That was Zen (That was Zen), This is Tao. C'mon, Sing Along

Beep... Beep.... Beep... Hiss--Chaaa. That is the sound of life support in ICU. Although it has been nearly 15 years, that sound still echos clearly when I think about my dearest grandmother. She died in ICU. It was a worst-case-scenario affair. The best I could do was navigate the suffering by fostering a safe detachment from the situation. Like Viktor Frankl's concentration camp, that hospitol was an institution I could neither understand or effect. I did have the freedom to choose how I exercised contrrol over my mind, however. Like Frankl, I found the ultimate freedom in discovering that as bad as it got, it could not control my thoughts.

Death's dance went like this for grandma: Two month struggle with cancer and kemo. the congratulations from doctors and family that she survived that. One week later, a heart attack. Then, an operation to implant a "life saving" stint in a critical heart artery. This simple procedure went terribly wrong and bacame a full-on split her chest open and try to get her failing heart to rebound. Her final 6 hours were in ICU following that improomptu open heart surgery. Beep... Beep... Beep...

Thing is, the night before that stint operation, Grandma was clear about one thing. She did not want the surgery, the stint in her heart and most of all, she did not ever want open-heart surgery. She simply wanted to end her 84 years of life peacefully, naturally and now.

The doctor told all of us that was simply not an option. So, next morning they wheeled her in. Nothing but squelched objections and repressed fear registered on her face as I told her it would be a quick, painless procedure. I was terribly wrong.

Once brain-dead, there is little reasonn to have the ICU machines continue to pin the spirit in place. Armed with her advanced directives and liviing will, I agreed when the medical staff gently suggested we 'unplug' her. I held her hand and talked in her ear as she slipped away.

In the wake of tragedy we struggle for meaning. The contrast between how my dad went and how his own mother died is stark and enlightening. The effect of each on my mind was also a point of contrast.

With Dad's home death, there were no machines, false promises of quick, painless procedures, unplugging of robotic respiratiors. There was only the hospice nurse, seemingly wise to the mysteries of life and loss.

I found the tension between these truths somhow soothing: He was dying. His spirit was soon to be freed. The great beauty of life was eclipsed by the mystery of death. It was the natural course of things.

With grandma's death I glimpsed zen--finding deliverence from suffering. With dad's death, I embraced the Tao of death. When it is my turn, if I am graced with the choice, I will surely choose well.

How about you? A quick, modified version of that old Monkey's tune has been running through my head as I write this. Now I have planted that ear worm in you too. You are welcome, my friend.