Checkpoint: Beliefs about Death

Poem by Cacamatzin, an Aztec ruler of Texcoco, that sits at the entrance to the Living and Dying exhibit at the British Museum

Today, I decided to visit the British Museum (a definite must-see if you are in London). As fate would have it, they had an exhibit labeled “Living and Dying,” which chronicled different funeral traditions worldwide. While funeral traditions will be the focus of my time in Ghana, it is one piece of the puzzle that is uncovering what dying well means around the world. In reality, funeral traditions could truly be an entire Watson project on its own – there are so many rich practices surrounding death. As I walked through this exhibit, I was struck again, as I have been so many times during my research and preparation for this year, by the sheer amount of beliefs and attitudes that people hold when it comes to death and dying.

In addition to being fascinating, the exhibit sparked an idea – I want to record the current beliefs I hold about death and dying to be able to compare them to my beliefs at the end of the year. In this way, I hope that this post will serve as a personal checkpoint for how learning about different systems of care, different beliefs, and different approaches towards grieving all in turn evolve my personal feelings about death. This evaluation is not new to me; in the months before my Watson, I completed a certificate in the foundations of becoming a death doula. Much of this process required constant reflection on how our beliefs were changing and how this would contribute to our theoretical approach not only to others’ deaths but our own. I hope to style this post and a future reflection at the end of my Watson year after the practice I learned while participating in the course.

Before taking on this project and becoming much more interested in palliative and hospice care, I admittedly had a fear of death. I have a vivid memory of a dream I once had when I was young, likely no older than 10, where I somehow realized in the dream that death was equivalent to nothingness – no more consciousness. While we truly do not know what after death “looks” like, this memory incorporated itself into my schema of how I related to death. As I grew older, and experienced loss for the first time, my fear became more specific – a fear of leaving those I loved behind, of not being surrounded by my people, of not having “enough time” to spend with them. This fear persists today but has shifted to become the motivation for this project in a way. As I was introduced to end-of-life care at Dana Farber, I realized just how often death was extended via artificial means; in other words, how far people will go to keep loved ones alive or how much someone will fight against death because they don’t want to leave those around them. I was quickly able to surmise the difficulty in both these scenarios; either the person’s wishes may be getting pushed to the side so others can have more time with someone they love or loved ones have to watch a person suffer and fight against something that is in the end, inevitable. And so, again, my fear became more specific; I know that I do not want my family and loved ones to have to make decisions for me and I know that I do not want to make my loved ones care for a shell of myself. I want death to look more like birth – surrounded by loved ones, laughter, and celebration.

While this realization has made me certain, even at a young age, that I will continue to let others know my wishes and advocate that we all discuss more frequently, earlier, and loudly about what we want, it does not change the fact that I still have fear. This fear is not dissimilar to the emotions I have had over these past few days of my Watson. The fear that looking ahead I have a year without my people and to me, my people are the most important thing to me. Even amid all this excitement and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, there is that ache, yearning, and fear. I can’t help but realize the parallels between that emotion and the reasons that I fear death itself. Right now, the stubborn piece of my brain screams that this fear will never subside.  But perhaps this year will help to provide an alternative perspective; after all, my feelings towards death have changed many times already throughout my life and this past year alone. I am sure that the various cultures, religions, traditions, and personal beliefs that I come in contact with this year will mold my own beliefs in ways that I can’t yet imagine. And these personal changes, I know, will affect the way that I approach death and dying in the context of medical care and my future within it.

So for now, I will end this post as a checkpoint, a place to keep returning to as a reminder that while I am responsible for understanding the way that this year provides more clarity into how we in America could be dying “better,” I am equally as responsible for evaluating how I understand death personally.