A Wake-Up Call to Live

“Just as the elephant leaves the biggest footprint in the jungle, so does death when it comes to living.” Until recently, this quote of the Buddha’s meant little to me. I pushed away thoughts of death with the same repugnance as spoiled food. Now, I believe he was right.

As a child, I remember my mother explaining life in simple terms. One example was “Don’t hit. It hurts other children and they won’t like you.” Not difficult to understand, and on the playground I saw the immediate consequences when I chose to ignore her advice.

But as I grew older, my understanding of life became more complicated. I added qualifiers, found exceptions and developed self-serving rationalizations. “Don’t hit, unless you’re in a situation where verbal confrontations can’t be substituted for physical aggression. And then, even if it is required, be sure you position yourself for an adequate defense.”

What happened to the simplicity of the lesson? What happened to the kernel of truth that’s still appropriate fifty years after it was given? It became hidden under layers of complexity, just like my life. But that changed when I became a hospice volunteer.

When I’m with a person who’s dying, something mystical happens. As death approaches, life for them becomes simple, and once again I feel as if my mother is instructing me on how to live. Knowing they have fewer words left than is contained in a newspaper, speech is selective, containing few superfluous thoughts, and no hidden agendas. In their place is honesty, so pure, it takes my breath away.

Despite being with over 70 people who died, each new experience still grabs me and says, “Listen, what you are about to witness is important.” And I do listen. I learned acceptance as I tearfully watched a mother cradle her terminally ill newborn during a surprise party on Mother’s Day. Compassion, as I fed a dying AIDS patient no longer able to hold a fork.

Gratitude, in the gentle kiss of a man with ALS as I helped him prepare to die. Joy, watching tears flow from a musician listening to a Gregg concerto for the last time. And grief, watching a child playing Shoots and Ladders with me, both of us knowing this might be our last time together.

As I serve those who are dying, I’ve come to understand the past is irrelevant, the future may not happen, and only the present matters. My friends take me gently by the hand, and as my mother did, show me life exists only in the moment. It’s a lesson I’m using as I battle prostate cancer. The closeness of death gave me a wake-up call to live.

The Buddha was correct. Death does provide the greatest lessons for living — all I had to do was listen.