i’m glad he’s dead

A strange thing to say, but there it is. The patient I’ve been visiting for a while died yesterday. I just received a note inviting me to help organize a memorial service. My first reaction on hearing of his death was surprise (because he seemed so alert the last time we met) and then joy (as his suffering has come to an end). He’d been bedridden for almost two years, lying there with the curtains drawn, gradually loosing control of his muscles (limbs, tongue, eyelids, lungs), unable to speak coherently, more and more dependent and isolated. Four days ago we met for our last time, embracing each other with hands and forearms intertwined; his eyes glistening and wide open, a big smile as I arrived and when we parted.

At one point he asked (and it took three tries for me to make out the details), “How do Buddhists do funerals?” I explained a bit about various traditions, mostly Tibetans who have the most detailed protocol for the time before, during, and after death. “Do you want to talk about your funeral?” I asked. Nod. We agreed that I would come back this week with some readings and to continue the exploration.

Next to me, right now, sits a marvellous text by Christine Longaker*, a seasoned hospice worker and Tibetan Buddhist, from which I was going to read to him. “The Tibetan teachings,” she writes, “are based on a century-old wisdom tradition that reveals the deeper, spiritual dimension of life and death , and describes a very special hope we can find in death” (p. 26).

The Diamond Sutra has been chanted in the Mahayana tradition (which includes Zen) for over a millennium. Its most popular verse seems appropriate right now as it speaks to the impermanence of everything–

A star at dawn,
A bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp,
A phantom, and a dream,
So is this fleeting world.

*Longaker, C. (1997). Facing death and finding hope: a guide to the emotional and spiritual care of the dying. New York: Broadway Books.