ars moriendi

Shakespeare has Julius Caesar say the following:

Of all the wonders that I have yet heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

Ahh, but we do fear. I think we all fear its impending foosteps, the inevitable approach.
But only when we are really cornered with the reality of dying. For the most part, if we are currently healthy, death does not play a big role in the daily imaginative vocabulary of the mind... it seems to be the thing we refuse to believe in. Our own death.
If we receive the scare of a dismal medical diagnosis, doom descends rapidly, obliterating or at least displacing all other contemplations. However, when we learn that the test results are inconclusive or downright non-threatening, or the dangerous polyp is proven benign, we quickly forget the medical scare, and return happily to the comforting distractions of life.
No matter the type of life we live (one which is very introspective and thoughtful concerning our own impending death, or one in which we think we will never die at all) the great majority of people do not die in a way that they would choose to die. In previous centuries, people believed in the concept of ars moriendi, the art of dying. This meant dying the best way possible, and usually included a sense of being at peace with God. But those were times when all one could do about death was sort of let it happen (or let the doctors of the time hasten its progress with their scientific immaturity and surgical imprecision). We live today in the era not of the art of dying, but of the art of saving life. The art of prolonging the inevitable.
We read in the literature of our day about dying “the good death” or “dying well.” Tied to this vague concept is the idea of “dying with dignity”, and all of these have become popular phrases in our time.
But what does it all mean?
How can one possibly die “artfully”..... die a “good death?”
Which of us wants to die, “good” or otherwise? Even many of those who commit suicide do not want to die, they simply do not want to live, and there is a big difference (I think).
If it must take place (and assuredly, one day it must) most people want to do this thing of dying in the proper way, or in as proper a way as possible. A modern version of ars moriendi. The beauty of final moments, and all that is encompassed in that phrase.
But ars moriendi is nowadays made difficult by the very fact of our attempts at concealing and sanitizing, (and especially postponing) death, which result in the kinds of deathbed scenes that occur in such specialized hiding places as intensive care units, oncology facilities and emergency rooms. The good death has increasingly become a myth. Actually, it has always been for the most part a myth, but never nearly as much as today, because, in the pursuit of “death with dignity” and “buying time” we end up drinking death to its final dregs.
And yet, I too, would be the first to say “Don’t let me go too soon!”
“Barring extreme pain and agony, please, let us talk for a while, even if it is down to one word a day.”

I guess all of this is on my mind today because for the past four days I have been driving a friend of mine back and forth from the hospital where a dear family member is succumbing to the final stages of terminal cancer. In fact, for all I know, (and no matter how optimistic any of us may want to be), even as I write this, the fight may be over. There can be no doubt who will be the winner of the battle.
For most of us, the final disease that nature inflicts on us will determine the atmosphere in which we take our leave of life, but our own choices should be allowed, insofar as possible, to be the decisive factor in the manner of our going. In all of our involvement with the dying, we need to give foremost attention to their wishes, while ours remain secondary. In my opinion, there can only be one way to “die with dignity” and that is to shake hands with death itself when you know it has finally succeeded in defeating you.
I think of a tennis match, where, after a pitched battle between opponents, only one emerges victorious. Winner and loser then walk towards the net, and shake hands. That is a moment of dignity.
The opposite scenario would be one in which the loser approaches the net only to crack the winner over the head with his racket!
I have always felt that there was something heroic about dying. My own father became a hero in my eyes, because of the way in which he died.
Death belongs to the dying and to those who love them.

The poet, Rainer Maria Rilke wrote:

Oh Lord, give each of us his own death,
The dying, that issues forth out of the life
In which he had love, meaning and despair.

Peace be with you Ray.
___________