By Larissa Czuchnowsky
I just got off the phone with my mom and sisters discussing funeral arrangements for my father. He has COVID and he is dying. For the last days, we have been having zoom calls for several hours with him by the grace and compassion of the Canadian field hospital staff who make an iPad available for us each day. We sing, we read poems, meditations, and prayers, and share everything from our heart that we want him to hear. He is not responding and he is breathing the way dying people do: with big gaps of not breathing followed by a few shallow breaths in a row. We know however, that dying people hear everything being said to them so we don’t shy away from giving him our song and deep communication.
I am sad that my Dad is dying and I cry when the grief hits me… and when I’m not, I feel so happy that he is dying with love, beauty, and openness. My family and I have intentionally put our panic and fear to the side and have called in presence, wonder, and possibility to guide us. This attitude allows us to feel the profound healing happening in our family, between the siblings and our Mom, and for our Dad. You see, death does not get its due veneration and understanding in our culture. It is seen only for what it takes away and we lose the perennial opportunity and gift that it always offers us. Modern culture generally denies death’s naturalness and inevitability and this in turn disallows its rightful title as the ultimate teacher and heart opener.
Death is powerful and inevitable, yet we argue with the reality of it, avoid, deny, and expend vast amounts of energy, futilely trying to keep it at bay. Huge sectors of our culture and economy are dedicated to running from the fear of our own death and aging. It’s like trying to stop the sun from setting—we just can’t do it. Death comes for us all and terminal illness and death—when we open to its mystery, power, and benign wisdom—can be used as a healing and magical experience.
I hold this view of death as I sense the anxiety of my fellow citizens in stores, and I read news and magazine articles, and feel the fright jumping out from the pages. Our fear of COVID and hence, of death, is written sky large. It’s scary to get sick and to lose a loved one. We all want to continue living our lives and want our loved ones to be with us, but the level of high alert and edginess can make us sick in other ways. Is it possible to relax once we have done our due diligence of hand washing, distancing, and mask-wearing, and trust that life will bring what it will bring? As unintuitive as it sounds, illness and death can be the most healing experience someone has, even though it ends in their passing. I can truly say this from experience. Almost two years ago, I sat vigil with my husband in the same way that I just did with my Dad.
I have lost people I love the most and I can tell you, there is a way to engage with death and the dying process where you receive gifts that you never thought imaginable. I am not saying it’s easy because it’s heart breaking. I’m just saying that there is an opportunity in the inevitable that we are missing and wasting as a culture.
So, when you are ready, sit quietly, breathe, and courageously notice your fear of loss, your fear of not seeing a loved one, and put your hand on your heart. If you are like me, the first time you do this, you might feel panicked. Just breathe and feel your feet on the ground. You are safe, our ancestors have been dealing with death and loss forever, and we are here. Trust that death will come bearing gifts even though it’s sad and we will be faced with our loneliness and human mortality. Death points us to the fact that there truly is no ground. We are all making up this thing called life as we go along!
Living in “not knowing” and mystery is not something we are trained to do. But Covid and the specter of death surrounding it are causing us to do this. Through meditation, inquiry, and deliberate examination, we can learn to lean in, trust, and cease our fight with reality. As the phrase goes that Jon Kabat Zinn made popular, “You can’t stop the waves but I can learn to surf.” Now is a good time to go with the flow.
Larissa Czuchnowsky is a meditation teacher, a Conscious Living and Dying Coach, and an empowered and widowed mother of two. Visit her at www.thewisdomheartcoaching.com.
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Though Boo wasn’t my “real” grandfather I could not miss the realness of his final days. Despite the sticky doorknob, the smell of last week’s lunch, dead flowers, and the junk pile obstacle course, I made my way to his bedside. The clutter used to spark an uncomfortable itch throughout my body, but I’d accepted it. His 98-year-old body was tired, but his spirit was very much alive as he pondered the end.