Living Loved Newsletter
Volume 1, Issue 4

A New Way of Looking at Life—Lessons I Have Learned from the Dying

Posted May 8, 2008

Hi. I am 70 years old and I'd like to talk with you today about a new way of looking at life. Actually, it may not be new to some of you at all, but perhaps some of what I'm going to share will spark some refreshment in thoughts and attitudes as you walk from this day into the future.

What I'd like to share arises partly from my role as a hospice chaplain. Every morning, when I plan my day, I know that I am going to spend at least a part of the day in the presence of people who are dying. Sometimes people ask, "How can you do that? That has to be the most depressing job in the world." My response is always, "Quite the contrary. It is one of the richest, most meaningful experiences I've ever had the privilege of sharing. The only way I could feel closer to heaven is if I were there myself." But then I also assure them that I have little interest in pushing the time line.

As a hospice chaplain, I have to come to terms with the question, "What is dying?" And the answer is that there is a point at which we transition from this life to the next life, and the only way that transition happens is through dying. I sometimes say, "There will be a moment when you take your last breath here and your next breath will be in eternity."

Hospice is not about dying; it is about being a companion to people whose bodies are diseased and helping them to live for all they are worth while experiencing the dying process. Hospice ministry is about life, about providing the highest quality of life possible in your soul and your spirit, while your body is shutting down in order to facilitate the transitioning process.

And that is often where the richness begins to come in. You see, dying people (whether they desire to talk about it or not) enter into to something called "End of Life Review". In order for someone to qualify for hospice care, their doctor must signify that according to his or her best professional judgment, this person is within six months of dying. At that point a team of hospice personnel—usually composed of a registered nurse, a social worker, possibly a chaplain, possibly a Home Health Aid and a volunteer, become a part of that person's life for the sole purpose of enhancing life. Six months is not always the reality. Sometimes they die within an hour or two; others may live as long as two or three years.

Once a person consciously or subconsciously begins EOL Review, some beautiful things can begin to happen. For instance, as we prepare to plan their end of life celebration (sometimes called "funeral") I ask, "One of these days some folks are going to get together to celebrate your life. What are some things you'd like us to celebrate?" And from there the journey begins.

Sometimes they will say, "There is nothing in my life worth celebrating." And I will say, "You know what? I really don't believe that." And then I ask a question such as "Tell me what you enjoyed doing as a kid." Or, "Tell me about the town where you grew up." Or, "What were winters like when you were a child?" And slowly but surely, as they begin to talk a light begins to gleam, a smile begins to crease their lips, tears will sometimes moisten their eyes. And over a period of weeks or months, as we talk about places they have been and things they have done they begin to acknowledge that they have not lived a throw-away life after all. There really are things to be celebrated, and they die with a sense of peace and joy and contentment that other wise would not have been possible. In that whole process they have begun to see life, and themselves, in a whole new way.

So! I have learned from the dying to always be aware of the things I have to celebrate.

Secondly, End of Life Review frequently involves the pain of broken relationships. In the process of living, things happen. Motives and intentions are sometimes misunderstood, egos feel they need to be defended, deeds are done, words are spoken, hearts become hardened and people frequently go their separate ways. Sometimes for decades.

One of the greatest joys I have in hospice ministry, and this is true for the whole team, is the joy of reconciliations. During EOLR, people begin differentiating majors and minors. When it comes to relationships, they begin asking, "What's worth holding onto? What am I carrying that around for, anyway? Maybe it is time to let go of that incident, that hurt, that loss." And one way or another they begin to ask abut that son or daughter or sister or brother or parent who has been absent from the scene for so long.

They wonder, "What's it going to take to bring that friend or loved one back? What's it going to take to die in peace?" And the answer is always the same: just a little forgiveness. And what we point out about forgiveness is that it doesn't matter who said or did what; it is always your turn first. Forgiveness is simply letting go of the other person's neck and until you do that you simply cannot move on—something that is true through out life, not just for the dying.

Letting go of the other person's neck opens the door to a whole lot more, and my heart sheds tears of rejoicing when I see a son or daughter or other loved one walking through the door and reconciliation taking place—sometimes at the eleventh hour and the fifty-ninth minute.

So another thing the dying have taught me about living is that life has no greater pain than broken relationships, and no greater joy than restored relationships.

Thirdly, the dying have taught me the richness of life and the joy and love that can be mine, can be a part of my journey when I allow myself to join them on their journey and to enter into their story.

It is so sad that so much of the energy of our individual journeys is spent on isolating and protecting ourselves, guarding our feelings and emotions against the hurt that sometimes revolves around relationships. It is as though we put a "cap" (like a "salary cap") on our loving and our hearts and we say, "I will go this far and no further."

I can recall a time in my own life when I determined that no one was ever going to hurt me again, and I set out to live a life of protecting myself from other people. But after a while I began to realize that I did not like the person I was becoming and slowly but surely I began to reopen myself to the full range and realities of loving and being loved. I now have accepted the fact that loving has both hurts and celebrations, but most of all I have learned that always the hurts are far outnumbered by the celebrations if only we are willing to acknowledge them.

When I sit by the bed of the dying, holding their hand and entering into their story and accompanying them on their journey, I have learned that when you ask God to forgive both yourself and the other person, you not only set aside the past, you also open the door to the future. And by entering into their story I have learned that loving has a way of looking beyond what has been to what can be.

So many times we look at life and we look at people and we settle for the past, or what we think we see. Love looks beyond all that to what God sees. The dying have taught me to look for what God sees; life is too short and too precious to see anything else.

In summary, a new way of looking at life, learned from the dying, includes (1) never, ever minimize the things you have to celebrate, (2) the greatest richness in life is the richness of relationships, and (3) the richness of my journey and my story is in direct proportion to my willingness to enter into their journey and their story.

It has been said that God sends us the people He does because there is something that needs to be worked out within us. That is certainly true of me, and it took the dying to do it.

The question with which I close is, "What needs to be worked out within you, and whom has God sent to help you begin the process?"

Chuck Tooman
Living Loved