Thoughts on Death
Posted by Tyler on February 6th, 2007Medical school has made me cognizant of my body, of disease, of life, and of death. I have spent the past year submerging myself in the intricacies of the heart, the lungs, the kidney, the brain, and the other, lesser, organs. Each month, we choose a new body system and learn how it works, what goes wrong with, and how to fix it.
On the one hand, this course of study has left my mouth agape at the wonder of the human body. In this regard my appreciation has deepened the more I have studied. The heart’s ability to pump blood–and it does so very much more than that–is baffling. The kidney’s ability to filter the body’s fluid–excreting the superfluous and toxic while retaining the necessary–it so far beyond our understanding that we can’t even begin to approximate its function even though we have all the marvels of modern engineering to do so. Above all, the brain is such a miracle that it remains, relatively speaking, a complete mystery. This is not to diminish the significant advances we have made in understanding neurophysiology but only to acknowledge that, when pressed, neuorologists must usually admit that we simply don’t understand most of what the brain does.
On the other hand, though, my recent studies have injected into me–as one might inject a virus–a deep, sometimes transient, but sometimes abiding fear of what might be going wrong inside of me. Many diseases do not manifest themselves until they are quite advanced and so learning about their insipient courses has often left me wondering–do I have that? As a consequence, I have, during the last year, diagnosed myself with leukemia, lymphoma, depression, hypo and hyper thyroidism, ulcerative colitis, heart failure, and glomerulonephritis. Not surprisingly, most of these diagnoses arise sometime around midnight about a week before the accompanying exam; miraculously, my heart disease resolved soon after we finished studying cardiology and my brain has not troubled me since we finished with neurology.
Even when I conquer these transient fears, however, my study of the human body has left me with a sense of mystery at my body’s synchronicity even as it has also made me aware of the million and one things that can go wrong with me. Indeed, it is almost a statistical certainty that I will one day die of disease. My recognition of this fact has intimately acquainted me with my own mortality and has helped to realize that, not so many years ago, I did not even really know my body existed.
The truth is, I liked my body better when it was invisible. When I was a teenager, my body simply did not exist. Every once in a while, I would get a cut or break a bone and it was like throwing yogurt on transparent glass–I suddenly realized something was there. Since then, both my study of the body and the mild beginnings of “disease” in me (a back-ache here, some indigestion there, a bit of arthritis in another place) have made my body take on color, like tinted glass. Nowadays, if I stop long enough and ponder, my body comes into focus–it has differentiated itself from my spirit and sometimes it is almost as if I can look down on by body from some elevated place and comment objectively and how “that machine down there” is doing.
With this cognizance has come an understanding that, one day, I will die. I do not mean to be a pessimist–indeed, one of the most important things I am learning is that recognition of approaching death does not necessitate pessimism. All of us, after all, are approaching death, however far away it may be. Plus, as someone wittier than I has pointed out, no Mormon is safe until he is good and dead, anyway. Still, as I learn everyday about statistics concerning how many of what kind of people die from which disease, I realize that I will one day add my own stastitic to one of those very columns.
My feelings concerning this coming engagement vary. Some days, when I am close to the Spirit and when the winds within and without are calm, I can look the notion squarely in the eye and say: it’s okay, if I were to die today, that would be alright. Other days, when the world is too much with me, death frightens me.
I don’t know why this is the case. I know death does not end existence. Indeed, one of the most sensible and comforting aspects of Mormonism is that not only my essence, but my friendships and kinships, will endure eternally. Intellectually, then, I haven’t qualms concerning death. Viscerally, though, somewhere inside my bones, the notion of dying still makes me quiver–perhaps it is merely fear of the unknown, maybe I’m afraid of the dark. Whatever the reason, though, I have to admit sometimes I am scared.
There is, however, a sentiment that scatters itself like sunbeams into this sometimes darkness: the visceral beauty of life, an essence which is also eternal. There is a spot just past the “Subway” tunnel in Zion national park which strikes me with such marrow-deep awe as to rob me of my breath: with red-rock walls set like sentinels, towering a thousand feet, on either side, the Virgin River runs shallow and white over rust-red rock and electric green moss. The sunlight fractures and kareens off the brilliant colors and the scene coalesces into a beauty beyond my words.
In places like that, I like to stop and soak the meaning of beauty–and its eternity–into my skin like sunlight. Such beauty, reminding me as it does of God and a heavenly home, overcomes whatever trepidation I feel as I podner death. It does not rob death of its sting, per se, because death will always mean parting and loss and so will always leave my heart hurting. But the beauty reminds me that life is more than existence as we understand it now. There is something within us that thrives and will do so forever. Disease and corruption are unavoidable but also transient–I, and my God, will outlast them by a million years.
And so it is that my knowledge of my body–as well as of its corruption–in the end helps me appreciate more deeply the meaning of life, both life here and life beyond. While I climb the trail to reach the view which will fill my soul with fire, I feel my blood course through my veins and sense the muscles in my leg tighten and relax, reminding me of the miracle that is me, even though I know the miracle as I understand it now will not last forever.
I have died twice, but my spirit stayed in my body. It wasn’t really any big deal. But I think one problem we could have is being afraid to leave our physical body. It’s a backward step. And the Scriptures do say that spirits don’t like the separation.
I look forward to the resurrection. That way we get the best of both worlds. A body and no sickness etc.
I can understand your point of view that studying diseases can make you paranoid. I find it interesting looking at symptoms of particular problems. Many of them are common to so many things. You could end up feeling like you have all sorts of things.
Comment # 1 left by Doug Towers on February 7th, 2007
Well done Tyler.
I so much admire your writing ability. I also wish I could see things like you seem to. So often I see things as ‘rock’, ‘tree’, ‘river’.
I relate a little to over self-diagnosis. I took a psycology class once and the instructer warned us about it. Sure enough, one begins to wonder…
The older I get, the less I fear death. I am not sure why that is. Perhaps that will change someday. I think at times that I would rather stand before the judgement seat of Christ than to be judged of men in evaluations at work and high level PPI’s with some stake leaders. There is a scripture somewhere in Mosiah that speaks to that.
I think it is here.
Comment # 2 left by Eric Nielson on February 7th, 2007
Doug–
It sounds like you are much better acquainted with death than I. I’m glad to hear it’s not so bad.
Eric–
It sounds to me like you either have a very sympathetic view of God or else a very threatening set of Priesthood leaders and bosses. And, yes, psychological disease is especially rife for self-diagnosis–all of us, after all, are a little bit crazy (:
Comment # 3 left by Tyler on February 7th, 2007
Tyler:
Probably a little of both. I believe that people who have received the ordinances, obeyed commandments, willing to repent, and are basically good people will not have to bad of a time. I also thing that God will be able to factor in any of our physical or mental problems (perhaps real and imagined) into our judgement.
And yes, my current stake leaders have been on a major accountability kick for years. The worst thing about being EQP was the PPIs. And we are under completely new management at work. Unrighteous dominions galore!
Comment # 4 left by Eric Nielson on February 7th, 2007
..it’s so far beyond our understanding that we can’t even begin to approximate its function even though we have all the marvels of modern engineering to do so.
This is what gets me. The human body is so infinitely complex and, in a sense, perfect. It screams of a divine creator at the helm of its organization.
My cousin (who is like a sister to me) had a baby last night at 9:30. As I look at the pictures of the beautiful infant, I’m in awe at the miracle of life and its role (along with eventual death) in the plan of salvation.
God lives. No doot aboot it.
Comment # 5 left by Connor on February 7th, 2007
Tyler’s post accomplishes something similar to the recent First President message on Satan. It invites us to think thoughts usually hidden in the recesses of our minds. Some thought on death seems appropriate, even helpful, however, especially when the topic is so emotional and complicated. Or not. Death itself is simple. The hard parts are getting there, leaving others, and what happens next. Most of us can only guess at the signposts on our journey towards death, and imagine, based on a little scriptural information, what the next life will bring. The true impact of our parting is also mostly unknowable. So, in a funny way were left with the inbetween, with the thoughts that today is the day to prepare, that this life is the time for making and keeping covenants and serving others, and that along the way there are those amazing, enlightening, awe-struck moments and places, like the one on the Lefthand Fork in Zion National Park, where the Creator gives lasting clues that all is and will be well.
Comment # 6 left by beeshnkj on February 7th, 2007
Eric–
I, too, believe the Holy One of Israel is the Keeper of the Gate and that He, “employeth no servant there;” hence the importance of his perfect, infinite, and intimate empathy.
Connor–
Emma Lou Thayne said, after witnessing the birth of a grandchild, that she was awestruck by the “million little rightnesses” that make life possible.
Beeshnkj–
“The inbetween,” as you imply, is the tricky part. Death, I suppose, just happens, and perhaps is even a joyful birth when seen from the other side of the mirror. The fear it evokes now is, I think, more a reflection of what we are afraid to lose than of what we apprehend may await beyond the veil.
Comment # 7 left by Tyler on February 7th, 2007
Well said.
Comment # 8 left by beeshnkj on February 7th, 2007
The fear it evokes now is, I think, more a reflection of what we are afraid to lose than of what we apprehend may await beyond the veil.
Amen. Having health challenges, I have thought about this topic more than once. I don’t as much fear dying as I do leaving my family behind, particularly my precious children.
I heard once that the fear of death is woven into our mortal selves by design. We fiercely want to live in a general sense, because we need to live (at least as long as God wills us to, then we should accept death when it comes).
I think medical school would kill me. I’d die from hypochondria.
Comment # 9 left by Michelle on February 7th, 2007
Tyler,
Thank you for a beautifully written post from someone who has experienced the same.
Comment # 10 left by Doc on February 7th, 2007
Michelle–
Dying from hypochondria would be a great medical paradox–don’t worry, though, even med-school-induced-hypochondria is usually transient.
Doc–
Thanks for the thanks, now if you can just get me past my surgery shelf exam…
Comment # 11 left by Tyler on February 7th, 2007
On the subject of hypochondria, I have to tell you a kind of funny story. One time when I was hospitalized for depression, there was another woman on the same ward who was a full-on hypochondriac. Someone on the staff, and I have no idea who, actually left a copy of the DSM-IV (the official book of physciatric diagnoses and their symptoms, for those who don’t know) on the table in the patients’ lounge. That woman dug in to that thing like you wouldn’t believe…just imagine.
I actually think that my having been amused at the situation helped me get out from under the depression and get back home sooner.
Comment # 12 left by Naiah Earhart on February 7th, 2007
Dying from hypochondria would be a great medical paradox
Yup. I’m funny, aren’t I?
Comment # 13 left by Michelle on February 7th, 2007