There is a lot of talk in the news and social media about right to die and death with dignity right now. I wrote this for Hans in memory and honor of his life and his dignified death. Every one has a right to their own opinion, and the right to make their own choices with their family - I just happen to have some strong feelings on this top and I thought I'd share...
As a mother who witnessed her nine-year-old son succumb to
his neuroblastoma cancer after a long battle, I have witnessed a death with
dignity. I think dignity is exemplified
when one gives this life everything he’s got and surrenders control of the moment
of passing to the ultimate mystery of fate, God, or the universe…
Our son, Hans, fought a battle against his cancer that
spanned almost six years, the majority of his life. His cancer progressed in the last six to
eight weeks of life and spiraled quickly.
In those days he faced challenges I don’t often talk about, for it is
difficult to find the words, or strike the right tone, in describing what
happens to a small human body that is under such a state of attack. Those were intensely personal and private physical
struggles. I don’t frequently share descriptions of the ways in which his body
failed him, and of the pain, and of the labor of the tasks of caring for him in
those days. And yet – as I look up the
dictionary definition of dignity –“ the state of being worth of esteem or
respect”, and “conduct indicative of appreciation for the
gravity of an occasion or situation”, I know that my son’s last six weeks were certainly
examples of such.
Throughout his long diagnosis, and throughout his last weeks,
he grasped to live, fought for life, and unceasingly did the hard work of
trying to overcome the burden of his disease.
He got back into the ring and fought, by any and all means, for a shot
at simply being able to continue to live his little boy’s life. Serious, businesslike, brave and strong – he
went about the business of trying to beat his cancer. In those last weeks, perhaps he knew that a
point of no return had been reached. Perhaps he indicated as much with small
statements. Perhaps he had begun to
accept his transition.
In those weeks, we were all given the opportunity to witness
the completeness and the fullness of our boy’s life. We were all moved by the totality of
commitment he had to being present and fighting to stay. We were humbled by the mystery and beauty of
his fight to live. We were forever altered by the power of his love for his
life, and for us. I suspect, that
during those weeks, he was readied to make his transition from life to death. And, as we lost him, there was a sense of
amazing grace, a peace that defies understanding, and a knowing that we would
be together again, on the other side. I
am left believing that our ultimate personal mystery, death, is best left
unorchestrated.
