Transitioning Out of Life

Death is a subject that has often been on my mind because it began visiting the course of my life relatively early, losing a grandmother at 13, my mother at 19, my only brother at 23 when my eldest son was only thre weeks old, and since then, so many, so many more that have been important in my life.

So it was with great interest that I have been reading a series in the New York Times about the subject of the transition and how to deal with it:

• Months to Live: Fighting for a Last Chance at Life - VIRGINIA BEACH — As Lou Gehrig’s disease sapped Joshua Thompson of his ability to move and speak last fall, he consistently summoned one question from within the prison of his own body. “Iplex,” he asked, in a whisper that pierced his mother’s heart. “When?” Read more.


• Months to Live: Sisters Face Death With Dignity and Reverence - PITTSFORD, N.Y. — Gravely ill with heart disease, tethered to an oxygen tank, her feet swollen and her appetite gone, Sister Dorothy Quinn, 87, readied herself to die in the nursing wing of the Sisters of St. Joseph convent where she has been a member since she was a teenager. Read more


• Months to Live: At the End, Offering Not a Cure but Comfort - This is the third article in a series on the promises and challenges of extending, or ending, the lives of very ill patients. Read more

And this article, that does not form part of the series, nevertheless adds to it:

• Doctor and Patient: Talking Often, and Calmly, About Dying

And here you can join the online discussion at the NY Times Talking to Patients About Life's End

Meditation

A recent article in the New York Times about meditation caught my attention because of the sharply honest manner in which the author, Robert Wright, describes his mainly negative perceptions - at the beginning - of a retreat in the Vipassana tradition.

He writes:

"This Friday I’m heading up to rural Massachusetts in hopes of getting born again — again.

Six years ago, in the same locale, I attended my first and only silent meditation retreat. It was just about the most amazing experience of my life. Certainly it seemed more dramatic than my very first born-again experience — my response to a southern Baptist altar call as a child, which I wrote about in this space last month.

I came away from that week feeling I had found a new kind of happiness, deeper than the kind I’d always pursued. I also came away a better person — just ask my wife. (And neither of those things lasted — just ask my wife.)

So with the retreat approaching, I should be as eager as a kid on Christmas Eve, right? Well, no. Meditation retreats — at this place, at least — are no picnic. You don’t follow your bliss. You learn not to follow your bliss, to let your bliss follow you. And you learn this arduously. If at the end you feel like you’re leaving Shangri-La, that’s because the beginning felt like Guantanamo.

We spent 5.5 hours per day in sitting meditation, 5.5 hours per day in walking meditation. By day three I was feeling achy, far from nirvana and really, really sick of the place. "

Read the entire article here