Dying Many Deaths
Content warning: miscarriage, death, and mention of medically assisted death
Maybe it was my miscarriage that led me down a path of death - considering birth, death, rebirth as a natural cycle. I’ve been in mourning as I limbo between mother-becoming, mother-being and just becoming.
My miscarriage was a missed miscarriage, meaning my body didn’t catch up to the death and so it held on. I underwent a surgical removal. It’s been three menstrual-less cycles since my surgery, and I’m preparing for another procedure to remove possible scar tissue. Could it be that my body, like my mind, finds it hard to let go?
I do not have my physical child to prove to you that I am a mother, but I have the scarring, I have the longing, and I had the pregnancy. Do I downshift from mother to maiden? Matrescence teaches otherwise; it is a stage, like adolescence, that I believe begins in preconception. It is a process of becoming that blurs the lines of beginnings and endings.
But maybe it wasn’t the miscarriage that got me thinking about death. Maybe death rang my line as my clients contemplated what to do next in their changing relationships with their parents as they grow older. Or maybe it was our dear elder friend who had been independent and healthy at 91 who died of stage four pancreatic cancer 3 months after her diagnosis. Could it have been my estranged uncle entering hospice care, suddenly making me want to know him better? Or, perhaps, it was years in the making when I pulled my mom away from her mother as we waited for her kidneys to finally fail and her body to rest as we missed her last drag and release of air.
Death plays with our desire for permanence and control. Death distorts our perception of time and it fucks with our ability to be productive. It slows us down, it curls us inward, and it also confronts us.
In one of my courses I was asked to introduce myself via my epitaph. Let me explain. I am not terminally ill, and I am certainly not in a Hot Topic induced romance with death. I am curious how to talk about death, with all its heaviness and destruction, with lightness and openness too. In this class, I stretched my epitaph thinking beyond familial roles (loving mother, beloved wife, kind daughter) into what impact I hope to have made when I am no longer here physically.
In another class, death for pragmatists and seekers, we discuss the practical implications of death; how you choose what to leave behind and who you leave it to, as well as body decomposition options. The crowd I’m journeying with is, on average, about 50 years older than I am. It’s got me thinking about how my generation may be more inclined to pass down data than physical items. It’s got me wondering how I store, delete, and archive my information so that my grandchildren or future archivists can find what I want to leave behind. I imagine if it’s a personalized mess there will be no shuffling through of my data, but a quick emptying of the virtual trash. Do I care more about my unfinished song recordings than a nice necklace? At this point of my life, I do…
At a Death Cafe, I heard from a woman whose father died after a 19-year battle with cancer. Earlier this year, his cancer returned and his health rapidly declined, leading him to choose medical aid in dying. Having spent months begging him to hold on, and having lost him just last month, his daughter reflected on how many times a person can die before their final death.
I’m not sure yet how I want to end.
