ACTIVE LIVING

We fear it. We don't like to talk about it, yet we can't deny its inevitability. We cannot prevent it, but we know we can do things that may delay it. Choices exist in spite of it. And life is often lived more deliberately when facing it. "It" is death.

Death - or dying - is very real to me right now as my father surrenders to the last stages of terminal cancer. I am observing and participating in his final dance with life, and I feel compelled to glean wisdom, as well as memories, from this painful process.

In the care of my strong and devoted mother, my father is also receiving the gifts of Hospice. It is through Hospice that I am learning about the stages of dying and the unique journey each traveler will take. I am learning in spite of my desire to run from what is brutally real for someone I love and what will also confront my body and soul one day. The lessons are sharpening the focus of my life lens, clarifying what is meaningful and defining what is not.

"Active dying" is the term being used to describe my father's present state of living. The apparent contradiction is partly in the semantics, but mostly within my emotional organization - my need to know how to feel and when. I am learning that "active dying" is a process of reversal - it is the undoing of what we spend our entire lives trying to learn and master for our own safety and well-being. It is an act of surrender punctuated with fleeting resistance. It is my witnessing my father's loosened grip on life and the world as he knows it that is tangling my heart strings, yet inspiring me to weave a meaningful tapestry.

Temporarily away from my parents' home, I can try to process the overwhelm before returning to its powerful embrace. Sadness beyond compare - yes - I feel that. But I also see a mirror being held up to my heart. When I watch my father's attention lock onto the sound of my mother's voice, his focus - though short-lived - is sharp and unwavering. It is as though memories are washing over him like warm, soothing water. It is widely believed that hearing is the last sense to leave us. When I speak to my father about his five decades as an artist, he hears my words and smiles back at me. He responds to the familiar images I am creating through language and sound. Do I listen to the voices and hearts of those I love? Do I hear the calls of my own heart? These are the questions I begin asking myself. My father is "actively dying." Am I, then, "actively living?"

When my father shuns nourishment, he is not in pain or distress. His body no longer needs what food can provide. If I am "actively living," then am I fueling my body and mind to sustain and thrive in life? Are my choices in response to what my body and soul need, or am I waiting for someone or something else to feed me?

My father is so tired. His legs want to collapse beneath him. They can no longer support life. He must rest. They take him to bed and carry him into deep sleep. If I am "actively living," then am I keeping my legs strong so that I can perform not only my daily activities, but also scale a mountain if I choose to? My legs want to carry me because I am alive, and I have things to do and places yet to go.

"Active dying," though a part of life, is not a choice. "Active living," by contrast, IS a choice we make. We can seek ways to improve our health - physically and emotionally - so that we can enjoy and cherish the gift of life.

As my father releases his life, my heart is empowered by the gift I am receiving from him - to live actively. To that end, I must make choices that celebrate and honor living so that I, too, may pass on that lesson - that gift - to those I love.