On the art of dying

By Gary Moore

I’m reading this excellent book by the author Katy Butler entitled “The Art Of Dying Well.”

Put down those phones, no emergency call needed! I’m not going anywhere for awhile. I just want to be prepared.

George Harrison, one of my musical idols also spoke a lot about preparing for death, so when you finally die, you can do so peacefully and transition seamlessly into the next stage of your life. In fact, he wrote a song entitled “The Art of Dying,” which appeared on his first solo album “All Things Must Pass.” In that song, he wrote:

“There’ll come a time when all your hopes are fading

When things that seemed so very plain become an awful pain

Searching for the truth among the lying

And answered when you’ve learned the art of dying”

George’s wife, Olivia, said that when he passed, you didn’t need a candle to light the room. By that, I assume she meant his lighted spirit left his body. Selfishly, I wish George hadn’t left so soon, and I doubt I will encounter him if he returns (because he may not, having died peacefully). But, one never knows.

George’s wife, Olivia, said that when he passed, you didn’t need a candle to light the room. By that, I assume she meant his lighted spirit left his body. Selfishly, I wish George hadn’t left so soon, and I doubt I will encounter him if he returns (because he may not, having died peacefully). But, one never knows.

In the book, Ms. Butler outlines chapter by chapter what elders can do as they reach the end of their life cycle and how to prepare for each stage. She thoughtfully begins each chapter by stating “If you are experiencing…” and lists several conditions, going from mildly annoying to life-threatening, that people our age will experience as they reach the end. It’s done matter of factly, clinically, but with great warmth and compassion, because she then expounds in each chapter on what you should be doing at each particular stage.

One of her suggestions that I found very helpful was transitioning from a general practitioner to a doctor that specializes in elder medicine. In this kind of practice, the doctor asks “What is it that you want to do?” rather then tells you how she or he is going to save you from dying.

Let’s face it: death is a phase we all must go through. There may be a way to delay it, preventative practices you can use to slow it down, but, in the end, it’s the end.

A reader recently responded to one of my articles that discussed death with a quote from the film director and gay rights activist Derek Jarman, who is quoted to have said “I am not afraid of death, but, I am afraid of dying.”

This is because, we know death is coming, but we don’t know how or when it will come. We are unsure of the process by which we transition from life to death and what waits on “the other side.” We have books on faith and religion and spirituality to suggest, in some way, what we might expect, but we don’t know for sure and that uncertainty breeds fear.

On the other hand, another of my heroes, Mark Twain, is quoted as saying “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at anytime.”

A story told about St. Francis of Assisi has a man asking everybody in town what they would do if they knew they were going to die tomorrow. Various people offer various versions of tying up loose ends. When the man reaches Francis, Francis is hoeing the garden of the monastery. The man asks Francis what he would do. Francis looks up and around, smiles and replies “I would keep hoeing.”

I doubt that I possess Francis’ courage, strength of faith or ease with mortality. In fact, I might add, this column seems to verify that. Dylan Thomas urges us to “rage / rage / against the dying of the light.”

Katy Butler urges us to accept it and prepare for it as best we can.

I find myself somewhere in the middle. As my younger friend expressed it “I have so much more I have to do.” I think many people in my generation feel that way. Places to go. People to visit. Grandchildren to watch grow. Alas and alack.

But, in conclusion, this quote from Lord Beaverbrook, who was a newspaper tycoon and member of Churchill’s cabinet, struck me:

“This is my final word. It is time for me to become an apprentice once more. I have not settled in which direction. But, somewhere, sometime, soon.”

The idea of becoming an apprentice, of starting over, of beginning a new, different phase of “life” appeals to me. And, maybe, that’s exactly what happens.

Or, to quote Oscar Wilde’s dying words: “Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.”

He did.

Hold those grey heads up!

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