Several things come to mind as I've just reached my seventies. Much harder than contemplating my own death is that of my loved ones - my wife, our cats, members of my extended family and close friends. Keeping in mind that some day I will no longer be here is a very beneficial exercise for me as it daily reminds me to savor and enjoy the wonderful simple things in my life while I am still alive that would be so easy to take for granted - the smell of freshly cooked food, the feel of water on my lips, the wind on my face, the amazing ability to still walk without pain and even play sports, the routines of taking out the garbage, brushing my teeth, making music with friends, enjoying the sound of my wife’s voice while she’s talking to me, the warmth of my cat on my lap. When I was in my 30s or 40s, the idea of 10, 20, 30 years hence was merely idle speculation but now it is very possible I may indeed never get there. And given that subjective time has really sped up as I’ve aged it becomes all the more sobering.
After much contemplation of death I’ve come to believe that we don’t disappear but that we simply are transformed into a different being of a type that is completely beyond our ability to comprehend hence not worth worrying about while I’m alive, sort of like a raindrop that falls into a pond or the ocean. How could that single drop ever comprehend what becomes of it as it completes its fall? It doesn’t cease to be water but it has entered a new realm entirely. Add to the fact that when we were born we had no idea what was happening to us and don’t have the slightest recall of whence we came. I’m not religious at all but I don’t see how any of that would conflict with serious religious teachings.
For now I conceive of death as being similar to being asleep. Every time I drift off at night I accept that I will completely lose control of what I will experience in my dreams and even more so when I reach deep sleep and effectively everything no longer exists for me. Maybe sleep is nature’s kind way to remind us of our coming death on a daily basis.
What a remarkable list . I shall read some of these , perhaps the less mystical ones . I remember loving the glass bead game as a kid , and the bitter disappointment of realising there was no such thing in our reality , only jobs ! I was a literal minded child .
This all strikes deep with me now as my husband of 35 years died two years ago , of a brutal cancer , at 55. We were in lockdown as it worked it’s way through him . I wasn’t there at the very end as they refused me to the locked down hospital while our government dallied and mocked us . I cannot begun to understand how he dealt with it and we faced it with such bravery and calm and rationality , and even humour . I have dealt so much less well alone with his loss. Dying is one thing . Loss is another . I couldn’t read any book for 18 months afterward , or listen to any music . Tv and jazz then . So I can say that though I didn’t discover any books that helped or held any insights I could bear, I did watch ricky gervais ‘ series on bereavement Afterlife, which is warm and true and honest and a total surprise . We watched it together before he died ; perhaps he wanted me to think about how I would be . I couldn’t . But I’ve returned to it since . It makes me feel seen; my loss is recognised for the destruction of the world it is . I am intensely grateful for that . It also has a great dog .
Later i did read one book , only one , about loss , by a Freudian psychoanalytic psychotherapist : The state of disbelief by Juliet Rosenfeld. It combines a personal tale with a Freudian structure ; it systematises the experience of loss . I liked it a lot and found the idea of a structure appealing when I’d thought it was only a shifting wasteland . I’m aware there are books out there on stages of grief and such : no way ! Some of your list should be worth a go , now I am two years in and can breathe again a little , so thank you .
I spent some time trying to describe the early stage of that loss to an imaginary person . Obviously I’ve never spoken about it in reality as you can’t even look a person in the face in this early months let alone discuss it . My latest version , accurate I think, is this :-
I am alone ,
Crash landed on an alien planet
Buffeted by stinging winds
And there is something moving in the shadows
And I can never go home .
Other losses have been bad things within your life . The loss of a life partner , early , is the destruction of your life as well as theirs ; it is hard to find a way . Surprising how bad it can be and yet people walk around upright
Some very helpful recommendations. I’d add Jung to the mix since much of his practice was preparing men and women in their twilight years for their death.
“Only if we know that the thing which truly matters is the infinite can we avoid fixing our interest upon futilities and upon all kinds of goals which are not of real importance.” - C.G. Jung
In the Zen priest and poet tradition, in Japan, The writer, usually upon his death bed, even weeks, or months, before, writes a Haiku that encapsulates his enlightenment. The poem must also reference the season. There's a book titled, Japanese Death Poems.
wind blowing all night,
dust and leaves swirl on the porch,
in the morning gone.
The Buddhist view of death is decidedly different than the Western view. One size doesn't fit all, and as Mr. Gonzo said, " The only people who know where the edge is, are those who have gone over it.
At the age of 84, I'm standing on the edge, looking into the vastness and ready to jump, but don't push me.
Describing the Alabama soldiers who died as having fallen asleep is a Biblical allusion. There are at least two instances where Jesus is said to have raised the dead; for example, when he heard that his friend Lazarus had died, he told his followers something along the lines of, "He is not dead, but sleeping, but I go that I may awaken him." This sleep metaphor is carried forward in the New Testament Epistles, where believers who have died are said to have "fallen asleep in Christ" (a phrase meant to affirm the continuation of their spirit or conscious existence in heaven as well as the hope of their--eventual--resurrection).
This is so great! I am alone in my social circle in wanting to discuss death and dying and aging. They become angry and change the subject. They are each between 73 and 85. Anyway, love this essay and the list. I feel less alone. Thank you 🙏🏼
Very interesting that you should post on this topic, because I had been reflecting how parallel your chapters on Music To Raise The Dead, particularly its emphasis on the hero's journey to underworld and return, are to the literature of near-death experiences.
It was Dante's Divine Comedy that struck me in its similarity to the stories of near-death experiences.
I'm sure there are a hundred books that could be added to this list. But for me, The Old Man and the Sea is in my top 5 books on accepting mortality and pondering death.
Well timed article, with lots of current activity on the 'Medical Aid in Dying' arena. We're up to 10-11 States that allow MAID, starting with Oregon quite a few years ago.
NPR just published this article about the relative lack of benefit and actual harm from CPR in the elderly. Not everything you see on TV is true!
Sorry, but one tends to take a different approach when Death unwantingly becomes a profound part of one's existence at a young age. This October, for instance, will be 45 years since my Dad died, when I was but 13. Because people such as myself experience grief daily, it's easiest to become resigned to the reality of Death, and live whatever time we have to the fullest. The last thing I need is to wade heavily into someone else's experiences and philosophies regarding Death, and I have absolutely no desire to take on some mystical outlook that has no basis in reality. Life has already been painful enough, and it takes almost all of my existing energy attempting to remain positive and optimistic for my family and friends.
More than a decade ago, my mother had a stroke and the doctor came into the hospital room and was speaking to us in doctor-ese, when I asked him, “What are the chances of her dying?” He looked at me strangely and, at first, I thought judgmentally, but quickly changed his approach. He began to speak in actual human language. We subsequently helped my mother get off the incredible number of prescription medications she had been on for years, since her first stroke, helped her through therapy, and she was able to live a few more (comparatively) quality years before she died.
I read the piece on deathbed visions. None of this is new to me. My grandparents and elderly relatives, even my father who died as a relatively young man, all died at home, and it was a known fact that they would start talking to/ about* their mother or deceased spouse or whoever was important. It was part of what was seen as a lovely death. Then it was time to call the priest, it was time to call distant relatives home, it was time - to be pragmatic - to ready the house the wake.
It's a comfort to everyone to witness, to know your loved one isn't going alone.
It drives me crazy when people say somebody "passed," instead of, you know, "she died." I make it a point to always say "died." I'm 66 now, but when I was 28, my younger brother, 27, died at home from pancreatic cancer. He insisted that I irrigate him--twice a day or so I injected, through a tube, saline solution to help his damaged liver function. I knew he was dying, but for months no one told us what he had. The worst thing is, they wouldn't tell him! He suffered a mental breakdown years before and apparently the doctors and perhaps my parents felt the knowledge of his impending death would be too much. They were wrong of course; he was able to figure out he was dying pretty early on, and he faced it well.
My mom and I found him on the bedroom floor late one weekend, after she heard him hit the floor. He had tried to get up. He was dead weight when we picked him up and put him in the bed, heavy, though he was skin and bones by that time. He was at home, and it makes a big difference, though he never had hospice care.
Several things come to mind as I've just reached my seventies. Much harder than contemplating my own death is that of my loved ones - my wife, our cats, members of my extended family and close friends. Keeping in mind that some day I will no longer be here is a very beneficial exercise for me as it daily reminds me to savor and enjoy the wonderful simple things in my life while I am still alive that would be so easy to take for granted - the smell of freshly cooked food, the feel of water on my lips, the wind on my face, the amazing ability to still walk without pain and even play sports, the routines of taking out the garbage, brushing my teeth, making music with friends, enjoying the sound of my wife’s voice while she’s talking to me, the warmth of my cat on my lap. When I was in my 30s or 40s, the idea of 10, 20, 30 years hence was merely idle speculation but now it is very possible I may indeed never get there. And given that subjective time has really sped up as I’ve aged it becomes all the more sobering.
After much contemplation of death I’ve come to believe that we don’t disappear but that we simply are transformed into a different being of a type that is completely beyond our ability to comprehend hence not worth worrying about while I’m alive, sort of like a raindrop that falls into a pond or the ocean. How could that single drop ever comprehend what becomes of it as it completes its fall? It doesn’t cease to be water but it has entered a new realm entirely. Add to the fact that when we were born we had no idea what was happening to us and don’t have the slightest recall of whence we came. I’m not religious at all but I don’t see how any of that would conflict with serious religious teachings.
For now I conceive of death as being similar to being asleep. Every time I drift off at night I accept that I will completely lose control of what I will experience in my dreams and even more so when I reach deep sleep and effectively everything no longer exists for me. Maybe sleep is nature’s kind way to remind us of our coming death on a daily basis.
What a remarkable list . I shall read some of these , perhaps the less mystical ones . I remember loving the glass bead game as a kid , and the bitter disappointment of realising there was no such thing in our reality , only jobs ! I was a literal minded child .
This all strikes deep with me now as my husband of 35 years died two years ago , of a brutal cancer , at 55. We were in lockdown as it worked it’s way through him . I wasn’t there at the very end as they refused me to the locked down hospital while our government dallied and mocked us . I cannot begun to understand how he dealt with it and we faced it with such bravery and calm and rationality , and even humour . I have dealt so much less well alone with his loss. Dying is one thing . Loss is another . I couldn’t read any book for 18 months afterward , or listen to any music . Tv and jazz then . So I can say that though I didn’t discover any books that helped or held any insights I could bear, I did watch ricky gervais ‘ series on bereavement Afterlife, which is warm and true and honest and a total surprise . We watched it together before he died ; perhaps he wanted me to think about how I would be . I couldn’t . But I’ve returned to it since . It makes me feel seen; my loss is recognised for the destruction of the world it is . I am intensely grateful for that . It also has a great dog .
Later i did read one book , only one , about loss , by a Freudian psychoanalytic psychotherapist : The state of disbelief by Juliet Rosenfeld. It combines a personal tale with a Freudian structure ; it systematises the experience of loss . I liked it a lot and found the idea of a structure appealing when I’d thought it was only a shifting wasteland . I’m aware there are books out there on stages of grief and such : no way ! Some of your list should be worth a go , now I am two years in and can breathe again a little , so thank you .
I spent some time trying to describe the early stage of that loss to an imaginary person . Obviously I’ve never spoken about it in reality as you can’t even look a person in the face in this early months let alone discuss it . My latest version , accurate I think, is this :-
I am alone ,
Crash landed on an alien planet
Buffeted by stinging winds
And there is something moving in the shadows
And I can never go home .
Other losses have been bad things within your life . The loss of a life partner , early , is the destruction of your life as well as theirs ; it is hard to find a way . Surprising how bad it can be and yet people walk around upright
Some very helpful recommendations. I’d add Jung to the mix since much of his practice was preparing men and women in their twilight years for their death.
“Only if we know that the thing which truly matters is the infinite can we avoid fixing our interest upon futilities and upon all kinds of goals which are not of real importance.” - C.G. Jung
In the Zen priest and poet tradition, in Japan, The writer, usually upon his death bed, even weeks, or months, before, writes a Haiku that encapsulates his enlightenment. The poem must also reference the season. There's a book titled, Japanese Death Poems.
wind blowing all night,
dust and leaves swirl on the porch,
in the morning gone.
The Buddhist view of death is decidedly different than the Western view. One size doesn't fit all, and as Mr. Gonzo said, " The only people who know where the edge is, are those who have gone over it.
At the age of 84, I'm standing on the edge, looking into the vastness and ready to jump, but don't push me.
Describing the Alabama soldiers who died as having fallen asleep is a Biblical allusion. There are at least two instances where Jesus is said to have raised the dead; for example, when he heard that his friend Lazarus had died, he told his followers something along the lines of, "He is not dead, but sleeping, but I go that I may awaken him." This sleep metaphor is carried forward in the New Testament Epistles, where believers who have died are said to have "fallen asleep in Christ" (a phrase meant to affirm the continuation of their spirit or conscious existence in heaven as well as the hope of their--eventual--resurrection).
The Year of Magical Thinking is an amazing harrowing book that I won't read again.
This is so great! I am alone in my social circle in wanting to discuss death and dying and aging. They become angry and change the subject. They are each between 73 and 85. Anyway, love this essay and the list. I feel less alone. Thank you 🙏🏼
Ted as you know we live in a culture that is terrified of death. The emphasis on youth and life extension at all costs underlines this.
Ted,
Very interesting that you should post on this topic, because I had been reflecting how parallel your chapters on Music To Raise The Dead, particularly its emphasis on the hero's journey to underworld and return, are to the literature of near-death experiences.
It was Dante's Divine Comedy that struck me in its similarity to the stories of near-death experiences.
I'm sure there are a hundred books that could be added to this list. But for me, The Old Man and the Sea is in my top 5 books on accepting mortality and pondering death.
Well timed article, with lots of current activity on the 'Medical Aid in Dying' arena. We're up to 10-11 States that allow MAID, starting with Oregon quite a few years ago.
NPR just published this article about the relative lack of benefit and actual harm from CPR in the elderly. Not everything you see on TV is true!
https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2023/05/29/1177914622/a-natural-death-may-be-preferable-for-many-than-enduring-cpr
Sorry, but one tends to take a different approach when Death unwantingly becomes a profound part of one's existence at a young age. This October, for instance, will be 45 years since my Dad died, when I was but 13. Because people such as myself experience grief daily, it's easiest to become resigned to the reality of Death, and live whatever time we have to the fullest. The last thing I need is to wade heavily into someone else's experiences and philosophies regarding Death, and I have absolutely no desire to take on some mystical outlook that has no basis in reality. Life has already been painful enough, and it takes almost all of my existing energy attempting to remain positive and optimistic for my family and friends.
More than a decade ago, my mother had a stroke and the doctor came into the hospital room and was speaking to us in doctor-ese, when I asked him, “What are the chances of her dying?” He looked at me strangely and, at first, I thought judgmentally, but quickly changed his approach. He began to speak in actual human language. We subsequently helped my mother get off the incredible number of prescription medications she had been on for years, since her first stroke, helped her through therapy, and she was able to live a few more (comparatively) quality years before she died.
I read the piece on deathbed visions. None of this is new to me. My grandparents and elderly relatives, even my father who died as a relatively young man, all died at home, and it was a known fact that they would start talking to/ about* their mother or deceased spouse or whoever was important. It was part of what was seen as a lovely death. Then it was time to call the priest, it was time to call distant relatives home, it was time - to be pragmatic - to ready the house the wake.
It's a comfort to everyone to witness, to know your loved one isn't going alone.
*Edited for clarity
It drives me crazy when people say somebody "passed," instead of, you know, "she died." I make it a point to always say "died." I'm 66 now, but when I was 28, my younger brother, 27, died at home from pancreatic cancer. He insisted that I irrigate him--twice a day or so I injected, through a tube, saline solution to help his damaged liver function. I knew he was dying, but for months no one told us what he had. The worst thing is, they wouldn't tell him! He suffered a mental breakdown years before and apparently the doctors and perhaps my parents felt the knowledge of his impending death would be too much. They were wrong of course; he was able to figure out he was dying pretty early on, and he faced it well.
My mom and I found him on the bedroom floor late one weekend, after she heard him hit the floor. He had tried to get up. He was dead weight when we picked him up and put him in the bed, heavy, though he was skin and bones by that time. He was at home, and it makes a big difference, though he never had hospice care.
The Death of Ivan Ilyich was absolutely haunting… I have also meant to reread it but haven’t done so yet.