the railing and hung on. She hit the railing, and I flew (or was carried by angels) about 15 feet away, to the only patch of grass nearby. I did not walk away - they loaded me into an ambulance - but I had no injuries and did walk out of the ER. (With my dad, who was accusing me of giving him a heart attack.)

I've looked at the picture that was in the newspaper. How could that happen? Why would it happen? Why are some of us kept here and others taken? My life has been unremarkable - I've done nothing special with it.

A few months ago I sent my daughter a Google Doc with my obituary (with some dates not yet entered). In a small town such as ours, I have seen obituaries in the newspaper that have gone on for two columns (out of three), top to bottom of the page. I don't want that kind of notice. I did it mainly so my kids wouldn't have to. Mine was simple - I was born, married, had kids, went to school, had lots of jobs, and died. Two very short paragraphs. But the document was basically a brochure, which included some of my favorite 'readings,' such as Tecumseh's death song and the Desiderata.

If you think that I unhealthily dwell on death, I assure you I really don't. At times I have used it to propel me. Once a priest asked me what I would do if I were told I was going to die the next day. I told him I would finish up the ironing pile. If you think I dwell on this because I am getting older, I'll admit that is part of it. But even decades ago, I would sometimes wonder while running errands if this is the day I don't make it back home. When I refused to get the Covid vaccination, I told the school nurse that we all have to die sometime.

When it's your turn to go, you will go. And I'm okay with that because I know Jesus will lead me home (with the necessary stop in Purgatory, or course). Still, a death, even of one you don't know well, or at all, hurts the heart.