Making Friends with Death
At a recent workshop, well-known Ashtanga yoga teacher Richard Freeman was demonstrating some variations on the pose known as “upward dog.” After showing off several rather bendy versions, he illustrated one that featured little more than a raised head. “Don’t be alarmed if this is all you can do,” he said. “Eventually, we will all be reduced to this posture.” And then he delivered a great quote: “Even if you practice yoga every day, you will still grow old and die.”
Hard as it may be to accept this, it’s true. Eventually, no matter what we do, no matter how well we take care of ourselves, we will all, in time, come to be no more—at least on this earthly plane.
Moreover, for most of us, our deaths will be preceded by a period of descent, during which our bodies, and perhaps our minds, too, will fail in any number of ways. Understandably, this is a scary prospect and not something we’re likely to look forward to, but on the other hand, the inevitable path to our demise offers unprecedented opportunities for self-discovery and emotional growth.
As our days run out and the time remaining becomes more precious, we are likely to be more courageous in expressing ourselves with authenticity and wholeheartedness. We will probably have less patience for halfway measures and postponements. Chances are, we won’t put up with situations or people that waste the precious moments we have remaining.
Everyone is familiar with the scenario of a person on his or her deathbed finally revealing some long-hidden secret or expressing an unexpressed sentiment for a family member or friend. While this makes for great drama, it also seems rather sad. Who wants to be dying before letting one’s loved ones know they are loved?
It seems preferable, therefore, to get started on the project of personal revelation as soon as possible. We want to use whatever time we have left—especially as it dwindles—to say the things we’ve always wanted to say, do the things we’ve always dreamed of doing, and be the person we had always hoped we’d become.
And frankly, the only way to do that is to do it. We’ve got to accept the fact that our time is limited and use that to remove limits from ourselves. In this way, we do what Richard has called “making friends with death.” We draw upon the knowledge that we’re all dying—slowly but surely—to impel us forward to the full expression of who we are.
“Life is too short” goes the old adage, but that’s only part of it. In addition, death is far too long for lives not to have been used by us to the utmost. A Buddhist admonition goes: “Let me respectfully remind you; life and death are of supreme importance. Time passes swiftly and opportunity is lost. Awaken! Take heed. Do not squander your life.”
While the exact nature of squandering one’s life may be open to interpretation, it’s certain that one common feature would be the belief that it has been squandered. If we end up looking back upon our life and feeling that we’ve wasted it, then in all likelihood, we have. On the contrary, even if we haven’t accomplished all that we might have hoped for—even if we haven’t won a Nobel Prize and secured world peace and environmental sustainability—then if our assessment of how we’ve lived is positive, then what further proof do we need?
When Dave’s mom was diagnosed with lung cancer at age 79, her doctor laid it on the line with her. “You’re no spring chicken,” he said, “so anything we might do in the way of treatment is unlikely to make that much of a difference.”
“Oh hell,” she responded. “I’m an old lady, and I’ve done everything I’ve really ever wanted to in life. My kids are grown and can take care of themselves without me. I’m going to enjoy the time I have left at home, on my couch, reading and relaxing, not here in the hospital being pumped full of drugs just to live a little longer.”
Dave, who was with his mom in the doctor’s office at the time, was devastated by the prognosis, but couldn’t help but be even more moved by his mother’s response. There was no denying she was right and her courage in choosing her own course of action was completely in keeping with her character.
Reflecting on that experience some years later, Dave says, “In so many ways, my mom taught me how to live; in that moment, and the months that followed until she passed away, my mom also gave me great insight in how to die.”
A true expression of legacy indeed.