The Grieving Room: the gift of perspective
Mon Apr 07, 2008 at 05:53:09 PM PDT
In the middle of everyday life, it's easy to get lost in the mundane activities, the usual events, the flow of it all. Most of us don't have much time or inclination to indulge in navel-gazing, and even if we do, it's hard to view the "big picture" when one is part of the canvas.
No one has a better perspective on what it means to be alive - to LIVE - than someone who is in the process of dying. My mother and I discovered that in her one-year journey to death, which began with her pancreatic cancer diagnosis on March 30, 2006. From the moment we all learned that she was terminally ill, we began to contemplate what it means to live.
This installment of the Grieving Room is in honor of my mom, Diana, who died one year and one day ago, on April 6, 2007.
A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Have you listened to Randy Pausch's "Last Lecture"? Dr. Pausch is a 47 year old man who has been fighting pancreatic cancer for a couple years now, and likely has only a short time left. As a father of young children, he wanted to leave his teaching career with one last, special lecture for them to watch when they're old enough. If you haven't seen it, you may want to watch the short version of it that he gave on Oprah. The full version is on his site (linked above), as are videos of his Congressional Testimony and his public service message on behalf of PanCAN (the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network). [edited to add: I wrote this diary late Saturday night, and woke up to a Sunday paper featuring Dr. Pausch on the cover of Parade. Glad to hear the word is getting out there.]
I won't go into the details of his lecture (which he gave when doctors told him he had 3 to 6 months left); you can watch it for yourself or read the book version. I highly recommend that you watch at least the short version, if you can't sit through the full, 76 minute video.
In addition to being inspired by Dr. Pausch's message, I'm fascinated by his perspective. He knows what life is for, and he's using some of the limited time he has left to share that knowledge with us. We humans don't like to be reminded of our mortality, which is why most of us feel uncomfortable in the presence of a terminally ill person. We worry we'll say something awkward, or we don't know what to say at all. The entire time Dr. Pausch speaks, despite his healthy appearance, you know that he will be dying soon. Yes, that colors the impact and effect his words, but not the way you might expect. Instead of simply inspiring sympathy, his illness testifies to the truth and importance of his perspective.
I know a bit of this perspective, having accompanied my mother on her journey. We agreed early on that we wouldn't be "brave" for each other, or try to "comfort" away tears when they came. It was perfectly fine for either of us, in our daily phone calls, to weep... or not. Nothing needed to be hidden; no one needed to be protected from grief, as if that were even possible. Instead, what was most important is that we got said what needed to be said. We did what we needed to do. We lived so that we would have no regrets.
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A year has passed. My perspective has shallowed in some ways, and deepened in others. I have mostly fallen back into the habit of scurrying through my days - busy, busy - and failing to honor that they are numbered, and therefore each is precious. But some of the lessons have stuck: we have made decisions based on quality of life, trading the economic security of a decent job that made my husband unhappy daily for the freedom of freelance work that allows him to be with our boys after school every day. We have reduced our time doing things like watching TV, and instead are playing games and gardening together.
I wonder what my mom would think, if she could see us now. Would she be happy? Proud? Worried? Probably all of the above. My family no longer talks about her daily, but she remains a popular topic - she still inspires interesting discussions, such as one I had with my stepfather about whom she would be supporting, if she were around to witness this extraordinary primary. (we both think it would be tough for her to decide, but that she'd have gone with Obama in the end)
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It may sound like hyperbole, but I feel that Johannes Brahms's Ein Deutsches Requiem, opus 45 may be one of the finest pieces of music ever written. I can think of no better comfort to offer.
The texts are Biblical, but ecumenical - even transcending any particular faith or non-faith:
I. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. Matthew 5:4
He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. Psalm 126:5,6
II. For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away. 1 Peter 1:24
Be patient therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the early and latter rain. James 5:7
But the word of the Lord endureth for ever. 1 Peter 1:25
And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. Isaiah 35:10
III. Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee. . . . Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what wait l for? my hope is in thee. Psalm 39:4-7
But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them. Wisdom of Solomon 3:1
IV. How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts! My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the Lord: my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God. Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee. Psalm 84:1,2,4
V. For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come. Hebrews 13:14
Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. . . . then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? 1 Corinthians 15:51,52,54,55
Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created. Revelation 4:11
VI. Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them. Revelation 14:13
I like the Robert Shaw/Atlanta Symphony recording... but Solti/Chicago is good, as is Levine/Chicago - guess I'm prejudiced towards American performances. Really, though, you can't go wrong. Virtually any recording will do!
If you sing or play an orchestral instrument, I hope you have had or will have a chance to perform this piece. If not, I hope you hear it live sometime. It is life-altering. It's amazing to think that this is what Brahms did with the grief he felt from his own mother's death.
I'm humbled - my grief did not inspire me to write a masterpiece. It did not inspire me to give a lecture that has touched millions. But it did change me, and will continue to do so. I am acutely aware of my mother's continued presence in my heart, guiding me through the days I have left, however many or few they may be.
Thank you, grief, for this perspective.
As always, here is a link to all the previous Grieving Room diaries.
