Donald Didn't Die

The bravest person I met at Hospice didn’t die. Having faced death squarely, roundly, surrendering, he started to recover.

Don came to the Guest House just before Christmas, very sick. A sudden diagnosis and a rapid decline made him weaker by the day. He had said goodbye to his relatives and given away all his possessions. He was preparing to embark on the next great journey. 

A gentle, educated man in his late forties, Donald was determined to use his spiritual practice to face his death in full consciousness. When I took him his dinner tray I was struck by the inner focus Donald possessed and the tapes of soft chanting that wove a mantle of calmness around him. The plants in the room seemed to bend toward him with curiosity!

The nausea was a challenge and one day a friend suggested he try a malted milkshake to settle his stomach. A huge frothy shake was fetched from the diner at the corner, together with the hastily scribbled recipe. By the end of the week, Don had put on five pounds. 

Some weeks later, we sat in the museum and talked. He shared his anxiety at starting life over again. He confessed feeling a little foolish at not having actually died, when everyone, including him, had been expecting it. Now he had to find a place to live, new clothes, a new job when he was well enough, indeed a whole new life. As we munched crackers together I was struck most powerfully with his courage at dealing with the unexpected. He truly showed me how to be open to what was happening, to live in the present moment even when those moments are stacking up into an unexpected turnaround to life, not death.

I’ve also found a new respect for full-fat milkshakes.