On Death and Choices

I want to thank everyone for their kind words regarding my mother's recent death. As i said to many of you, it was sudden but not unexpected.

My family seems to have a slightly different view on death than most. We do not fear it. We feel it's a choice. The only time we see it as a tragedy is when there is no choice. Like the victims of Hiroshima, the ones at point blank range had no choice in the matter, their bodies were dissembled at the atomic level.

Short of that, though, pretty much anything you've ever heard of happening to someone and killing them has been survived by someone else. Be it shot, run over by a car, electrocuted, frozen, fried, drowned or by disease, someone somewhere has survived it. As it happens, *I* have survived all of those. Guess I only have two lives left... :o)

Any way, consider James Brady. He was Reagan's body guard that got half his head shot off. People have survived jumping out of a plane, walking through lava, eaten by sharks, etc. Really, Seriously, almost anything at all has been survived by someone.

We believe that every time you go through trauma, any trauma, you get a choice. Sometimes you recognize it, sometimes you don't. When I was electrocuted as a child, I was thrown 30 feet by the juice and was down for about 5 minutes. Then, suddenly, I restarted. No choice, no tunnels, no angels, just a moment of black and I was shaking uncontrollably on the ground.

The first time I knew about the choice, I was in my teens. My "arthritis" was so bad that I was walking with a cane. I was told I'd be in a wheelchair by 18. I bent down to pick something up and my joints popped (think of the size difference between you hand knuckles and your knees... it was LOUD). A friend asked if that hurt and the choice hit me. On the one hand, I could go for the sympathy, say "yeah, it hurts" and get them to help me up. But that way lead to the chair. On the other hand, I could dig deep inside, figure out the truth and let sympathy be damned. I did, and answered 'no, it feels kinda cool actually". And my life started to turn around.

Since then, I've had one or two more choice moments, and of course, I started recognizing the choices when deep trauma stopped my heart and breathing. I know every day I spend on this planet is because I've chosen to be here.

Same for my mother. She's had a pacemaker made by Microsoft for years. At this point, she's about 20-30% artificial parts: heart valves, hips, leg bones, eyebrows, etc. Bits and pieces she was less and less .... her. It bugged her. She hated being a burden. And most importantly, she wanted to go out like her mother did.

My grandmother made the choice to go and gave herself two weeks to say goodbye. One day, I was taking her to the phone company and watching her one-arm a counter rep in an argument about her bill. A week later I get a call that she's in the hospital and going fast. Everyone got the same speech: "she's not very lucid, don't be surprised if she doesn't recognize you." Well, she recognized me... from across the room and through the door. We shared a few moments that were too personal to blog and then, Poof, she was out like a light; completely unfocused and non lucid. Two days later, she wrote a little note saying, "thank you for the wonderful service" and went to sleep for the last time.

I know my mother fussed around for almost a year getting things straight. Made sure everyone was all good. Then tried to go out with the same grace as Her mother. I guess she was hanging on to hold that red-headed grandchild or something. Whatever it was, she decided she'd had enough. I've never known her mind well enough to even begin to guess her motives. But I do know that she chose to go.

Watch for those choices. They happen to everyone. I have a friend who recovered from Lupus because she caught a choice and was ready for it. And the next time you run into something you fear, stop and think. Is this fear based in the fear of Death? Knowing that you have a choice over the moment of your death can unravel all your other fears.