DOING,-- HAVING,-- BEING,-- WHEN STARING DEATH IN THE FACE
There is nothing like the diagnosis of a life-threatening illness that suddenly puts into focus the essence of those three words: being,-- having,--doing! Maybe one’s whole lifetime, a person has defined herself or himself by what she or he does or accomplishes, and as a result, by what he or she can buy, possess or have.
As youth, we identify ourselves as “a student,” or “an athlete.” Grown up, we hear “I am a teacher,”-- “I am a carpenter,”—“I operate a business,”—“My line of work is sales,” –etc., etc.. We appear to define ourselves as adults by what we do, have done or plan to do. How many times have you or I met someone for the first time at a gathering and we ask or are asked, “What do you do?”
When one is told that one’s life may come to an end sooner than later, then the big questions one asks oneself often take this form: “What is my relationship with the people that surround me? Did my life have a purpose or any meaning? Does it matter that I ever even lived at all?” These, dear reader, are the big questions of doing, having, being!
Never will I forget the summer of 1989. Three weeks after breast cancer surgery, I resumed a small part-time job as a reading consultant for an educational firm. I took a bus several miles to and from work. That summer, I did not catch up on reading, as I was accustomed to in prior commuting jaunts. Instead, I just sat in the bus and stared at July and August gardens, ablaze with the colors of gladiolas, zinnias, clematis, hydrangeas and garden-variety geraniums. These northeastern gardens soothed my soul. For all I knew, that summer might be my last summer to soak up the beauty they presented me.
Doing, (catching up on reading chores), had been eclipsed by experiencing, and just being in the presence of those gardens. In my own garden at home, every plant, every vegetable or flower was precious to behold, a kind of wonder I hadn’t stopped to savor previously. And I stopped “to smell” a lot of “roses” that same summer.
About this time, I remembered reading about a young woman dying in a hospice in England. All she wanted, as death drew near, was to experience the feeling of velvet near her face, and the smell of gardenias close to her pillow. Experiencing, being totally present to something or to somebody gains infinite precedence over what one can yet accomplish or what one has already achieved.
You might say of your life, --before disease or accident or injury,-- that it was prosaic,. like a well organized essay with a beginning, middle and end, clearly building to meaning, paragraph after paragraph. But with death imminent, your life now becomes a poem, wherein you cut to the chase for meaning, in terse moments, captured instants, few words but deep essences caught and held. Sir William Osler puts it this way: “Nothing will sustain you more potently than the power to recognize in your humdrum routine,…..the true poetry of life.”
And what of having? In our consumerism-driven society, do we not put a value on ourselves by what we are able to purchase, consume and display? Otherwise, why do we make the contradistinction between “the haves” and “the have-nots?” When life is threatened, whether by a disease process or by far-reaching events such as those of September 11, 2001, or the crash of the financial markets this past September of 2008, then having assumes a new character. Across the United States after 9-11, folks made decisions not to put off enjoyment of what they had, but to use it for “everyday,” instead of saving for the irregular “special occasions.”
These words came across the Internet from an anonymous 83-year-old: “I’m not ‘saving’ anything; -- we use our good china and crystal for every special event, such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first amaryllis blossom…..I’m not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank. I’m trying very hard not to put off, hold back or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives.”
I’ve taken a page from this wise woman’s counsel. Now Jean Patou’s JOY, one of the world’s most elegant perfumes that I own, I use, not on the former “rare occasions,” but frequently. I’ve moved that perfume bottle to the front of the dressing table. “To have” is not “to hold” onto but to use.
In the light of the current financial disaster, losses of stocks, retirement funds, jobs and careers, younger generations than ours, are having to reassess what real worth means. Is it in things or is it in who I am or how can I live a life full of meaning in these dire circumstances? Believe me, the losses enumerated above are “the little deaths” all human beings can expect in their lifetimes.
“Doing,” too, changes in meaning, as death approaches with certainty. Whatever we have accumulated in the way of accomplishments and achievements, important and commendable as they may be, these now take a back-seat to simply “doing life.” We may become like “tourists” in our own life, experiencing living with a keen sense of urgency. A travel writer once pointed to the fact that tourists, with limited time frames, know for sure that their time is limited, so they get around to see, to experience and to enjoy a whole lot in a very brief time.
For that matter, “looking death in the face” bestows new dimensions to our concept of time passing. The Greeks have beautifully descriptive terms for the contrasted aspects of time. Our calendars and clocks count and measure time in quantity of life; that is chronos. But time, in terms of kairos, denotes the texture and richness of the contents of experience. Now we are talking about “quality of life.”
“Quality of life” means life just doesn’t happen to us or overtake us. “Quality of life” points to being discriminating, taking charge, being able to discern and prioritize among given choices. Given a poor prognosis or life-threatening diagnosis, choice making gets easier, I assure you.
First there are those creative choices, such as: tidying up affairs, tying up loose ends in life, saying things that need to be said, writing things that need to be written, taping words that need to be preserved, perhaps bequeathing treasured items before one dies. My mother-in-law, with her dozens of grandchildren, managed to tape the name of each child to the back of an item she wanted that child to have after her death.
Then there are the experiential choices like controlling one’s own immediate environment and daily schedule. A person can elect to surround himself or herself with all the loved persons and objects: favorite pictures, plants, flowers, music and books, etc..
Who can ever forget John F. Kennedy, Jr., standing in front of his mother Jackie’s apartment house the morning after her death, and exclaiming with great poise and dignity, “My mother died surrounded by those people she loved and her beloved books,”?
Finally there are those attitudinal choices as death approaches very near. One can choose to hope for a gentle death free of pain. One can choose to hope that after death, “I will be lovingly remembered.” And one can choose to be grateful for “whatever has been.”
Quality of life at the end-time of one’s life can mean you might exhibit the following “Symptoms of Inner Peace:” (author unknown) –
There, you have it – this elderly woman’s observations on being, having, doing versus present-day society’s reverse emphasis on doing, having, being. The common denominator for each of these words is meaningfulness. What does it mean to do, to have, to be?
Perhaps author Joseph Campbell sums up the answer most succinctly. He says, “I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.” Fully alive, that is. Or as St. Iraneus would say, “The Glory of God is man [and woman] fully alive!”
So, as we have finished the first month of 2009 and say “hello” to a brand new month, Cliff and I want to offer this beautiful and universal toast in your behalf: “L’CHAIM – TO LIFE!”
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