On Dying

In recent months I have lost two people very close to my heart. In both cases I was afforded the blessing of meaningful time spent with the dying person I cherished. I was given a last and lasting gift of intimacy, soulful discussion and heartfelt, mutual expressions of love and gratitude.

So I sat in rapt attention when on a gentle evening, as relatives and friends gathered in familiar pose and conversation on our porch, the subject turned rather suddenly to the best way to die. The question was specific in its intensity. “How would you like to experience your own death?”

Over bottles of wine and candlelight we took turns articulating the pros and cons of the myriad ways any one of us might experience our own death. It was not entirely morbid. One friend suggested that she would like to die suddenly and quickly, without warning, ideally after a spectacularly joyful celebration. Another suggested that he would prefer to have as much time as possible with the knowledge of a terminal illness in order to make amends, to thank his friends and family, and to be intentional about giving away everything he possessed. Another was certain that dying in her sleep, peacefully, at the end of a long life is the most desirable. And so the conversation ensued until the oldest at the table, my father, turned to the youngest at the table, my thirteen-year-old daughter.

“Sophie, you have been very quiet and very attentive, but you have not yet volunteered an answer. Do you have an opinion on the way you would most like to die?”

Everything became still and silent. I held my breath. Too late I wondered if she was too young for such deep, existential, potentially distressing discourse. Perhaps she had never seriously considered the matter.

Now at the center of everyone’s attention, aware that a response was being asked of her, she replied very simply, “Yes. I hope I die saving someone else’s life.”

Sometimes it is the youngest at the table who offers the greatest perspective.