Death Dignified by Christ
Nov 8, 2010
David Mills
He was a dignified man suffering all the embarrassing ways cheerful young women the age of his granddaughter deal with the body's failure as cancer begins shutting down the organs. Dying in a hospice, you lose all rights to modesty as you lose control of your body.
Few men could have found the indignities of those last few weeks more excruciating than did my father. But this was what dying of cancer is like, and my father, being the man he was, took it like a man. It was the hand he'd been dealt, and he was going to play it, as bad as it was.
Though he died five years ago, in bookstores I still find myself starting to buy a book I know he’ll like, and thinking as I start to pull it off the shelf, “No, wait,” or deciding to ask his opinion on a matter great and small, and thinking as I reach for my phone, “No, wait.” The world has a hole in it and not one that will ever be filled in this life. On this octave of the feast of All Saints, I wanted to say something about what he taught me about dying.
It is a great blessing to be with your father as he dies, though mercifully a blessing you will only enjoy once. I was sitting in his room at the hospice, my wife and children having run round the corner to get lunch, my mother having lunch with an old friend round another corner. He had, as far as we knew, weeks to live.
Listening to his labored breathing, suddenly I knew, I don’t know how, that he was breathing his last. I knelt by his head and said “Goodbye, dad.” He drew in a shorter, shallower breath than the others, and then stopped. The nurse came in, listened for a heartbeat, and I stood hoping I was wrong, that I'd missed something, till she shook her head.
At least, it is a great blessing to be with your father if he died the way mine did. He didn’t die with dignity, as those who promote “death with dignity” define it, which means, in essence, to die as if you weren’t dying.
It is not dignified to be dressed by cheerful young women the age of your granddaughter. It is not dignified to waste away, to lose the ability to speak, to eat, to drink. It is not dignified for your children and grandchildren to see you that way. It is not dignified to die when death takes you and not when you choose.
I see the appeal of “death with dignity” and programs like those offered in Oregon and the Netherlands, where doctors will help you leave this world at the moment of your choosing, without fuss or bother or pain. I do not want to die and I really do not want to die the way my father did. I would find the indignities as excruciating as he did, and I have no confidence I would deal with the pain as bravely as he. I would not want my children to see me so pathetic.
“Death with dignity” offers not only an escape from pain and humiliation, but a rational and apparently noble way to leave this life. All it requires is that you declare yourself God. Make yourself the lord of life and death, and you can do what you want. All you have to do, as a last, definitive act, is to do what you’ve been doing all your life, every time you sin: declare yourself, on the matter at hand, the final authority, the last judge, the one vote that counts.
But you are not God, and, the Christian believes, the decision of when to leave this life is not one he has delegated to you. To put it bluntly, he expects you to suffer if you are given suffering and to put up with indignities if you are given indignities. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. And that, as far as dying goes, is that.
This is not, from a worldly point of view, a comforting or comfortable teaching. It is one much easier for Christians to observe in theory than in practice. In practice, we will want to die “with dignity.”
This is what my father taught me: to die with dignity means to accept what God has given you and deal with it till the end. It means to play the hand God has dealt you, no matter how bad a hand it is, without folding. It means actually to live as if the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, and in either case blessed be the name of the Lord.
It’s dignity of a different sort than the corruptingly euphemistic slogan “death with dignity” suggests. There is a great—eternal—dignity in accepting whatever indignities you have to suffer to remain faithful to God and to do what he has given you to do. A man can be humiliated and yet noble, and the humiliations make the nobility all the more obvious. My father died with dignity, though the advocates of euthanasia and the clean, quick, controlled exit might not think so.
It’s what Jesus did: dying with dignity, in obedience to his Father suffering all the pain and humiliation this world could give. That is something to remember, after celebrating the feasts of All Saints and All Souls, of those who have gone before us, if we want some day ourselves to be among the faithful departed.
David Mills is Deputy Editor of First Things. His previous “On the Square” articles can be found here.
Comments:
11.8.2010 | 4:13am
Dimitri Cavalli says:
I remember what the Rev. John Conley, S.J. (now at Loyola in Baltimore) told us in ethics class at Fordham in the spring of 1994. He said (and I am paraphrasing from memory): "I want to die with dignity too--with my family and friends around," meaning he wanted to die naturally and enjoy the final earthly comfort of being surrounded by those who love him and then move on to heaven.
11.8.2010 | 4:49am
James A. Altena says:
Excellent piece, David. I was not privileged to be at either my father or mother's bedside at the moment of death, though I was at that of a good friend.
The only point with which I would differ here is the statement "I would not want my children to see me so pathetic." Though I do not have children myself, from my own onetime confrontation with a possible moment of death (a pulmonary embolism in 2004) I think I can safely say that I am beyond any such concern with anyone, and would take its continued presence to be a sign of worldly vanity. (Not that I am beyond all such vanity, of course; just this particular one.)
The only point with which I would differ here is the statement "I would not want my children to see me so pathetic." Though I do not have children myself, from my own onetime confrontation with a possible moment of death (a pulmonary embolism in 2004) I think I can safely say that I am beyond any such concern with anyone, and would take its continued presence to be a sign of worldly vanity. (Not that I am beyond all such vanity, of course; just this particular one.)
11.8.2010 | 4:51am
ENOUGH ROPE says:
Thank you Mr Mills for sharing your father's heroic suffering.
I saw my father-in-law die of cancer of the lung which means watching his chest expand like a bellows to breathe. His wife and my wife were there at his last breath when the hospice nurse said at his ear "John, you have breathed your last breath. God be with you."
I spent nine days in a hospital and nine days in a nursing home while receiving intravenous antibiotics for a severe leg infection. I observed the very old residents of the nursing home in various phases of Alzheimer's and others whose diseases turned them into sleeping, hunched over people in their wheel chairs in the hallways or open areas. Some could look at them and ask "Why keep them alive if they live oblivious lives?" My answer to that question is to look at the witness of Pope John Paul II who performed his office until God called him home. Contrary to those who called for his resignation, another holy observer claimed that John Paul was living out his Via Dolorosa, his Way of Suffering in imitation of Christ. It dawned on me that the patients in the nursing home were living out their own individual Via Dolorosa. They were living their lives to the end and accepting in heroic silence the will of God instead of asserting their will for an easier escape.
If we want to see unheralded living saints, visit a nursing home. Though I hope none of us become residents.
I saw my father-in-law die of cancer of the lung which means watching his chest expand like a bellows to breathe. His wife and my wife were there at his last breath when the hospice nurse said at his ear "John, you have breathed your last breath. God be with you."
I spent nine days in a hospital and nine days in a nursing home while receiving intravenous antibiotics for a severe leg infection. I observed the very old residents of the nursing home in various phases of Alzheimer's and others whose diseases turned them into sleeping, hunched over people in their wheel chairs in the hallways or open areas. Some could look at them and ask "Why keep them alive if they live oblivious lives?" My answer to that question is to look at the witness of Pope John Paul II who performed his office until God called him home. Contrary to those who called for his resignation, another holy observer claimed that John Paul was living out his Via Dolorosa, his Way of Suffering in imitation of Christ. It dawned on me that the patients in the nursing home were living out their own individual Via Dolorosa. They were living their lives to the end and accepting in heroic silence the will of God instead of asserting their will for an easier escape.
If we want to see unheralded living saints, visit a nursing home. Though I hope none of us become residents.
11.8.2010 | 5:12am
Todd Speidell says:
I agree and disagree with David Mills' moving and important piece. On the one hand, I think he is exactly right that the "death with dignity" rhetoric betrays autonomous hubris, which recapitulates the essence of the Fall. When my agnostic neighbors celebrated the suicide of the mother of their two young children with the slogans of "autonomous rights," "rational suicide," and "death with dignity," they were at least precise about the discourse of our culture to which they accepted and proclaimed at her funeral. She was emotionally afflicted but not terminally ill, and I could only think of the legacy for life that she had bequeathed to her children as her husband announced and celebrated, he declared, her so-called autonomy at her tragic funeral service.
On the other hand, the early Job, to which Mr. Mills alludes, became a bit feisty with God after initially accepting his circumstance. He soon took an alternative route, which God himself countenanced for the heart of the book in the center of the Bible: one doesn't have to rationalize one's lot in life, as Job initially did, but one can join the chorus of biblical protest that life is not always fair; once may cry out with Jesus as he cried out on our behalf (quoting Ps. 22), "My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me?" Questioning IN CHRIST, perhaps, is a Christian way to die with dignity without resorting to the spiritual cliches and rationalizations that Job abandoned for the comfort he found in biblical protest. And in the end, when Job gave up the religious formulas that he and his friends shared even while they debated, God blessed Job and affirmed his inability to understand or accept one of the great mysteries of life. An alternative piety exists in the Bible, shared by Job and Jesus, and it is available for those of us who cannot live by rationalized autonomy or stoical resignation.
One grieves in his or her own way: Job 2 sufficed for Mr. Mills, but Job 3 and following helped my family as we recently buried my younger sister. We celebrated the dignity of her life even as we complained to God of the sadness her loss.
On the other hand, the early Job, to which Mr. Mills alludes, became a bit feisty with God after initially accepting his circumstance. He soon took an alternative route, which God himself countenanced for the heart of the book in the center of the Bible: one doesn't have to rationalize one's lot in life, as Job initially did, but one can join the chorus of biblical protest that life is not always fair; once may cry out with Jesus as he cried out on our behalf (quoting Ps. 22), "My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me?" Questioning IN CHRIST, perhaps, is a Christian way to die with dignity without resorting to the spiritual cliches and rationalizations that Job abandoned for the comfort he found in biblical protest. And in the end, when Job gave up the religious formulas that he and his friends shared even while they debated, God blessed Job and affirmed his inability to understand or accept one of the great mysteries of life. An alternative piety exists in the Bible, shared by Job and Jesus, and it is available for those of us who cannot live by rationalized autonomy or stoical resignation.
One grieves in his or her own way: Job 2 sufficed for Mr. Mills, but Job 3 and following helped my family as we recently buried my younger sister. We celebrated the dignity of her life even as we complained to God of the sadness her loss.
11.8.2010 | 8:25am
Tara says:
David, this is really a beautiful piece.
Of course, it is no more "dignified" in the eyes of the world to die as my father did. Quickly and suddenly and in a public place. But I think it was Heinlein who opined that there is no dignity in death, its a messy undignified matter no matter how it occurs.
And our Lord's was indeed the most undignified, accursed, public, beaten, mocked. Who are we to deserve otherwise? I suppose it is the innate desire for dignity contrasted with our fallen, earthly lack of dignity that draws out both the nature of man and the glory that God intends for him.
Of course, it is no more "dignified" in the eyes of the world to die as my father did. Quickly and suddenly and in a public place. But I think it was Heinlein who opined that there is no dignity in death, its a messy undignified matter no matter how it occurs.
And our Lord's was indeed the most undignified, accursed, public, beaten, mocked. Who are we to deserve otherwise? I suppose it is the innate desire for dignity contrasted with our fallen, earthly lack of dignity that draws out both the nature of man and the glory that God intends for him.
11.8.2010 | 9:54am
Jessica says:
Thank you, Mr. Mills, for your beautiful honesty about dying. My own father died last year, on Thanksgiving Day, and I was blessed to be with him in the months prior to his death from cancer. I am a physician, and I remember worrying that he would ask me to help him die, to provide him the "dignity" in death that I hear spoken of so often in bioethics circles.
But he didn't. Instead, we held hands, watched reruns of Bonanza and Gunsmoke, talked and cried, passed out candy to kids on Halloween, and enjoyed each other's company. I watched a good man pass away with grace, even in spite of his inability of care for himself. In those final days, my mother had to help him do everything, from bathing to toileting to feeding. But I never saw a loss of dignity. He simply accepted his situation and was grateful for his family and the life that he had been given. In the acceptance of his suffering, he enabled all of us to care for him gratefully. This, too, is what is missing from the death with dignity movement, this notion of shared suffering and dependence on one another. Mr. Mills, you've hit the nail on the head when you point out that this is another way of making ourselves into little gods. Ultimately, those who choose assisted suicide, however much we may empathize with their reasons, are choosing to go reject the help and comfort of others in favor of the isolation of their "autonomy."
But he didn't. Instead, we held hands, watched reruns of Bonanza and Gunsmoke, talked and cried, passed out candy to kids on Halloween, and enjoyed each other's company. I watched a good man pass away with grace, even in spite of his inability of care for himself. In those final days, my mother had to help him do everything, from bathing to toileting to feeding. But I never saw a loss of dignity. He simply accepted his situation and was grateful for his family and the life that he had been given. In the acceptance of his suffering, he enabled all of us to care for him gratefully. This, too, is what is missing from the death with dignity movement, this notion of shared suffering and dependence on one another. Mr. Mills, you've hit the nail on the head when you point out that this is another way of making ourselves into little gods. Ultimately, those who choose assisted suicide, however much we may empathize with their reasons, are choosing to go reject the help and comfort of others in favor of the isolation of their "autonomy."
11.8.2010 | 10:01am
Bangwell Putt says:
The "dignity" we are discussing is inner dignity, a person's ultimate refuge, available when all else fails. where one stands vis-a-vis God. I was with my mother through her final months; I was at her side as she drew her last breath. I was listening to the Mass in B Minor; at I raised my arms at the "miserere nobis", praying those words, she drew her last, deep breath. My sense was that we had traveled through dangerous territory; that God had been with us; that through his grace we had prevailed.
11.8.2010 | 11:12am
Nicholas Jost says:
A wonderful piece David. More wonderful for being honest as you are correct that there would be a bittersweet relationship to the presence of your children. No one (good) wants to be alone but no one wants to be seen in that sort of position.
11.8.2010 | 11:34am
Gregory K. Laughlin says:
Excellent, David. My father too died with cancer, 30 years ago this summer. I have often wished that I had been with him when he died, but I was a teenager and my family thought it best that I not be there. One of his brothers, whom he loved very much and who love him the same, was there for him. And that has always been a source of great consolation for me.
I spent the night with my maternal grandmother the night before she died, but was relieved the next morning by her son, my uncle, who was with her when she died later that morning.
And I was privileged to see my dying uncle (also a victim of cancer), the same uncle who was with my father when he died, about 1/2 hour before his death.
Death is cruel and evil. There is nothing good about it. When I saw your title, I thought I would disagree with your post, for Christ did not dignify death, He defeated it. But when I read your post and understood what the title meant, I agree wholeheartedly.
I spent the night with my maternal grandmother the night before she died, but was relieved the next morning by her son, my uncle, who was with her when she died later that morning.
And I was privileged to see my dying uncle (also a victim of cancer), the same uncle who was with my father when he died, about 1/2 hour before his death.
Death is cruel and evil. There is nothing good about it. When I saw your title, I thought I would disagree with your post, for Christ did not dignify death, He defeated it. But when I read your post and understood what the title meant, I agree wholeheartedly.
11.8.2010 | 11:54am
Joe the Human Person says:
THere is an ethical problem, with soaking up medical resources at the age of 80, to merely prolong a painful and certainly terminal disease.
Specifically one problem is selfishly diverting medical resources from younger people with longer lives yet to live.
For this reason, to avoid this selfishness, many older people now sign "living will"s. To refuse care. And leave more medical resources for younger people.
Is this "Suicide"? Jesus himself gave up his own life, or allowed his life to be taken, for the sake of others; there is a kind of moral suicide, it appears.
Specifically one problem is selfishly diverting medical resources from younger people with longer lives yet to live.
For this reason, to avoid this selfishness, many older people now sign "living will"s. To refuse care. And leave more medical resources for younger people.
Is this "Suicide"? Jesus himself gave up his own life, or allowed his life to be taken, for the sake of others; there is a kind of moral suicide, it appears.
11.8.2010 | 12:15pm
Gregory K. Laughlin says:
Joe,
There is a big difference with refusing extraordinary medical treatment when the outcome is inevitable and in being euthanized, whether by request or not. I am not Catholic, but I find that the Catholic Church does an excellent job addressing many ethical issues. I find that to be the case on these issues as well.
Paragraph 2277 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church addresses direct euthanasia. The very next paragraph, 2278 addresses discontinuing medical procedures. Paragraph 2279 addresses palliative care. That is, the Church recognizes that their comes a point where withdrawing treatment is legitimate and also recognizes the palliative care is a form of charity.
I'll be the first to admit that the line that separates these can become hard to discern in many circumstances. The best one can do is to seek competent spiritual and medical advice from pastors and doctors who affirm the dignity of the dying person and pray for God's guidance and mercy in making those difficult decisions. However, we must avoid the notion that such decisions should be viewed as strictly economic ones. An elderly person whose condition is not terminal should not refuse care merely to "leave more . . . resources [medical or otherwise] for younger people."
There is a big difference with refusing extraordinary medical treatment when the outcome is inevitable and in being euthanized, whether by request or not. I am not Catholic, but I find that the Catholic Church does an excellent job addressing many ethical issues. I find that to be the case on these issues as well.
Paragraph 2277 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church addresses direct euthanasia. The very next paragraph, 2278 addresses discontinuing medical procedures. Paragraph 2279 addresses palliative care. That is, the Church recognizes that their comes a point where withdrawing treatment is legitimate and also recognizes the palliative care is a form of charity.
I'll be the first to admit that the line that separates these can become hard to discern in many circumstances. The best one can do is to seek competent spiritual and medical advice from pastors and doctors who affirm the dignity of the dying person and pray for God's guidance and mercy in making those difficult decisions. However, we must avoid the notion that such decisions should be viewed as strictly economic ones. An elderly person whose condition is not terminal should not refuse care merely to "leave more . . . resources [medical or otherwise] for younger people."
11.8.2010 | 12:19pm
David Mills says:
"Thank you for sharing" sounds trite, but in this case is true. A friend wrote me something I'd like to pass on:
--- When she died, in terrible pain, my mother had endured every humiliation of being treated like a helpless infant, which indeed, except for intellect, she had become. In one of her lucid moments she said : "I keep telling Him 'Thy will be done.'
She spent her whole life under that terrible and holy sentence. Widowed at 29, with two small children, she spent the rest of her life in hard work. But she was a proud woman, like many in that generation, who would never have considered receiving charity or "the dole."
She took nothing she couldn't earn, but in the end, discovered that this is how God prepares us for Heaven: some of us must literally becomes "as little children" and submit to charity. I think it's inevitable as the population ages, and it may be the most important lesson of all. As you say, we all want to remain in control, and it's not possible to be in control *and* be a child. Maybe that's the kind of "dignity" our Lord would approve. ---
--- When she died, in terrible pain, my mother had endured every humiliation of being treated like a helpless infant, which indeed, except for intellect, she had become. In one of her lucid moments she said : "I keep telling Him 'Thy will be done.'
She spent her whole life under that terrible and holy sentence. Widowed at 29, with two small children, she spent the rest of her life in hard work. But she was a proud woman, like many in that generation, who would never have considered receiving charity or "the dole."
She took nothing she couldn't earn, but in the end, discovered that this is how God prepares us for Heaven: some of us must literally becomes "as little children" and submit to charity. I think it's inevitable as the population ages, and it may be the most important lesson of all. As you say, we all want to remain in control, and it's not possible to be in control *and* be a child. Maybe that's the kind of "dignity" our Lord would approve. ---
11.8.2010 | 2:39pm
Diane says:
What a wonderful story.
My dad died 45 years ago today when I was 9. He was killed in a plane crash and I always wished he did not have to die without any of us with him.
My dad died 45 years ago today when I was 9. He was killed in a plane crash and I always wished he did not have to die without any of us with him.
11.8.2010 | 2:49pm
Richard says:
Joe the Human Person (if you're going to stick with this alias, I will use it):
1. Virtually all your initial posts on any First Things blog are critical, which reveals that your intentions are consistently hostile;
2. Your posts get uglier and uglier. This at least has the virtue of revealing the dismal ends to which your principles lead.
I have reached the point at which I can't read your comments without sadness.
Richard
1. Virtually all your initial posts on any First Things blog are critical, which reveals that your intentions are consistently hostile;
2. Your posts get uglier and uglier. This at least has the virtue of revealing the dismal ends to which your principles lead.
I have reached the point at which I can't read your comments without sadness.
Richard
11.8.2010 | 3:17pm
Fred says:
Richard, I would find JHP's comments sad if they were worth taking seriously. As it is, they are usually so obviously fallacious and shallowly contrarian that I find them more amusing than sad.
11.8.2010 | 3:31pm
Diane says:
My father-in -law passed away in 1994 of cancer. I took a leave from work so that he could remain at home to die. He was surrounded by his family, including his grandchildren. It was one of the most beautiful experiences I have ever had. Although we were sad at his passing, we remember his death and feel peaceful and hopeful because we were with him. It seems strange to saw that it was a beautiful experience, but it was. He had been given The Anointing of the Sick, Reconcilliation and the Eucharist before losing consciousness. I feel he left this world in great peace and in a spirit of love.
11.8.2010 | 4:19pm
John Hinshaw says:
My mother passed five years ago, also in hospice. This holy woman struggled with acceptance of God calling her as opposed to her own will. She ultimately, through the mercifully brief months of decline, accepted and, in so doing showed me how to die.
11.8.2010 | 8:21pm
r.p.mcm. says:
My Father suffered 7months in great pain. He never complained. On his last week my prayers were answered, he asked for a priest. That night as I helped give him his bath, he apologized in my ear,"Richard I'm sorry I stink. I shall nener know his courage. He is a hard act to follow. This all happened in 1972
I am now 67, and i pray courage is inhereted. /.............JMJ
I am now 67, and i pray courage is inhereted. /.............JMJ
11.8.2010 | 8:44pm
Michael S says:
As one who works in a community hospital and in critical care, I often feel bad when people die without the surrounding of family and friends. Often those who die alone usually die in the middle of the night. Catholics have a unique gift in that given enough time, a priest may offer Last Rights with the family around the dying patient. Most hospitals do not offer the services of an in-house minister of any variety, let alone a priest or sister.
11.8.2010 | 8:46pm
Paul E. says:
Thank you for this article. Fifteen years ago my father died in hospice from cancer. As your father did you, he left us a remarkable example of courage and patience I can only pray to emulate. Before he died, we all said the rosary aloud in the room. Then as I held one hand and my brother his other hand, his breaths slowly became faint until one last breath and he passed away.
During the day leading up to his death he had suffered the type of indignity you write of, and had lapsed into moaning and occasional incoherent speech. In the room with him alone, he tried to rise from the bed and it fell to me to manhandle him to return him to it. Incredibly, in the midst of this came a great silence and he looked me in the face and deliberately said, "I love you." These were my father's last words to me and his last and greatest gift to me.
The last six months on my dad's life were grueling and a great trial for the whole family, but in the midst of sometimes horror, sometimes revulsion and ever present sorrow, moments of great illumination and blessing arose. When I lost my dad, I lost my best friend. It took months for me to resume my life. Yet today, as not a day passes without my prayers for him and memories of him, I feel him with me in a more personal and intimate way. I know that all we endured offered me the strength and meaning I could have received in no other way.
During the day leading up to his death he had suffered the type of indignity you write of, and had lapsed into moaning and occasional incoherent speech. In the room with him alone, he tried to rise from the bed and it fell to me to manhandle him to return him to it. Incredibly, in the midst of this came a great silence and he looked me in the face and deliberately said, "I love you." These were my father's last words to me and his last and greatest gift to me.
The last six months on my dad's life were grueling and a great trial for the whole family, but in the midst of sometimes horror, sometimes revulsion and ever present sorrow, moments of great illumination and blessing arose. When I lost my dad, I lost my best friend. It took months for me to resume my life. Yet today, as not a day passes without my prayers for him and memories of him, I feel him with me in a more personal and intimate way. I know that all we endured offered me the strength and meaning I could have received in no other way.
11.8.2010 | 9:16pm
Bill Chip says:
I accept the Church's teaching on euthanasia, as I accept many conclusions at which I would not have arrived without the Church's guidance. However, consider a very elderly person who, because of dementia, lives a life of anxiety and confusion. Does it strike no one as odd that Catholics, who believe that this person is on the doorstep of eternal bliss, feel they are morally obliged to prolong her earthly agony, while atheists, who believe that the end of her life means extinction, seem almost nonchalant about bringing it to a close. In that respect, one might have expected each side would have ended up at the other's position.
11.8.2010 | 9:21pm
Mike M. says:
All of these stories show how much the survivors have suffered as well as those dying. Listening to either The Brahms or Mozart Requiems, or both, following the death of a love one has helped me greatly.
11.8.2010 | 10:47pm
Alan says:
I appreciate the article and the seriousness with which the moral issues are addressed. I struggle too, however, with the position. I find the prolongation of life somewhat problematic--we are not made for this world, and so one should not cling to it through whatever means medical science can devise. Also, the article states: "he expects you to suffer if you are given suffering and to put up with indignities if you are given indignities." But if one can use medical means to limit suffering and eliminate indignities, one does so. In sum, I find the issues continue to bedevil.
11.9.2010 | 9:28am
I had the experience of almost dying many times. One time in particular, I had gallbladder disease. The pain was excruciating and I kept throwing up until I couldn't any more. I went to the bathroom till I couldn't anymore. I laid there, about to go into surgery almost at the point of dying. Somehow, I felt such a sense of peace and lightness that I never knew before. I was facing my death but I was happy about it. Why? Because I had prayed to St. Benedict for a happy death. My mother and my brother were there, waiting for the surgery that would save my life. I must say it is important to have our loved ones there at times like that. Without their presence, I probably would have given up hope and died. I was blessed as your father was to have you there. I couldn't be with my mother when she died, and it makes me so angry; but the anger has now turned into peace, because I gave her the Blessed Virgin Mary before she went. Knowing she was in such capable hands, I let go of my mother and learned to accept her death. For weeks after that, I would call her phone number just to hear her voice on the answering machine. When the message was no longer there, I had to accept her death. While I almost killed myself over her, I am now willing to wait to see her again.
11.9.2010 | 2:57pm
Renate Mross says:
Thank you for a great article.
So many interesting comments .
Those who take care of the dying, a sometimes quiet difficult task, will
receive many graces. It is important to remember that they are very pleasing to God , a great act of charity.
Many years ago I read a book ( there is also an audio version) by
Sister Meaney ( Queenship publication) "On the Front lines"
It is a fantastic book and I learned from it what can be done at the "end of live"
no matter what the situation. I can highly recommend it.
It helped me to prepare for the times I spend at the bedside of the dying.
Also the powerful prayer of the "Chaplet of divine Mercy" particular if
the dying person has not received the "last rites", is not prepared to meet its maker or is of another faith.
Gods love for them our present and care
will be of great comfort to them, someone at their side who cares. despite the condition they are in, will give them Dignity.
So many interesting comments .
Those who take care of the dying, a sometimes quiet difficult task, will
receive many graces. It is important to remember that they are very pleasing to God , a great act of charity.
Many years ago I read a book ( there is also an audio version) by
Sister Meaney ( Queenship publication) "On the Front lines"
It is a fantastic book and I learned from it what can be done at the "end of live"
no matter what the situation. I can highly recommend it.
It helped me to prepare for the times I spend at the bedside of the dying.
Also the powerful prayer of the "Chaplet of divine Mercy" particular if
the dying person has not received the "last rites", is not prepared to meet its maker or is of another faith.
Gods love for them our present and care
will be of great comfort to them, someone at their side who cares. despite the condition they are in, will give them Dignity.
11.9.2010 | 8:42pm
Catharine says:
I cannot fathom why anyone seriously advocate terminating one's own life, or the life of another human being, even if said person is suffering from diminished capacities. Very recently I had it brought home to me just how important it is to allow God's will run its course to the very end.
My own mother, who was an on-and-off apostate from the Roman Catholic church, and from whom I was estranged over the last 10 years, died on Sept. 12. I had been praying for both her conversion and for reconciliation with her before she passed, but had been "getting" in that interior space that while reconciliation would not occur, that I should continue to pray and to offer for her conversion and salvation. (I found out the hard way that several of my siblings had been sabotaging my attempts to reconcile with my mother only after she had died.)
I received several voicemail messages from one of my brothers indicating that her condition was rapidly deteriorating. She had pneumonia which did not respond to antibiotics and for the last two days of her life had been in a deep coma. About 2 hours before she died, she suddenly woke up from both a deep coma and from some dementia, saw the priest at the foot of the bed giving her the last rites, and apparently it made a very great impression on her. (My brother has not been practicing the faith for at least 30 years himself, and he could not articulate any more than that; however, it did sound as though she received the grace of final penitence in those last 2 hours.)
My mother died about 2 hours later. I take this as confirmation that all of those years of praying and offering for her intention brought forth good fruit, even if only 2 hours before she passed.
If someone had taken it upon him/herself to euthanize her, would it not have possibly made all the difference in her salvation? Who can possibly say definitively or not? I believe it made all the difference for her.
My own mother, who was an on-and-off apostate from the Roman Catholic church, and from whom I was estranged over the last 10 years, died on Sept. 12. I had been praying for both her conversion and for reconciliation with her before she passed, but had been "getting" in that interior space that while reconciliation would not occur, that I should continue to pray and to offer for her conversion and salvation. (I found out the hard way that several of my siblings had been sabotaging my attempts to reconcile with my mother only after she had died.)
I received several voicemail messages from one of my brothers indicating that her condition was rapidly deteriorating. She had pneumonia which did not respond to antibiotics and for the last two days of her life had been in a deep coma. About 2 hours before she died, she suddenly woke up from both a deep coma and from some dementia, saw the priest at the foot of the bed giving her the last rites, and apparently it made a very great impression on her. (My brother has not been practicing the faith for at least 30 years himself, and he could not articulate any more than that; however, it did sound as though she received the grace of final penitence in those last 2 hours.)
My mother died about 2 hours later. I take this as confirmation that all of those years of praying and offering for her intention brought forth good fruit, even if only 2 hours before she passed.
If someone had taken it upon him/herself to euthanize her, would it not have possibly made all the difference in her salvation? Who can possibly say definitively or not? I believe it made all the difference for her.
11.10.2010 | 1:38pm
Ursula says:
I understand Joe the Human's point , "diverting medical resources..." Refusing treatment is one thing, especially when one has not long to live.
A friend of mine who's daughter had diabetes and was on dialysis for several years, waiting for a kidney, but who's condition was deteriorating where she lost her sight, had a leg amputated, was retaining water and was just going downhill, decided to stop the dialysis, and just accepted that it was time. She died a week later, at peace.
Before the advent of all of the marvels of medicine, people did what they do in third world countries - the survival of the fittest. If a baby was born prematurely, it was certainly going to die - that was life. My mother suffered a miscarriage, lost the baby back in the 50's. My husband's mother lost several babies born prematurely - it was life. Now a days, we spend millions on preemies. Some would say, "I don't care about the cost, I just want my baby to live." Well, why is it in industrialized countries this can happen, yet in third world countries, people accept the fact that their lives or their children's lives may be cut short? What makes us so special that we have to have all of the technological advances in medicines and surgery to keep us alive when throughout most of the world it is non-existent to a greater degree?
Why do we tell people to donate their organs so others can live? Why is it that we cannot accept what God has given us, and if fails, that is part of life also?
We have a moral responsibility to take care of ourselves, by what we eat, drink, how we work, and avoiding risks to the body that could cause harm to the body. Yes, some people are born with disabilities, but that is not a reason to terminate their lives because they have serious medical problems. People with cancer (God bless them, my husband included) are grateful for the treatment they receive. They are made comfortable, and many do not go to extraordinary means to survive. Is it a drain on the medical resources? Perhaps, and that is why there has to be an awareness of just how far one goes to advance his or her life. If we let go and let nature take its course, death with dignity is present. Making those who are dying comfortable is meaningful, respectful and is not burdensome. Injecting them with poison or helping them die is never ever morally acceptable.
In a column from Divine Mercy Times, Patrick Canning, BD, wrote the following "Euthanasia Today" and I quote,
" Recounting the Passion of Christ and all that was suffered by our Savior, and employing the arguments of secular moralists, Christ could have been given a cup of poison to drink instead of undergoing the rejection, mocking, scourging, ad tortuous crucifixion. It could have been a quick and easy death. After all, Jesus still could have risen from the dead and ascended to His Father in Heaven, What would have been lost by a short cut to the Cross, or an outright avoidance of it altogether? If the Son of God was allowed to undergo all the extremes of torture, as well as His mother who also suffered as her Son was crucified on the cross, suffering has to have some meaning. Every drop of suffering had to undergone for the atonement of all sin for all time. Suffering had a redemptive quality; the suffering of Christ pried open the gates of heaven...Some may argue that Jesus died a horrible death to atone for our sins, but why should we have to suffer? Why can't we have an easy life, and especially an easy death(euthanasia)...Our Blessed Mother stood at the foot of the Cross; did she grab the spear of Longinus to thrust it into Her Son to quickly put him out of His misery?....Jesus did not promise an easy life or death for His followers. He said, "If any man would com after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me." (Mk 8:34)....Therefore those who do not follow Christ or His Church will not see suffering in any positive way at all, but rather as something to be avoided at all costs. It is easy to play God when one does not acknowledge the existence of God and the claims of His sovereignty over life and death......"(Patrick Canning BD. Hons; MTh.)
Why should anyone take "the easy way out" when we have Our Savior as an example to follow?
A friend of mine who's daughter had diabetes and was on dialysis for several years, waiting for a kidney, but who's condition was deteriorating where she lost her sight, had a leg amputated, was retaining water and was just going downhill, decided to stop the dialysis, and just accepted that it was time. She died a week later, at peace.
Before the advent of all of the marvels of medicine, people did what they do in third world countries - the survival of the fittest. If a baby was born prematurely, it was certainly going to die - that was life. My mother suffered a miscarriage, lost the baby back in the 50's. My husband's mother lost several babies born prematurely - it was life. Now a days, we spend millions on preemies. Some would say, "I don't care about the cost, I just want my baby to live." Well, why is it in industrialized countries this can happen, yet in third world countries, people accept the fact that their lives or their children's lives may be cut short? What makes us so special that we have to have all of the technological advances in medicines and surgery to keep us alive when throughout most of the world it is non-existent to a greater degree?
Why do we tell people to donate their organs so others can live? Why is it that we cannot accept what God has given us, and if fails, that is part of life also?
We have a moral responsibility to take care of ourselves, by what we eat, drink, how we work, and avoiding risks to the body that could cause harm to the body. Yes, some people are born with disabilities, but that is not a reason to terminate their lives because they have serious medical problems. People with cancer (God bless them, my husband included) are grateful for the treatment they receive. They are made comfortable, and many do not go to extraordinary means to survive. Is it a drain on the medical resources? Perhaps, and that is why there has to be an awareness of just how far one goes to advance his or her life. If we let go and let nature take its course, death with dignity is present. Making those who are dying comfortable is meaningful, respectful and is not burdensome. Injecting them with poison or helping them die is never ever morally acceptable.
In a column from Divine Mercy Times, Patrick Canning, BD, wrote the following "Euthanasia Today" and I quote,
" Recounting the Passion of Christ and all that was suffered by our Savior, and employing the arguments of secular moralists, Christ could have been given a cup of poison to drink instead of undergoing the rejection, mocking, scourging, ad tortuous crucifixion. It could have been a quick and easy death. After all, Jesus still could have risen from the dead and ascended to His Father in Heaven, What would have been lost by a short cut to the Cross, or an outright avoidance of it altogether? If the Son of God was allowed to undergo all the extremes of torture, as well as His mother who also suffered as her Son was crucified on the cross, suffering has to have some meaning. Every drop of suffering had to undergone for the atonement of all sin for all time. Suffering had a redemptive quality; the suffering of Christ pried open the gates of heaven...Some may argue that Jesus died a horrible death to atone for our sins, but why should we have to suffer? Why can't we have an easy life, and especially an easy death(euthanasia)...Our Blessed Mother stood at the foot of the Cross; did she grab the spear of Longinus to thrust it into Her Son to quickly put him out of His misery?....Jesus did not promise an easy life or death for His followers. He said, "If any man would com after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me." (Mk 8:34)....Therefore those who do not follow Christ or His Church will not see suffering in any positive way at all, but rather as something to be avoided at all costs. It is easy to play God when one does not acknowledge the existence of God and the claims of His sovereignty over life and death......"(Patrick Canning BD. Hons; MTh.)
Why should anyone take "the easy way out" when we have Our Savior as an example to follow?
11.12.2010 | 6:58am
Frank Freeman says:
Beautiful essay, David. I think you get to the core of the issue of much of the health issues today, that is, our wanting to play God. I once had dinner with a doctor who told me she had to play God all the time and she said it with a shrug and I thought, boy, oh boy. We didn't have dinner again. We do these things--death with dignity, IVF, et. al.--because we can and because we figure if God's not doing it, then it's okay if we do. And it is a cross to have to accept our limitations, to let God be God, but it's also the only human thing to do. Thanks for writing this.
I know I'll face what you faced one day with both parents. I pray and hope to postpone it as long as possible.
Though gone from this life, those we lose move on to eternal life, which we hope to share.