Contemplating Death: Lessons from my Nanna

Here’s the truth: You are going to die.

So will everyone you love. 

It sounds pessimistic, doesn’t it? But, it is the nature of the world.

As a paramedic, I have seen many, many deaths, perhaps far more than the average human should. 

I’ve seen just as many people grieving, in the wake of their loved one’s passings.

After my Nanna’s recent death, I couldn’t help but contemplate the way some people handle the truth with grace and ease, while others tighten against it.

The real question is, which one are you?

Two weeks ago my Nanna, who was 93 years old, suffered a large stroke. At first, the doctors thought she would be transferred to a nursing home. She could barely speak, and had one sided paralysis and the inability to swallow. Then, as more CT scan results came in, it became clear that damage was worse than first thought.

She only had days to live.

Quickly, her breathing became difficult, and the staff increased her palliative medication until she fell into unconsciousness. After a few heart-wrenching hours, she drew her last breath. I wasn’t present, but she was surrounded by many of our loving family.

That night, I had listened to my mother’s sadness on the phone. Her tears were interspersed with some hearty laughter as she told me of the good-natured jokes they had made about which of Nanna’s two husband’s she’d end up with in heaven.

There was grief, for sure, but also acceptance, and plenty of heart-wide-open love. 

Many years ago, when I was back in California, I was working on the ambulance with a girl named Jenny. We were called to the scene of a 96 year old woman who was found unconscious in her bed.

We entered a large and manicured home where a middle aged woman, presumably the woman’s daughter, was screaming, crying, running up and down the hallway. She was so unconsolable she couldn’t even take us to her mother’s room.

She ignored us, still screaming, as we went door to door looking for the woman. We found her, inside an enormous sunlit bedroom. She was lying in an oversized bed decorated with a crisp floral duvet, her white sheets pulled up cosily around her stiffened shoulders. Her face was ashen and at peace.

As I said, I’ve seen many, many deaths, and I can tell you that this one was about as good as they get: Ninety-six years old, still living at home, passing away in your sleep.

Yet the daughter was screaming, running and crying out “No, no, no, no!” as if the death was a great shock. She was running through the house, hitting walls, threatening us to do something for her mother.

I’ve tried my best, all these years, not to judge that woman. We all have the right to grieve in our own unique way, and each individual process should be respected. Yet experiencing the harmonious, loving and respectful way my own family grieved my sweet Nanna’s death brought that memory back to life. It was a stark contrast to the level of denial that woman had for her mother’s inevitable and timely passing, and that way seemed very painful.

Through-out the last two weeks, first during Nana’s death and then through the funeral, there were many expressions of gratitude from our family: for the way they all got to say goodbye and for how great a life Nanna had lived. Each voice, while sad, would lift as it recalled fun memories of their life together.

The screaming woman, on the other hand, was not able to be present for her mothers passing, her heart incapable of staying open amidst the immensity of her own suffering.

Over the years, I have seen “healthy” grief, where family members bring each other tea and check in on one another. I have seen wildly unhealthy reactions, where family members fight for the centre of attention while their loved one’s lie motionless, and already forgotten, in the room next door.  Fully grown humans yelling things like, “I’m better at talking than you Jim, so I’ll call Sally: She likes me more anyway”.

(Yes. Really. That happened). 

So here we are again, back at the truth: we are all going to die.

The question is, when the moment comes, who do you want to be? 

That woman, screaming and running down the halls of her house, completely traumatised?

Or would you like to be the one that sits quietly, your heart open, taking in all that is blessed about the loss before you. Your heart open enough to be there for the full experience.

I was on a silent retreat when I fist heard a line from the Buddha’s Five Contemplations, “Everything and everyone I love will eventually be separated from me.”

“Jiminy Cricket,” I thought (ok, those were not the words I thought, but I vowed to honour my Nanna’s devout faith and not blaspheme here), “that’s a little pessimistic!”.

The lesson was on impermanence, which is the Buddhist word to describe the changing nature of all things. In a nutshell, the teaching explains how so much of the suffering we experience in life is from being in denial of this fundamental truth that all things come and go.

The buddha taught that when we can frequently contemplate the nature of existence, impermanence, and death, we can find joy and freedom.

We take a little pessimism now, so we can have the peace later.

One of the ways we can do this is by saying the Buddha’s Five Contemplation’s every day, and I wanted to offer them to you today. This is a version that I like from the great teacher and monk, Thich Nhat Hanh:

 I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

 I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.

I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

To me, this contemplation is powerful. It shows me that even though the world is uncontrollable and all kinds of awful things can and do happen, that we can rest in the truth of it. We’re not surprised when bad things happen, nor do we wander around shocked and victimised by reality.

I mostly love the last line, as it is where we discover that we actually do have power and control, because we get to decide how we will respond. As Victor Frankl says in his famous book, Man’s Search For Meaning…

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” 

If you are constantly seeking perfection and pleasure, then I think you will find that life, and death, is always getting in the way.

But if you choose instead to seek the truth of life and death, then perfection and pleasure are already yours.

Nanna with two of her daughters: Suzette (left) and my Mum Andrea (right)

Rest in Peace Marie Beach-Martens, who left an entire love-filled empire: 

Ten children

Thirty-nine grandchildren

Fifty-eight great grandchildren

Six great-great grandchildren

Now we all smile and wave to you, knowing you are the lucky one: For you get to be with your real beloved’s now: The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit… (And not one, but two, delighted husbands).

 How have you experienced death? Leave a comment below to let us know…