A variety of experiences of death informed and influenced my life. They are reference points for my acceptance of death and expectation of the unexpected. As you read my short vignettes, perhaps you can reflect on your own reference points, how they have influenced your life, and your acceptance of its end.
***
One day Lizzie, our female cocker spaniel, was alive; the next she was dead. How did I know? I could hear Dizzy, our male spaniel, as he announced it repeatedly from the backyard in sharp staccato barks. Looking through the window, I saw her still form on the grass and thought, How is she sleeping through all that barking?
Soon, we all spilled out onto the lawn to investigate, my older brother dashing ahead to arrive first at her stiffening body. “She’s dead,” he pronounced.
I had little experience with dying and asked lots of questions about what could have happened and why. At the age of six, I pestered my parents with many queries, and they answered me patiently to the best of their ability. There were no advanced warning signs, no obvious cause, and lots of lingering unknowns.
***
One day the tortoise wandered into our yard with a cracked shell, the apparent victim of a hit-and-run accident on our residential street. I named him Charlie, took him protectively under my wing, and kept him in the fenced backyard, away from further auto mishaps. I enjoyed watching his head dart in and out of his shell as he accepted some morsels of grass I held out to him.
Charlie died soon after his arrival, with the official cause being “internal death by maggot consumption,” so my brother proclaimed. Through more questioning, I learned about the life cycle of the fly and concluded this would not be my preferred way to die.
***
In my hometown, a small plane crash killed everyone onboard, including all members of a local doctor’s family, except for one. This multiple-death scenario made a lasting impression on me. So many attended the funeral they overflowed the church. I was considered too young to attend that event, but I understood that so many turned out to mourn together this tragic loss.
There was whispered talk about this accident for weeks after it occurred. I heard that the deceased doctor’s partner in practice was called upon to pronounce the deaths at the scene and that doing so affected him greatly. I thought about this the next time he looked after me in his office. I wanted to ask about the experience to satisfy my curiosity, but I knew this was not a topic I was welcome to discuss.
People spoke in hushed tones and not directly to the people most closely involved in a death. This was my early youthful observation. I did the polite thing and kept my many questions to myself. And wondered.
***
When I was in grade eight, a classmate committed suicide. She was a very popular girl with a good-looking boyfriend. She was from a well-to-do family and had nice clothes to match her very pretty looks. She had lots of friends, and seemingly she was at the center of the “in crowd.”
We, her young peers, were dismayed by her suicide. I believe we all assumed what I had up until the death: her life must be almost perfect. Obviously, I was wrong. Appearances can deceive, I told myself. And I wept with the rest of my bewildered classmates. We were sad for her, for her family, and for ourselves.
Teachers and school counselors watched us all with a wary eye. I overheard their discussions. Was it better or worse to address this topic of suicide head-on? How much should they do or not do about it in the school setting? They agreed to tell us point-blank: “If you, or anyone you know of, are having suicidal thoughts, please report them immediately to an adult: a teacher, administrator, or counselor. There is always a way to find help for such thoughts.”
Quickly, the topic passed from our conscious school radar. But it became a milestone for my class. There was a before and an after the suicide. We knew much too intimately that it could happen. It did happen! And it left a gash that bleeds to this very day when we gather to remember our more youthful times.
***
While still a young teen, I learned the shocking news of the alcohol poisoning of a teenaged neighbor boy. Up until then, I knew very little about drinking, as my parents were “teetotalers,” and this was the first I’d ever heard of someone dying from consuming too much alcohol at once. It made an impression on me.
Shortly thereafter, a classmate died in an automobile accident, attributed to the drunk driving of her boyfriend. I was surprised to learn she had a boyfriend. This girl was not well accepted by many, as she was from a less affluent background than most of our peers, often coming to school in outdated, poorly matched, or tattered clothing, with her hair unwashed, etc. Yes, I had judged her; and after her death, I became intensely aware of how superficial had been my relationship with her. I promised myself not to judge so harshly based on someone’s appearance and circumstances ever again. I wrote a poem to her asking for her forgiveness.
***
While I attended a liberal arts college in the Midwestern United States, a young woman who also attended the school committed suicide.
Not long after this event, an intervention team took away one of my several housemates because he had shown signs of being near a breaking point: stressed out from the pressure of school work, not sleeping, and possibly suicidal. He never came back to our school, and I wondered about him. I wished him well and was thankful the adults in his life saw the wisdom in taking action when they did.
***
When my college boyfriend’s uncle died, his parents opted not to tell him until it was too late for him to attend the funeral service. At the time, his folks thought it would be too much of a distraction from his college studies to have to make arrangements to fly in for the event.
My boyfriend felt differently about it. This uncle was his closest relative outside of the immediate family, and he would have attended gladly. Instead, he ended up feeling “left out” and dismayed at the way in which he was robbed of making that choice himself. He felt as though they had taken away an adult responsibility that he wanted to exercise.
Observing this family issue, I saw the wisdom in letting others, children of all ages, be involved in the knowledge of family deaths and celebrations of life. Open discussion and inclusion in such events in my own family allowed me to more readily accept death as a natural part of life.
***
Carolyn died at fifty-three, the picture of health and wholesome habits. She was my children’s favorite babysitter, an occasional role she enjoyed in addition to her full-time secretarial position. She was a joy for each of my family whenever she was with us: knowledgably talking sports with my husband, relating to my motherhood-while-teaching lifestyle with good humor and compassionate understanding, and looking after my five-year-old daughter and her baby sister so playfully and well that we parents jokingly remarked on our daughters “being better off in her care than they were in ours.”
Her unexpected death, and unfairly shortened life, due to unknown natural causes left all who knew and loved Carolyn feeling bewildered. A great hole had been torn in the fabric of our lives. I did my best to explain to my little daughter, “Sometimes these things happen, and we will always love Carolyn and treasure the times we had with her.” I miss her to this day.
***
The concept of “being-with” the dying, Virginia Seno, PhD’s apt terminology for an ability to be peacefully present without expectations at the end of life, was a perfectly timed arrival in my life. In the spring of 2012, Virginia was one of my editing clients. I enjoyed the content she created for her Esse Institute, established to further and train end-of-life communication skills for the many and varied people who need it the most (everyone can benefit).
I didn’t know when I began to work with Dr. Seno that my father would be dying in the weeks and months ahead. As he grew increasingly close to death, I grew more knowledgeable about and comfortable with the dying process. I felt the synchronicity of the universe at work in my life, and I am grateful to this day for that timing.
Dr. Seno’s work inspired my own, and I’m certain that my experience with her material is one of the biggest influences on my writing and editing path, leading me here, to this chapter and this book.
***
While all of the above scenarios happened to me before I co-published (with Victoria Brewster) Journey’s End: Death, Dying, and the End of Life; this most recent event is fresh and new and quite raw in my experience roster.
My husband died a mere twelve weeks ago. There is no easy way to become a widow or to henceforth own that status; it’s hard to do, hard to share with others, and hard to believe much of the time. I’ve begun a new journey, one of life after death.
So much of me died with my husband: our playful intimacy, our easy rapport, our culinary exploration*, our movie watching, our shared dreams, our discussions of wide-ranging opinions and our hour-by-hour experience of living love. Yes, those things are now part of my past, and a new journey has begun. And I plan to take him with me on the long road ahead. That companionship will not be a burden; quite the contrary! He lifts me and encourages me with every step forward. I’m so very fortunate to have found such a loving bond that even transcends death.
I accept the inevitable: the deeper I love, the deeper will I grieve. So it shall be.
~ Julie Saeger Nierenberg
(partly excerpted from a chapter by the same name in Journey’s End)
Julie Saeger Nierenberg is a freelance writer and editor, lifelong educator and artist, a proud parent and "grand-partner." Julie lives in Canada. Inspired by the experience of her father’s dying and death, Julie published a short memoir about her family’s grief and loss. Daddy, this is it. Being-with My Dying Dad launched a true journey of connection and transformation, as Julie reached out to share it with those who assist the dying and bereaved. Following that memoir's publication, Julie received numerous end-of-life perspectives from others, some of which are available in Journey's End: Death, Dying and the End of Life. Writing and publishing in this heart-led direction, Julie hopes to contribute to a cultural shift in how we prepare and support others in the final chapter of life. Julie also enjoys writing and editing legacy writing, fiction and nonfiction works; she feels privileged to help other writers succeed.