I’m Ready to Fly

Mark Twain once quipped, “I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.” Not all of us can approach death with such a cavalier attitude. For many of us the thought of leaving this world creates anxiety, if not fear.

Few of us are like Socrates who talked casually with his friends as the poison slowly made its way to his heart. When asked why he could remain so stoic with his demise only hours away, he philosophically replied that in death he would either simply lose consciousness, falling into a deep and eternal sleep, or he would wake in a place of true justice. He was at peace with either possibility.

During my years as a pastor I was called upon numerous times to minister to patients who were in the throes of death. Sometimes the patients were unconscious, and I spent time with their grieving family, trying to comfort and console them. Finding the right words to say to those faced with losing a loved one can be extremely challenging. Just quoting Scripture or offering feel-good bromides can sometimes do more harm than good. People trapped in a crucible of suffering can see through insincerity but can find comfort in people who genuinely care. I learned that when words failed to soothe, sometimes just sitting quietly with the dying or grieving may offer the most precious gift we can give.

There were other times, however, when patients were awake and knew that death was imminent. These people often asked questions, such as “What will it be like to die?” or “Will I see God?” or“Why am I so afraid?” On occasion patients with only a short time to live asked me to stay with them, to hold their hand, pray with them. They didn’t want to die alone.

Death is inevitable. Because death awaits all of us, I think it is important to think about how we will face this mystery while we are still healthy, when death appears still in the distant future. I don’t think we should dwell on death and forget to live, but when we acknowledge our mortality and spend time thinking about our final hours on this earth, we may come to appreciate how to be better stewards of life. To ignore the fact that some day we will die may lull us into thinking that time is no object, that we have more than enough to do all the things we want. Too often I have struggled to comfort the dying when death intruded unexpectedly into their lives and caught them totally unprepared.  It is certain that we will die and thinking in advance how we want to face those moments better prepares us for its inevitability.

Recently, I learned of a young physician who specializes in helping people cope with serious illnesses, which can sometimes turn terminal. Dr. Sunita Puri’s job is to make sure patients are comfortable and not in pain after undergoing invasive medical procedures. In her book, That Good Night: Life and Medicine in the Eleventh Hour, she shares from personal experience how she tries to provide comfort for patients whose prognoses are often bleak. She writes, “Life is temporary. Suffering is far worse than death. Death can be beautiful, just like birth.”

Puri’s work with seriously sick patients has taught her that there are far worse things than death. People who suffer for prolonged periods of time, sometimes for months or even years, welcome death as a friend. Her honesty and compassion for her patients struck me as spiritual in nature. She observes the Hindu religion, but I thought to myself as I read her book, if I were experiencing unabated pain or terminally ill, I would want her or someone like her to be my physician, even though I do not share her religious belief. There are no religious boundaries when it comes to love, compassion, and care.

Puri tells of a young woman, Alice, who had lymphoma and required a ventilator to stay alive. The medical team had done everything they knew how to do to help this mid-thirty something woman to get back on her feet. But all their treatment options failed to put the lymphoma into remission.

Finally, Dr. Puri had to break the news to Alice that medicine could do no more. Alice desperately wanted to live, wanted to play with her dog, play more music, cook dinner for friends but for weeks she had grown weaker and weaker. When Dr. Puri informed Alice that there were no more medical treatments available, Alice was disappointed but not surprised. A ventilator rendered her unable to speak so she wrote on a white board, “I am ready to fly.” Alice was ready to leave her body behind and move forward. It was a beautiful statement of courage and faith, but also a tribute to Dr. Puri who over the previous days and weeks had, with great sensitivity, prepared Alice for death.

Doctors, as a rule, work to keep people alive, yet there are times when medical technology can no longer heal, but only prolong suffering, and that is when physicians like Dr. Puri can step in. Palliative care medicine helps allow patients who are beyond getting well to live and die with dignity and grace.

In death we place our lives in the hands of God. It is our greatest and final act of faith. What happens after we die is out of our control. Death is our ultimate surrender.

We should not fixate on death, but neither should we ignore the fact that life is transitory—I am going to die and so are you. Death crosses my mind from time to time, and I catch myself thinking about how I want to face this mystery. But by being aware of my short time on this earth, I also think about how I want to live every day, to cherish each moment, to treat people the way I want to be treated. And when my time comes for me to say good-bye, I hope I can say with Alice, “I’m ready to fly!”