The Big Transitions

Hello dear boobjuicers and friends,

I am forgoing my usual exclamation point because I have some sad news. My beloved father-in-law passed away on April 23, after a nearly five year battle with colon cancer. He was a wonderful man; an accomplished scientist and business man, a treasured mentor, a kind and loving husband and father and grandfather, and a delightful host. He is and will be sorely missed.

Birth and death are the two biggest transitions I can think of. Becoming a parent is pretty huge but I think even the most exhausted of us will acknowledge it's not quite as big a change as ceasing to be alive. Similarly to birth, I think death is feared and poorly understood in our culture. Okay, probably fair to say that death is feared in many or maybe even most cultures. But in terms of setting, attitude, comfort - it's something we often get rather wrong.

Gary died at home, in the house he and my mother-in-law had custom built to face the sunset over the lake. His son and daughter were with him at the end, and he had received many visits and communications of love and gratitude in his final days. He had hospice care to keep him as comfortable as possible, and was no longer receiving the aggressive medical treatments that many of us dread. He didn't want a drawn-out ending with months of uselessness and misery, and thankfully he didn't have that.

My father died in a hospital, but he too was surrounded by love and caring. I was holding one of his hands, and my mother was snuggled up next to him in his hospital bed (she got very adept at balancing on about 1/3 of a hospital bed and doing crossword puzzles during his 15 month battle with colon cancer). (By the way, colon cancer and me - not buds.) The wonderful things my mom said to him in his final moments, which I don't feel at liberty to repeat but they were so sweet and inspiring, were a lovely acknowledgement of the amazing life he had lived. He managed to squeeze my hand just a tiny bit, so I knew he heard me rattling off a list of people who loved him through my tears. A very dignified nurse was holding his other hand, ostensibly to monitor his pulse, but since Dad had a pacemaker, he had a pulse for a while after he was gone. So I think the nurse was really just holding his hand. When dad was clearly gone, the nurse removed his glasses, slowly wiped a tear from each eye, and put Dad's hand down.

No IVs, no shock paddles or injections to bring him back like in ER episodes. Just let him slip away and rest, and trust that wherever he is now, he is in no pain, and has nothing to fear any longer. My faith has become a big question mark over the years, but I do know that the soul or spirit is real, and that the laws of physics say you cannot destroy matter or energy, only convert them to the other or to another form of one or the other. I've stated that poorly, but my point is, in one way or another, Gary and my Dad are still here. They are clearly present in the impact they have had on those who survive them. I think they are here in another way, in the energy present in the universe that we cannot see or understand but only feel and trust and respect, even revere.

Birth and death are sacred. We must make the person at the center of the transition feel as comfortable and loved as possible. And we must help each other through these difficult transitions as gently as we possibly can.

Be well and love one another fiercely, my dear readers.

With joyful tears of remembrance and grief,
Suzi