Leaning into Dying

 I knocked gently on her door, and a weak but welcoming voice called out, “Bob, is that you?” 

“Yep, it’s me,” I replied. 

“Come on in; I’ve been expecting you.” 

I opened the door and found Margaret in her oversized recliner, where she had spent most of her days since her last surgery. Her life was within easy reach from that chair. Cancer had taken most of her energy, but Margaret lived her life with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. I looked forward to my weekly visits.

As a Hospice chaplain, I had the opportunity to meet some extraordinary people like Margaret. With only a few months left, she was determined to enjoy every single day. She taught me the meaning of “Leaning into dying!”

Margaret was not religious, but she had her unique way of looking at things. And her beliefs served her well in these difficult days. She was not interested in talking about an afterlife. But she was very interested in talking about her life in the present. She loved living and knew that her days were limited. And so, she did her best to lean into the headwinds of her dying. In doing so, she found the joy that each new day offered.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“I had a rough night, but the nurse took care of me.”  After a pause, she added, “Y’all said you would take care of me. And she did last night.”  Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m good! And now I have a whole new day to enjoy!”

“Leaning in” is the opposite of “leaning away” or resisting. Margaret refused to spend her last few days fighting against the inevitable. She believed that fighting a disease that would win was a massive waste of time—leaning away from the unavoidable made things worse. But leaning in allowed her to embrace the new dawn.

In hospice, many patients were afraid of dying. They feared the dying. They feared the pain that came with the disease process. They feared the helplessness and the burden they placed on their families. Many could not bear to see grief in their spouse's or children’s eyes.

Other patients were afraid of being dead. They were afraid of being dead! Some were afraid of living life in the eternal torture of a burning Hell. Others were afraid of the uncertainty over whether there was an afterlife. These fears included missing their family and friends who would be left behind and the unfulfilled hopes and dreams.

But Margaret did not fear dying. She trusted the hospice staff to keep her comfortable. That trust allowed her to hope for a good day every morning. She visited with her family and friends. She watched her documentaries and sitcoms. She enjoyed her memories. In short, she loved living too much to fear dying.

Nor did she fear being dead. She had accepted the afterlife as an open and unanswerable question. And she refused to let the unknown destroy her hope. She preferred to focus on what she knew. So, she chose to lean into each new day with a living, breathing hope and claim her legacy.

The afterlife was an unfathomable mystery, but she knew about eternity. Her ancestors deserved to be remembered. She was responsible to those who would remain and those who would come after. That was all the eternity she needed. She learned from her ancestors and hoped to leave something good in the world to her descendants. That hope gave her the ability to bounce back after a difficult night or a setback. Her resilience in living and dying helped those around her to live well, especially when an ill wind blew. She was determined to die as well as she had lived, which would be her legacy.

Margaret was with us for a few months. She unwrapped each new day like a special gift. When the disease took her ability to wake up, Margaret rested easily in her dying. After so many months of practice, she was not afraid. Her dying was a gentle slipping-away. She embraced all that she had learned and discovered. She prepared her family well, and she taught this chaplain a thing or two about dying as she leaned into the headwinds and celebrated every day of her living.

RIP, Margaret. You did good!